it his gift of speaking so authentically for the popular heart. That which he did later showed that he studied the people's thought and expression _con amore_, and in no vain sentiment of dilettanteism, or antiquarian research, or literary patronage. It is not to be supposed that Dall' Ongaro's literary life had at this period an altogether objective tendency. In the volumes mentioned, there is abundant evidence that he was of the same humor as all men of poetic feeling must be at a certain time of life. Here are pretty verses of occasion, upon weddings and betrothals, such as people write in Italy; here are stanzas from albums, such as people used to write everywhere; here are didactic lines; here are bursts of mere sentiment and emotion. In the volume of Fantasie, published at Florence in 1866, Dall' Ongaro collected some of the ballads from his early works, but left out the more subjective effusions. I give one of these in which, under a fantastic name and in a fantastic form, the poet expresses the tragic and pathetic interest of the life to which he was himself vowed. THE SISTER OF THE MOON. Shine, moon, ah shine! and let thy pensive light Be faithful unto me: I have a sister in the lonely night When I commune with thee. Alone and friendless in the world am I, Sorrow's forgotten maid, Like some poor dove abandoned to die By her first love unwed. Like some poor floweret in a desert land I pass my days alone; In vain upon the air its leaves expand, In vain its sweets are blown. No loving hand shall save it from the waste, And wear the lonely thing; My heart shall throb upon no loving breast In my neglected spring. That trouble which consumes my weary soul No cunning can relieve, No wisdom understand the secret dole Of the sad sighs I heave. My fond heart cherished once a hope, a vow, The leaf of autumn gales! In convent gloom, a dim lamp burning low, My spirit lacks and fails. I shall have prayers and hymns like some dead saint Painted upon a shrine, But in love's blessed power to fall and faint, It never shall be mine. Born to entwine my life with others, born To love and to be wed, Apart from all I lead my life forlorn, Sorrow's forgotten maid. Shine, moon, ah shine! and let thy tender light Be faithful unto me: Speak to me of the life beyond the night I shall enjoy with thee. II