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have corroded its base and have hollowed caves, into which the surge roars in dark eddies. The halcyon has built its nest on the bare and steep side, and its cry is heard afar over the foaming billows. Polemuni was the son of a wealthy fisherman, who had himself followed successfully the same vocation, and had at one time a tight boat and stores of nets and tackle; on shore he was the gayest of the gay, and the idol of the lasses of that coast. Misfortune came; a storm swamped his boat, his love proved faithless, he was forsaken and slighted by all. But Polemuniand this we look upon as the moral of the tale-Polemuni had a vice, an original sin, the oldest on record in the history of manpride, the vanity of knowledge. We are told that he was versed in the science of the stars; he could read in their aspect, he could tell when they looked threatening and when propitious: he had learned all this at an early age on a solitary shore from Proteus, who taught him to read in the fatal book of destiny. But what avails him now his great learning?-it could not avert his fate, it could not ensure the fidelity of his friends, it only now embitters his misfortunes. Behold him with his poor reed in hand, pretending to follow his wonted occupation, whilst he is venting his anguish in song.
"I find myself alone in this wide world, I know not how nor wherefore, forlorn and forsaken by all; no one seems to remember my name, nor to care about me.
"What boots it that this earth is spacious and magnificent, while my only estate is this cliff, buffeted by the winds and waves.
"Thou, O cliff! art my only home: thou, O fishing-rod! feedest me: I have no other support: you are my only friends.
Here, on this solitary spot the dawn finds me; here the night dew meets me still; here, rooted as it were to this rock, I am like a soul doomed to do penance to all eternity.
"At times I fancy the halcyon lingers as if listening piteously to my complaints, whilst hovering above the foaming surge.
"A lizard, my inoffensive neighbour, peeps with its head out of a fissure in the rock, and gazes at me in wistful mood, as if wanting words to address me.
Through the silence of the night the caves below resound with hollow moans, and the voice of the deep is only interrupted by the plaintive lays of the distant nightingale.
"Meanwhile I loiter here, groping about, the stars my only light; I look up and gaze at them one by one, seeking for the dire planet that influences my fate.
"And when I spy its dark-red light, looking ominous and portentous, I then recognise the star that presided at my birth.
My father foretold it all, and he shuddered with fear, for I was born during an eclipse, and the owl's dismal notes announced my birth.
"If ever I saw a glimpse of fortune, it was only for an instant, to aggravate my next sufferings.
"My father left me a smart boat, and of nets an ample supply; I had then numberless friends who called me by the name of brother.
"When I returned from my fishing course, half the village crowded round me; my Chloris looked ever joyful, and could not bear to be away from my side.
"If perchance my boat was a few moments later than usual in reaching the shore, I saw Chloris perched upon the most advanced crag that jutted into the sea, as if deprecating the winds for my safety, and invoking to my aid all the gods of the deep.
"But, alas! when my treacherous destiny changed, in an instant I found myself robbed of my boat, my nets, my mistress, and my friends. "When I think on that fatal night, I still groan with horror, and shed tears of agony, a cold sweat overspreads my trembling limbs. A pitiless storm swallowed my bark, and left me bare and destitute on the coast. "All was changed in an instant, misery surrounds me now, and the most brilliant day seems to me like a deep dark night."
The catastrophe follows. As if irritated by the touching voice of Polemuni's complaints, Fate hurls a fresh and more fearful storm against his devoted head, the winds are let loose and shake the rock on which he sits, the hoarse thunder and dismal howling of the tempest seem to sound his dirge, when the waves swell beyond all bounds, and rising in one mountain billow, overwhelm the cliff, and sweeping away the wretched victim in their receding ebb, plunge him into the deepest abyss of the sea.
Meli's Odes, which fill up the second volume of his works, are chiefly amatory or anacreontic, a species of composition more ambitious in style, but at the same time more open to freedom of sentiment than the pastorals. Meli has been compared to Anacreon,* with this distinction, that the Greek poet, though less imaginative, and dwelling chiefly upon corporeal objects, expresses the most trifling things with the greatest delicacy and grace, whilst Meli excels more in the beauty of his thoughts, and is at times. careless about the justness of their expression. This very assertion corroborates our judgment that the Sicilian poet is less sensual, and that, in spite of the voluptuousness of some of his images, there is in his poetry a redeeming spirit which tends to elevate the mind, even while he is singing the triumphs of a levelling passion. We, however, even with reference to truth and nature, prefer his pastorals.
Of his Odes, some of which are exquisitely finished, we have only space to notice the sixth, Lu Labru, and by way of compa
Scina, Prospetto della Storia letteraria di Sicilia nel Secolo XVIII. Palermo: 1828.
rison, we have placed by its side an Italian translation by Professor Rosini, of Pisa, whose novel was reviewed in our last number.
"Dimmi, dimmi, Apuzza nica
Unni vai cussi mattinu?
Non c'e cima ch' arrussisca
La ruggiada ntra li prati;
Ma tu voli e fai caminu!
Nici mia di l'occhi beddi?
'Ntra lu labbru culuritu
C'è lu meli chiù squisitu,
"Dimmi, dimmi, Apetta cara
Ove vai si di mattino?
Tutto è notte, e non rischiara Anco il monte a noi vicino. Trema ancora, ancor biancheggia La rugiada in grembo ai prati: Deh! che molli io non ti veggia D'oro i vanni delicati.
I fioretti dormigliosi
Entro i verdi lor bottoni
Ma che val se non rischiara?
La diletta del mio core,
Nice mia, conosci tu?
