“We can endure that he should waste
our lands,
Despoil our temples, and, by sword and
flame,
Return us to the dust from which we came;
Such food a tyrant’s appetite demands:
And we can brook the thought, that by
his hands
Spain may be overpower’d, and he
possess,
For his delight, a solemn wilderness,
Where all the brave lie dead. But,
when of bands
That he will break for us he dares to
speak,
Of benefits, and of a future day
When our enlighten’d minds shall
bless his sway—
Then the strain’d heart of fortitude
proves weak;
Our groans, our blushes, our pale cheeks
declare
That he has power to inflict what we lack
strength to bear.”]
North.—Well, Mr. Landor, we have rambled over much ground; we have journeyed from Dan to Beersheba, and found all barren. Let us return home.
Landor.—Before we do so, let me observe, that among several noted Italians whom you have not glanced at, there is one whom I revere—Alfieri. He was the greatest man of his time in Europe, though not acknowleged or known to be so; [110] and he well knew his station as a writer and as a man. Had he found in the world five equal to himself, he would have walked out of it not to be jostled. [111]
[Footnote 110: Vol. ii. p. 241.]
[Footnote 111: Vol. ii. p. 258.]
North.—He would have been sillier, then, than the flatulent frog in the fable. Yet Alfieri’s was, indeed, no ordinary mind, and he would have been a greater poet than he was, had he been a better man. I admire his Bruto Primo as much as you do, and I am glad to hear you give your suffrage so heartily in favour of any one.
Landor.—Sir, I admire the man as much as I do the poet. It is not every one who can measure his height; I can.
North.—Pop! there you go! you have got out of the bottle again, and are swelling and vapouring up to the clouds. Do lower yourself to my humble stature, (I am six feet four in my slippers.) Alfieri reminds me of Byron. What of him?