desires, its infinite capacity for devotedness and self-denial -the heart is the grand interpreter of its own rich memorials. This it is which renders Petrarch so near to us in feeling, although removed by centuries from this our actual era. This it is which makes the transatlantic pilgrim gaze with emotion upon the spot of his nativity, and feel akin to him in being chartered with a similar, though perhaps undeveloped power and "strong necessity of loving." It is not like a dry antiquarian research to summon his person and character before us. As a man of civic and social responsibilities, he belongs to the thirteenth century; as a lover, he is a citizen of all time and a brother of all living men who find their chief joy, trial and inspiration, in the exercise and interchange of senti

ment.

66

They keep his dust in Arqua where he died;

The mountain-village where his latter days

Went down the vale of years; and 'tis their pride-
An honest pride, and let it be their praise,
To offer to the passing stranger's gaze
His mansion and his sepulchre; both plain

And venerably simple, such as raise

A feeling more accordant with his strain,

Than if a pyramid formed his monumental fane."

It is not our intention to discuss the literary merits of Petrarch. This has been done too well and too often already. It is to the spirit which dictated and which has long been embalmed in his Sonnets, that we desired to call attention. Frequent doubts have, indeed, been cast upon the sincerity of these effusions. This, we imagine, results from the vain attempt to catch their legitimate meaning by a consecutive perusal. Devoted as they are to one subject, and cast in the same verbal form, a monotonous and artificial impression is the natural consequence of reading one after another, like the stanzas of a long

poem. To be enjoyed and appreciated, they should be separately considered. Each sonnet was the expression of a particular state of feeling; and it was not until after the poet's death that they were collected. Written at various times and in different moods, but always to give utterance to some particular thought or fantasy having reference to his love, there is necessarily more or less sameness pervading the whole. It is undeniable that many of the conceits are frigid, and betray the ingenuity of fancy rather than the ardour of passion; but these arose from the habit of " thinking too precisely"—a characteristic of all meditative beings, and which is so admirably illustrated in Hamlet's speculations. It should also be borne in mind that Petrarch's inducement thus elaborately to depict the varied effects of love upon his nature, was to give vent to emotions which were denied any other channel of escape :

"La vive voci m' erano interditti,

Ond' io gridai con carta e con inchiostro.” *

It is evident that he wrote chiefly from retrospection, and failed in the command of his mind, when under the immediate influence of deep tenderness or baffled desire: "Piu volte incomminciai di scriver versi, Ma la penna e la mano e' l'intelletto Rimaser vinti nel primier assalto." †

tion.

This sufficiently proves the genuineness of his inspira His allusions to the laurel-tree in reference to the name of his beloved, to the window at which he had seen her seated, to the waters beside which she had reposed, to the places in which he encountered her, and to her dress

*The living voice was denied me, hence I sought utterance in writing.

† Often I began to write verses, but the pen, the hand and the mind were overcome at the first attempt.

and the colour of her eyes and hair, her gait, her salutations, her smile, and her glances, are but the native overflowings of an ardent mind. It is the effect of ideality not only to exalt the actual into infinite possibility, but to reveal in detail every circumstance and association which Love has made sacred. Even those who can scarcely be deemed imaginative, are sensible of the magic agency of sounds, perfumes and the most ordinary visible objects connected, in their memories, with persons or localities singularly endeared. It is only requisite to extend this familiar principle to understand why Petrarch dwells with such fondness on the most trivial associations. They helped him to recall the past, to bring more distinctly before him the image of Laura, and to realize more completely the delicious though tyrannical sway of Love. The same explanation may be given of his constant appeals to Nature. The heart is thrown upon itself in love as in grief. Few, if any, fellow-beings, however near and dear, are fitted to share the confidence of our inmost affections. They have a sacredness, a delicacy, an individuality which makes us shrink from exposing them even to friendly observation :

"Not easily forgiven

Are those, who, setting wide the doors that bar
The secret bridal-chambers of the heart,

Let in the day."

The poet needed relief when denied sympathy, and therefore he apostrophised Nature, whose silent beauty wins but never betrays. It is worthy of remark that Petrarch was a skeptic in regard to love, as an enduring and deep principle of the human soul, until his own experience converted him so effectually to the faith.

-" e quel che in me non era,

Mi pareva un miracolo in altrui.”

Many live and die knowing nothing of love except through their intellect. Their ideas on the subject are fanciful, because it has never been revealed by consciousness. Yet it were to question the benignity of God, to believe that an element of our being so operative and subtle, and one that abounds chiefly in the good and the gifted, is of light import or not susceptible of being explained by reason, justified by conscience, and hallowed by religion, and thus made to bear a harvest not only of delight but of virtue. Love, Petrarch maintains, is the crowning grace of humanity, the holiest right of the soul, the golden link which binds us to duty and truth, the redeeming principle that chiefly reconciles the heart to life, and is prophetic of eternal good. It is a blessing or a bane, a weakness or a strength, a fearful or a glorious experience, according to the soul in which it is engendered. Let us endeavour to define its action and vindicate its worth, as set forth in the Sonnets of Petrarch.

All noble beings live in their affections. While this important fact has been ever illustrated by poets, it is seldom fully recognized in moral systems or popular theology. Yet, if we would truly discern the free, genuine elements of character, the history of the heart affords the only authentic ground of judgment. Love has been, and is, so mightily abused, that in the view of superficial reasoners it becomes identified rather with feebleness than strength. Yet, in point of fact, its highest significance can alone be realized by natures of singular depth and exaltation. To the unperverted soul, instead of a pastime it is a discipline. Once elevated from a blind instinct to a conscious principle, it is the mighty tide which sways all that is solemn and eternal in life. To love, in one sense, is, indeed, little more than an animal necessity; but to love nobly, profoundly-to love, as Madame de Stael expresses it, "at once with the mind and with the

heart," to dedicate to another mature sympathies, is the noblest function of a human being. The fever of passion, the ignoble motives, the casual impulses which belong to our nature, blend, it is true, with the exercise of all affection, but love, in its deepest and genuine import, is the highest and most profound interest of existence. This is a truth but imperfectly understood; but there are few spirits so utterly bereft of celestial affinities as not to respond more or less cordially, to every sincere appeal to a capacity so divine. All the folly of vain imaginations, all the coarseness of vulgar sensuality, all the scorn of mental hardihood, while they profane the name, can never violate the sacred realities of love. There have been, and there ever will be earnest and uncompromising hearts, who bravely vindicate a faith too native and actuating ever to be eradicated. Such natures can only realize themselves through love, and in proportion to their integrity will be their consciousness of the glory of this attribute. They intuitively anticipate its pervading influence upon their character and happiness. They feel that within it lies the vital points of their destiny, and through it their access to truth. The world may long present but glimpses of what they ever watch to descry. Life may seem barren of a good never absent from their inward sense. At times, from very weariness, they may be half inclined to believe that the love for which they pray, is but a poetic invention, having no actual type. Witnessing so much apparent renunciation, they may, at last, regard themselves as vain dreamers, and look back, with bitter regret upon years of self-delusion. But the great want, the haunting vision, the prophetic need, assert themselves still; and when, through self-denial and fervent trust, the dawn glimmers upon their souls, the lonely vigil and restless fears of the night are forgotten in “ a peace which the world can neither give nor take away.”