"_In the bright region of the fertile east Where constant calms smooth heav'n's unclouded brow, There lives an easy people, vow'd to rest, Who on love only all their hours bestow: By no unwelcome discontent opprest, No cares save those that from this passion flow, Here reigns, here ever uncontroll'd did reign; The beauteous Queen sprung from the foaming main._ _Her hand the sceptre bears, the crown her head, Her willing vassals here their tribute pay: Here is her sacred power and statutes spread, Which all with cheerful forwardness obey: The lover by affection hither led, Receives relief, sent satisfied away: Here all enjoy, to give their last flames ease, The pliant figure of their mistresses ..._ _Love every structure offers to the sight, And every stone his soft impression wears. The fountains, moving pity and delight, With amorous murmurs drop persuasive tears. The rivers in their courses love invite, Love is the only sound their motion bears. The winds in whispers soothe these kind desires, And fan with their mild breath Love's glowing fires._" Ticknor ranks this as "the most agreeable and original of Boscán's works," and as to the correctness of the first adjective there can be no two opinions. But concerning Boscán's originality there is much to say. Passage upon passage in the _Octava Rima_ is merely a literal rendering of Bembo's _Stanze_, and the translation begins undisguised at the opening line. Where the Italian writes, "_Ne l'odorato e lucido Oriente_," the Spaniard follows him with the candid transcription, "_En el lumbroso y fértil Oriente_"; and the imitation is further tesselated with mosaics conveyed from Claudian, from Petrarch, and Ariosto. None the less is it just to say that the conveyance is executed with considerable—almost with masterly—skill. The borrowing nowise belittles Boscán; for he was not—did not pose as—a great spirit with an original voice. He makes no claim whatever, he seeks for no applause—the shy, taciturn experimentalist who published never a line of verse, and piped for his own delight. Equipped with the ambition, though not with the accomplishment, of the artist, Boscán has a prouder place than he ever dreamed of, since he is confessedly the earliest representative of a new poetic dynasty, the victorious leader of a desperately forlorn hope. That title is his laurel and his garland. He led his race into the untrodden ways, triumphing without effort where men of more strenuous faculty had failed; and his results have successfully challenged time, inasmuch as there has been no returning from his example during nigh four hundred years. Not a great genius, not a lordly versifier, endowed with not one supreme gift, Boscán ranks as an unique instance in the annals of literary adventure by virtue of his enduring and irrevocable victory.