“Ere yon low sun shall nestle in his bed” (Began the Mantuan who had brought us here), “Desire not down among them to be led; You better will observe how they appear, Both face and action, from this bank, instead Of mixing with them in the dale. That one Who sits the highest, looking, ‘mid the throng, As though some duty he had left undone, Who moves his lips not with the rest in song, Was Rodolph, Emperor, he who might have healed Those wounds which Italy have so far spent That slow relief all other helpers yield. The other, that on soothing him seems bent, Once ruled the region whence those waters are Which Moldau bears to Elbe, and Elbe the sea. His name was Ottocar, and better far, Yea, in his very swaddling-robe, was he Than Vincislaus, his big-bearded son Whom luxury and ease have made so gross. And he of slender nose, who, with the one So bland of aspect, seems in consult close, Died flying, and in dust his lilies laid. Look! how he beats the breast he cannot calm: Mark too his mate there sighing, who hath made For his pale cheek a pillow of his palm! One is the Father of that pest of France, Father-in-law the other: well they know His lewd, base life! this misery is the lance That to the core cuts either of them so. And he so stout of limb, in unison Singing with him there of the manly nose, Of every virtue put the girdle on; And if that youth behind him in repose Had after him reigned in his Father’s stead, Virtue from vase to vase had been well poured, Which of the other heirs may not be said. Frederic and James now o’er those kingdoms lord, In whom that better heritage lies dead. Rarely doth human goodness rise again Through the tree’s branches: He hath willed it so Who gives this boon of excellence, that men Should ask of him who can alone bestow.” “Not more these words of mine at Peter glance Than him he sings with (of the large nose there) Whose death Apulia mourneth, and Provènce, So ill the tree doth with its stock compare! Even so much more of her good lord his wife Constance yet vaunts herself, than Margaret may, Or Beatrice. That king of simplest life, Harry of England, sitting there survey All by himself: his branches are more blest! The one who sits there with uplifted gaze Among the group, but lower than the rest, Is Marquis William, in whose cause the frays Of Alexandria have with grief oppressed Both Monferrato and the Canavese.” THE RUSSIAN IDEA. FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN. “We must obey the emperor rather than God.” I. A GOOD MOTHER. THE Baroness Olga von Sempach was respected, wealthy, benevolent, and therefore loved by the poor. When, in the summer, she visited her estates in Posen, to breathe for some months the healthy country air, the poor of that place would exclaim: “Our mother has come again!”