This is much more in the strain of fanciful passionless ideality (like Petrarch's mistress, and his praises of her), than warm, ingenuous, honest love, "whose dwelling is the heart of man," and whose language is that of nature, which all may understand who ever knew affection. In the same vein of ingenious artificial compliment and conceit (often, indeed, elegant and captivating to the mind at ease, and amusing itself with love in idleness) are the Elegies, Sonnets, and Madrigals of Ariosto;--all calculated more to set off the beauties of his Muse than of his mistress; and rather to command admiration of himself, than to do honour to her, whom, though a divinity in song, and adored with magnificent rites, he worships with nearly as little devotion as an idol deserves. Of the following sonnet (the nineteenth in the series), Paolo Rolli says, "_non è stata mai scritta poesia più sublime_,"--"poetry more sublime was never written." It would be hard to persuade any Englishman of this. "Chiuso era il Sol da un tenebroso velo, Che si stendea fino all' estreme sponde Dell' orizonte, e mormorar le fronde S' udiano, e tuoni andar scorrendo il cielo. Di pioggia, in dubbio, o tempestoso gelo, Stav' io per gire oltre le torbid' onde Del fiume altier che il gran sepolcro asconde, Del figlio audace del Signor di Delo:-- "Quando apparir sull' altra ripa il lume De bei vostr' occhij vidi, e udij parole Che Leandro potean farmi quel giorno. E tutto a un tempo i nuvoli d'intorno Si dileguaro, e si scoperse il Sole, Tacquero i venti, e tranquillossi 'l fiume." "The sun was shrouded with a gloomy veil That reach'd the dim horizon's utmost bound, The forest leaves were heard to murmur round, And distant thunder peal'd along the gale. In doubt I stood, of rain or pelting hail, By the proud river, rapid and profound, Wherein Apollo's daring son was drown'd[108], Afraid to dip the oar or hoist the sail: "When, from the farther bank, the light I saw Of your fair eyes, and heard a voice, of power To make Leander of me in that hour. At once the clouds their dark array withdraw, The sun brake forth, the rainbow climb'd the hill, The winds were silent, and the waters still." The foregoing version has been rendered as little paraphrastic as might be (though the eighth line is interpolated); but all rhymed translations from the Italian, in the same number of lines as the original, must be encumbered either with additional thought or verbiage--our language being altogether more brief in syllabic composition.