BALTHASAR BONIFACIUS,

Was born in the Venetian territory, about 1584. He had several ecclesiastical appointments, and in 1653 was advanced to the bishopric of Capo d'Istria, which he held until his death in 1659.

DANGEROUS LOVE ("Delitiæ Delitiarum," 91).
Translated by C.

All whom I love die young; Zoilus, I'll try,
Tho' loath'd, to love thee-that thou too may'st die.

The first words of this caustic distich contain a sentiment beautifully expressed by Moore in often quoted lines (“Lalla Rookh"-"The Fire Worshippers"):

Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour,

I've seen my fondest hopes decay;

I never lov'd a tree or flower,

But 'twas the first to fade away.

I never nurs'd a dear gazelle,

To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well,
And love me, it was sure to die!

ON THE DYING CHARICLITA (“ Delitiæ Delitiarum," 97).
Translated in the "Quarterly Review," No. 233.

Yon eye, that into shade the sunlight throws,
Death, had he sight, would have no heart to close.
My life upon 't, e'en Death himself would die

Of love, at sight of yonder starry eye.

This conceit, exaggerated though it be, is remarkably pretty. If it be thought open to censure as too fanciful, an observation in the "Tatler," No. 34, may be remembered: "There's no carrying a metaphor too far, when a lady's charms are spoke of."

Massinger gives expression to a very similar idea in "The Unnatural Combat" (Act II. sc. 3):

For she had

Such smooth and high-arch'd brows, such sparkling eyes,
Whose every glance stored Cupid's emptied quiver,
Such ruby lips,-and such a lovely bloom,

Disdaining all adulterate aids of art,

Kept a perpetual spring upon her face,
As Death himself lamented, being forced
To blast it with his paleness.

TO PHILLIS AT HER HUSBAND'S TOMB
("Delitiæ Delitiarum," 97).

Translated in the "Quarterly Review," No. 233.
Wreaths to your lost one's tomb you neither bring,
Nor round it, Phillis, showers of perfume fling.
Tears are your sole rich tribute, pour'd anew
O'er the dark urn that hides your love from view.
Hence from the turf upspringing, many a flower
Finds thy tear dew, thy glance the day-god's power.

CUNRADINUS.

It is difficult to trace the history of this poet. It is probable he was one Henry Cunrad, a German physician, who lived in the first half of the 17th century.

ON A FLY ENGRAVED IN A GOLDEN DRINKING-CUP ("Delitia Delitiarum," 131).

Translated in the “Quarterly Review," No. 233.

Deep down I drew my latest breath in a gold cup of wine. Could I have wish'd a sweeter death, or a more splendid shrine ?

Herrick has an epigram "On a Fly buried in Amber," in which the thought with regard to the richness of the shrine is similar:

I saw a flie within a beade

Of amber cleanly buried:

The urne was little, but the room

More rich than Cleopatra's tomb.

In another and longer piece, "On a Fly enclosed in an Ivory-box," Herrick refers to the following epigram by Martial (Book IV. 31), from which, therefore, it may be inferred he took his idea of the fly buried in amber; or perhaps more directly from another epigram, by the same author, on a viper so buried. The translation is by Hay:

The bee enclos'd, and through the amber shown,
Seems buried in the juice which was his own.
So honour'd was a life in labour spent:
Such might he wish to have his monument.

JOHN MILTON.

Born 1608. Died 1674.

TO CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN, WITH A PORTRAIT OF CROMWELL.

Translated by Sir Fleetwood Shepheard.

Bright martial maid, queen of the frozen zone,
The northern pole supports thy shining throne;
Behold what furrows age and steel can plough,
The helmet's weight oppress'd this wrinkled brow.
Through fate's untrodden paths I move, my hands
Still act my free-born people's bold commands:
Yet this stern shade to you submits his frowns,
Nor are these looks always severe to crowns.

