Towards the close of the 16th century the rather straggling collection of houses which had then sprung up obtained the privileges of a town; and in 1587 the façade of the Church was being rebuilt under Pope Sixtus V, whose pontificate, among matters of graver import, will be remembered for the thorough cleansing of the lower quarters of the eternal City from the gangs of spadassins who had gathered there. The little township had just received its new dignity, when, in the autumn of that year, Tasso, who certainly had little beside his poetical compositions to offer-for at the time he was completely penniless-came to this spot, having followed the coast route by Fano, in fulfilment of a vow previously made, to return thanks for help and protection which he believed he had received.

About two years earlier, towards the close of his long imprisonment, his health having entirely given way, he lay one night in a kind of trance, between sleeping and waking, or between life and death as it seemed to him, 'Art and nature unable any longer to assist,' when, as he thought, the Virgin, with the Holy Infant in her arms and the sacred writings in her hand, appeared at the foot of his bed and encouraged him to hope for better things. The vision was so distinct that he had no doubt of its divine origin, and always afterwards attributed his escape from immediate death (' che non perdona mai,' however) to the renewed strength thus strangely imparted. This was in December 1585, and, as we have seen, in the following July, the Duke of Ferrara consented to his provisional release.

At Loreto, he slept in the house of Giulio Amici (for, although without money, the author of the 'Gerusalemme,' in all his wanderings, was rarely at a loss for a hospitable reception); and, in the words of his latest and occasionally eloquent biographer, thus was Torquato able to accomplish his vow at this celebrated shrine; and his spirit, stricken with dread in the tumult of this world, seems to have found the peace which it sought in Her who has always brought consolation in sorrow to those who believe.'* The next day he continued his rapid flight, crossing the mountains by way of Macerata and

Baccana; and the reality of the danger from which he fled is shown by the powerful influence exerted to have him sent back into Lombardy, after his arrival in Rome (Nov. 5). Here he was received in the house of Scipione Gonzaga, titular Patriarch of Jerusalem, and shortly to be made a Cardinal. The principal agent in these endeavours was his supposed friend, Antonio Costantini, who had followed him from Bologna, and now, with great baseness, employed every imaginable artifice and deception to entice the poet outside the city boundaries; intending to have him put into a litter, bound if necessary, and so conveyed away. In fact, but for the protection of the Pope, who seems to have entertained a thoroughly British conception of the right of asylum, this plan would have been carried out within sight of St Peter's.*

It was while he was defending himself from these covert attacks with an acuteness and determination which showed no trace of the mental infirmity so often alleged, that Tasso finished the 'Canzone,' an English version of which, in similar metre, now follows. The poem was enclosed in a letter dated from Rome about a fortnight after his safe arrival, which, from a passage it contains, he seems to have considered little short of miraculous. It was addressed to his kind entertainer at Loreto, Giulio Amici, in very flattering but appropriate terms. Given the occasion for an act of courtesy and good feeling, Tasso is never less than himself.

TO THE MOST BLESSED VIRGIN IN LORETO.

CANZONE.

'Amidst what tempests, what enduring wrath,
In this wide sea, of angry wave and wind,
O saving Light, hast thou my escort been!
Thou holy Star that reignest o'er my path
Of gloom and dread, and in the minds of men
Createst light; through whom the heart can find
Comfort, which long in utter darkness pined;
Who, with mild ray,

Still show'st the way

* See Solerti, p. 572; also appendix containing letters from Costantini to his employer.

I yet must keep, when tempests hide the Pole
That should direct me o'er these waves unkind;
Else anchorless, dishelmed,

I sink o'erwhelmed-a dark o'erburdened soul.
Thy radiance gives me faith-serene and clear
Star, born of whom was the Serenest Light,
Light of the loftiest, uncreated Sun,

The Sun that knows no West-and leads me here,
Freed from the snares and toils around me spun ;
Where hope and joy come to me with the sight
Of thy low dwelling on this rocky height.

This house, so poor,

Which all adore,

In reverence I behold, and seek not now

To raise high towers of pride in Heaven's despite;
But, with humility,

The fountain see, whence grace and honour flow.
What towers, what mountains, variously perverse

Of fruitless knowledge, and unblessed desire,
My faults, my follies, led me erst to seek!
Fond spirit, that so oft hast striven to pierce
Heaven's crystal dome by means thus vain and weak,
Let this poor cottage worthier thoughts inspire!
Here weep the pride whereby thou cam'st not nigher
Thy goal, so high, that still

Bade thee heap hill on hill,

Then most abased when seeming most to rise,

(Ossa on Pelion lift the heart no higher!)