Ne' suoi labbri ell' ha un sapore
Entro il labbro colorito
Del mio caro amato Bene
Evvi il mele più squisito:
That Meli was a moral and religious man, although his muse sometimes assumed the sportive garb of the Tejan, we have abundant proofs even in these volumes. His "Inno à Dio," his sonnet "Fiducia in Dio," and even his eclogues, are full of expressions of gratefulness to the Author of All, and of admiration for His works. Meli shared the proverbial lot of poets; he was poor, though not indigent. The late King Ferdinand granted him, however, a small pension, for which the poet expressed his gratitude in respectful but not adulatory terms.
Meli wrote a mock-heroic poem under the title of Don Quixote," in twelve cantos. It is a sort of imitation in verse of that celebrated novel. It abounds with beauties of detail, although the ludicrous prevails throughout, and is often carried to the farcical. He also wrote a volume of fables. His works were collected and published at Palermo, under his own revision, in 1814, in seven volumes. The poet died not long after, at an advanced age. Since that time other editions have been made; and Professor Rosini of Pisa has translated into Italian some of Meli's finest lyric and pastoral pieces, which, however, lose considerably by the transfusion.
ART. VII.-Relation d'un Voyage dans la Marmarique, la Cyrénaïque, et les Oasis d'Audjelah et de Maradeh; accompagnée de Cartes Géographiques et Topographiques, et de Planches représentant les Monumens de ces Contrées. Par M. J. R. Pacho. Ouvrage publié sous les Auspices de S. E. le Ministre de l'Intérieur. Dedié au Roi. Texte in 4to, avec Atlas de Planches in folio. Paris. 1827-29.
ALTHOUGH the year 1827 appears upon the title-page of this volume as the date of publication, the fourth and concluding livraison has but recently appeared-we regret to find-as a posthumous sequel to the work. The interest of M. Pacho's narrative is considerably lessened, to the English reader, by the account of the Cyrenaica contained in Captain Beechey's narrative. This circumstance detracts nothing, however, from the merits of his performance; and as he reached Cyrene by a different route, and explored several parts of the region to which the English traveller did not penetrate, our abstracts of his narrative may not be unacceptable to our readers. But the circumstances which led to his enterprise must first be explained; and with these we shall connect a brief notice of his life, extracted from the memoir prefixed to the present volume.
In the year 1824, the Paris Geographical Society offered a premium of 5000 francs to the traveller who should furnish the best account of the Cyrenaica; a tract of country highly interesting from the historical recollections connected with it, and reported to be rich in the monuments of ancient art. Hitherto, the attempt to explore this region had been constantly baffled. About the year 1760, a French surgeon of the name of Granger penetrated to Cyrene under the dangerous and equivocal protection of a chieftain of banditti, and he succeeded in copying a great number of inscriptions; but his papers never reached Europe. The vague and imperfect notices relating to this country furnished by Paul Lucas and Bruce, served only to excite curiosity. The narrative of Dr. Della Cella, who accompanied the army of the Pasha of Tripoli in an expedition against the Arabs of Barca in 1817, communicated some acceptable and interesting information with regard to the coast of the Pentapolis; but he had no opportunity of pushing his researches far into the interior. In 1819, a journey to Cyrene was accomplished by the Apostolic prefect at Tripoli, Father Pacifico; but of its results we know nothing. In the following year, Lieutenant-General Minutoli, in the Prussian service, accompanied by Drs. Hemprich and Ehrenberg, attempted to reach Cyrene from Alexandria; but the general had only reached the foot of the Catabathmus Minor, when he was induced
to abandon the enterprise, and three of his companions who resolved to proceed, were stopped at the ridge of hills which divides the territories of Tripoli and Egypt. In 1822, Captain Beechey and his brother were employed by the Admiralty to survey the northern coast of Africa from Tripoli eastward as far as Derna, and their researches among the ruins of Cyrene formed the crowning labour of the expedition. M. Pacho, however, was not aware that he had been anticipated by the English traveller, till he received the information at Cyrene itself. He was in Egypt when he learned, through our late Consul-General, Mr. Salt, that the Geographical Society had issued the programme above mentioned, which decided him upon attempting the enterprise that had long occupied his imagination. Before the end of the year 1825, he presented himself at Paris as a claimant for the offered prize. After due investigation, on the report of the late estimable and learned M. Malte Brun, it was adjudged to him; and this honourable reward had been preceded by a vote of thanks from the Academy of Inscriptions, which had respect more particularly to the archæological portion of his labours. The publication of his Travels was immediately decided upon, and permission was obtained to dedicate them to the King. But M. Pacho appears to have anticipated more solid rewards; and wounded pride or disappointed ambition induced a state of mind which at length verged on insanity, and he perished the victim of his morbid feelings, having just lived to pen the last lines of the present work. The following particulars of his previous history are furnished by his friend, M. Larenaudière.
"John Raymond Pacho was born at Nice in January, 1794. His father was a rich merchant, much respected, whose ancestors were of Swiss origin. Left an orphan when only eight years old-an age at which the care of a mother and the vigilant tenderness of a father are so much needed he was placed in the College of Tournon, in the department of Ardêche. There, his taste for drawing and botany was all at once developed, and was rivalled only by his love of poetry; predilections which ill accorded with the dry study of law, to which he was destined. Before the course of his studies at Aix was completed, he, in 1814, abandoned them, to return to his native place, where he received the portion of property that fell to him as an inheritance. Master of a fortune consisting wholly of personal property, at that time of life when little solicitude is felt for the future, and the necessity for saving is the last thing ever thought of, M. Pacho travelled into Italy, and spent some time at Turin. This tour enriched only his mind, increased only his information, and augmented only his enthusiasm for the fine arts and the monuments of antiquity. His fortune suffered from it; and in July, 1817, he came to Paris in the hope of repairing it. He flattered himself that, by the profession of painting, he might acquire a competence; and