This epigram is by some ascribed to Andrew Marvell. A long and interesting note on the subject, will be found in Warton's edition of Milton's Minor Poems, ed. 1791, 489.

Mr. Bryan Proctor (better known as Barry Cornwall) has given us a portrait of Cromwell, probably as true to life as the Shade" which was sent to the Queen of Sweden, and certainly more so than Milton's flattering lines which accompanied it:

**

Like some dark rock, whose rifts

Hold nitrous grain, whereon the lightning fires
Have glanced, and left a pale and livid light,
So he, some corp'ral nerve being struck, stood there
Glaring, but cold and pitiless.-Even hope

(The brightest angel whom the heavens have given
To lead and cheer us onwards) shrank aghast
From that stern look despairing.

TO LEONORA, SINGING AT ROME.
Translated by Cowper.

Another Leonora once inspired

Tasso with fatal love, to frenzy fired;
But how much happier lived he now, were he,
Pierced with whatever pangs for love of thee!
Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine,
With Adriana's lute of sound divine,

Fiercer than Pentheus' though his eye might roll,
Or idiot apathy benumb his soul,

You still with medicinal sounds might cheer
His senses wandering in a blind career;

And sweetly breathing through his wounded breast,
Charm with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest.

Adriana of Mantua, and her daughter Leonora Baroni, were esteemed by their contemporaries the finest singers in the world. Tasso is said to have been enamoured of three ladies of the name of Leonora; the one mentioned in the epigram is supposed by Dr. J. Warton (quoted in his brother's notes on Milton) to have been Leonora of Este, sister of Alphonso, Duke of Ferrara, at whose court Tasso resided.

Milton, in "L'Allegro," has exquisitely painted the power of music; and Shakespeare in the "Tempest" (Act I. sc. 2), makes Ferdinand say:

This music crept by me upon the waters;

Allaying both their fury and my passion,
With its sweet air.

Pope, in his "Ode on S. Cecilia's Day," shows the influence of music over the passions, in terms which bear much resemblance to those of Milton in his epigram:

Music the fiercest grief can charm,

And fate's severest rage disarm:

Music can soften pain to ease,

And make despair and madness please:

Our joys below it can improve,

And antedate the bliss above.

JOHN PETER BELLORI.

Born at Rome about 1616. His maternal uncle, Francis Angeloui, secretary to the Cardinal Aldobrandini, cultivated in him a love of antiquities, and he became greatly celebrated as an antiquary. Christina, Queen of Sweden, made him her librarian and keeper of her museum. He died in 1696, having passed his life in the composition of various works.

EPITAPH ON NICHOLAS POUSSIN
("Vite de Pittori, Scultori, &c." 1672).
Translated by C.

Forbear to weep where Poussin's ashes lie;
Who taught to live himself can never die!

Though silent here, from whence no language breaks,
Yet in his Works he lives, and eloquently speaks.

The thought that he "being dead yet speaketh," is quaintly expressed in an epigram on Marcus Tullius Cicero, by Nicholas Grimoald, who was born in the early part of the 16th century; was a lecturer on rhetoric in the University of Oxford; and is supposed to be the same as one Grimbold, mentioned by Strype as chaplain to Bishop Ridley ("Poetical Works of Surrey and others," Bell's ed. 1854, 220):

For Tully late a tomb I gan prepare,

When Cynthie, thus, bade me my labour spare:
"Such manner things become the dead," quoth he,
"But Tully lives, and still alive shall be."

There is another epigram of similar character by an anonymous author of nearly the same period, which is interesting from its subject-the celebrated Sir Thomas Wyat the elder, the statesman and poet Ibid. 249):

Lo, dead! he lives, that whilome lived here;

Among the dead, that quick goes on the ground;
Though he be dead, yet quick he doth appear
By lively name, that death cannot confound.
His life for aye of fame the trump shall sound.
Though he be dead, yet lives he here alive,
Thus can no death of Wyat life deprive.

M