And find, in thy distress,

Through humbleness, a pathway to the skies.

Here angel hands exalt the lowly dwelling;

They bore it through the clouds and o'er the sea,
The roof that sheltered Mary and her child;

A miracle in wonder far excelling

Fables of mountain upon mountain piled;
Stranger than aught yet seen, or yet to be!
This is the holy mount that soars to thee,
Virgin and queen;

These walls have been

First earthly forms to serve our Lord and Guide;
Whence Atlas and Olympus seem to me

Like pebbles where I stand,

On grains of sand, thy humble home beside.

O happy hills whence came the quarried rock
Of these protecting walls; and those that yield
The polished marble outwardly displayed;

Since so much grace of Heaven they can unlock—
And grace of Her, in heavenly beams arrayed,

Whose pity, thus benignantly revealed,

Is dearer than their skill who deftly wield

With Phidian intent

The sculptor's instrument,

And power and life to senseless stone impart; *
Or theirs who tints of Iris have unsealed

In pictures fair-designed

To fire the mind-pity that melts the heart; And leads lone troops of wanderers to thy shrine

That dwell where Tagus, wandering, seeks his West;
Pilgrims who bear the olive branch of peace
And hither come to share thy grace divine.
And from far realms that gird the frozen seas,
Beyond the Danube, others in like quest
Bring gifts, and in thy greater gift have rest.
For here thy presence charms

Away all mortal harms,

And health returns to those that seek thy aid;
And clement Kings, whom Heaven's own King loves
best,

Rich in His love, bring treasure,

A sacred measure, upon thy altars laid.

But thou who seest this earth, yet art in Heaven,
Where thou art throned in majesty on high
Above the angels, listening to their quire;
Wilt thou not also hear these rhymes uneven,
And guide the hand that strikes an earthly lyre?
Disdain not the unequal strain, if I

With their immortal harps thus feebly vie.

The tongue a tribute pours

To what the heart adores;

They love not more who sweeter numbers bring;

And, though thy gentle glory fill the sky,

Thou hearest from me the same,

The same sweet name-Mary, which they too sing.

Virgin and Mother, if my lips impure

With taint of gall or honey seem to thee,

And hence unworthy to attempt thy praise;
Accept these tears-and griefs I still endure

Make them not scarce, the while this song I raise.

'Woe unto him who saith to the wood, Awake; to the dumb stone, se.' Habukkuk, c. ii, v. 19.

Pardon and peace I crave; thou well canst see
My need; canst still my guide and comfort be.
Avail me, weeping so,

Hopes that from song might flow,

And may the sorrowing accents with thee dwell!
Compassionate, thou wilt regard in me,

One, who in knightly joust,

Falls stained with dust-with clinging mire as well.
Virgin and Queen and Mother, with these tears
I cleanse my heart; through thee again I rise,
Through thee discern the glory of the spheres,
And where my pathway lies.'

We have dwelt at some length on the circumstances that attended the production of the Loreto Ode because it marks a new phase in the poet's life. The knighterrant in Tasso, who had imagined Armida and her lover flying through the sky to their Atlantic bower-the delightful story-teller, who mingled fiction with truth (intesso fregi al ver) to make the draught more palatablehad perished in the dungeon at St Anna. But the poet and pietist survived; and piety-an inborn faith in the existence, nearness, and love of God-had ever been the noblest, and now proved the most enduring element in his nature. Even when creating, amidst the distractions of a half-pagan court, the masterpiece of his early manhood, he had transferred his muse from Parnassus to the Christian heirarchy:

'O Muse,* thou, who with laurel that shall die
Adornest not thy brow in Helicon,

But amid angel choirs, above the sky,
Hast of immortal stars a golden crown;

Inspire my breast with rapture from on high,
Exalt my song, and, if not all thine own

The story told, O, let it not offend

That fables with thy truth sometimes I blend.'

Now, however, it is the Queen of Heaven, the Blessed Virgin herself-that beautiful embodiment of an ideal founded on a natural longing in beings sprung from the

It has been suggested that the Virgin Mary is here address cd, but Solerti rejects this interpretation.