The Sun.
London, England, 1847-12-30 00:00:00

LITERATURE.
LEONORA : a Lore Story. 3 Vole.
Leonora : a Love Story—such is the title of one of
the most beautiful books, of its kind, that we ever re-
member having met with. Its name is sufficiently
attractive to excite an interest in the work, but how
much is that interest augmented when we learn who
is the " Leonora," and what the " story" to which it
refers. The "story" is one peculiarly fascinating,
because it is true—the story of a love sublimated by
genius, and sanctified by misfortune " the Leonora"
IS Leonora d'Este—the beloved of Torquato Tasso !
there are some pages in the history of the past which
seem to possess an irresistible and universal source of
attraction, we are never weary of dwelling on 'them ;
they are familiar to us as household words, yet they ap-
pear to us ever fresh and ever delightful. Many of these
pages, strange to say, are blotted with tears—with
the tears of successive generations; as they aroused the
sympathies of our ancestors, as they now affect our-
selves, so will they hereafter influence our successors.
They possess a similar interest for, the whole
human family, for they treat of a theme intelli-
gible to all—the history of human hearts. And of
these pages in the history of the past, none are
deemed so attractive, and none are so fondly recurred
to as those which contain the records of unhappy
love. This theme, of all others, seems to possess the
most universal and powerful interest. The wanderer
in Pere la Chaise will pass by the monuments of
prince and prelate to linger by the tomb of Abelard
and Eloisa. Great historic events are forgotten or
uncared for, while the names of Petrarch and Laura,
of Dante and Beatrice, of Tasso and Leonora, are
familiar to all hearts. We will not pause to inquire
why this is—that it is so, is proverbial ; and for this
reason this very charming tale cannot fail, indepen-
dently of its own merits, to excite a most powerful
interest. There perhaps never existed a man whose
career was so well calculated to "point a moral," or
read a sermon on the vanity of human wishes, as was
that of Torquato Tasso. The two most dearly
coveted prizes of human life—love and fame
—were his, and in an extraordinary degree ;
but how were they bestowed upon him ?
Loving with all the ardour and intensity of a poet's
nature, and beloved as devotedly as poet could desire,
the happiness of love seemed only for a brief moment
Vouchsafed to him in order that he might the better
experience all its agony. He dared to lift his thoughs
to a princess, and the consequence was his forcible
separation from his beloved, and his incarceration in
a gloomy dungeon for seven long weary years, till
she was dead, and then, and not till then, was he
restored to a world that in his estimation had become
valueless. Small happiness did Love award to Tasso.
Nor was Fame more propitious. True, the poet of
Jerusalem now enjoys a world-wide celebrity, and
even in his own day was hailed as the poet of his age
and country, and the triumph of the capitol was
decreed him—a triumph unawarded during two hun-
dred
years. Yet what joys did these glories afford the
poet P—his great epic was published while he languished
in a dungeon—and the day before the one appointed
for his triumphant coronation he expired ! Such is
the history of Tasso, and interesting as such a history
would be under any form, it is peculiarly fascinat-
ing as narrated in these volumes of " Leonora."
They are written, we believe, by one who has long
been familiar to us all, as the able exponent of the
genius of others, and a most natural and truthful
expositor of nature and truth. She now comes for-
ward in a higher character, no longer to shine in a
merely borrowed light. Much as we might have
anticipated in a work from such a hand, we
must own that these volumes have both surprised
and delighted us. The whole story is narrated
in such a simple, natural, and pleasing manner—
the love and sorrows of Leonora and Tasso are pour-
!rayed with such feeling,: and tenderness, and genuine
pathos; there is such an entire absence of effort, of
fectation, and overstrained sentiment, and such a
constant flow of kindly and generous thought
throughout the whole work, as to render the " Love
story" of " Leonora," as we have already said, a most
beautiful and charming composition. It is a book we
would gladly see in the hands of every one, for it is
a book to do the heart good, by arousing some of its
warmest sympathies, and eliciting some of its purest
and noblest aspirations. True, the theme is a some-
what mournful one, and is likely to call tears to the
eyes which peruse its pages, yet the book is far
from being a gloomy one ; on the contrary, it
is pervaded by a thoroughly religious and, con-
sequently, right cheerful spirit. Not that it contains
a superabundance of sermons and moral reflections,
to which novel readers are invariably repugnant, but
by casual observations on the affairs of life, and
happy allusions to the universal beauties of nature,
no small amount of profound philisophy and practical
piety is infused into the narrative, by which the
reader finds himself imperceptibly elevated and
cheered. We might give many extracts to corrobo-
rate our assertions, but as we trust the book itself
will be generally read, we will only adduce a few
examples of its merits. Tasso is asked how he traces
the manifestations of a Deity in nature ?
" I should say," be answered, after a moment's reflec-
tion, " that it is in her beauty and sublimity. The
*ublime scenes which are presented to our view create
awe and reverence in our breasts; and this is because
the omnipotence of God is expressed by the sublimity
of Nature. The beautiful pictures of our world call
forth spontaneous love, gratitude, and confidence, be-
cause the love and mercy of God are reflected in all that
is beautiful. In these two clearly developed features of
Nature, I see the power, and welcome the love, of my
God. If I shrink before the one, I am cheered and
'consoled by tokens of the other. Yes, lady, I believe
all Nature to be symbolical of Him from nhose mighty
hand she sprung."
Again, speaking of Nature, how exhilarating is the
following description of spring, and the beneficial in-
fluences it should exert :
"Already the sweet promise of spring had come with
gladness, to succeed the sternness of winter. Nature
again became young, as if a crcation'of but yesterday,
and welcomed with a happy smile the sweet buds which
were wafted into her lap by vernal breezes. Inanimate
objects seemed to pant for their coming liberty, to woo
the genial influence that should unloose their bonds, and
to shake off the wintery chains of crystal ice which had
bound them. Vegetation burst forth, as at the com-
mand of Him who said, Let the earth bring forth
grass: the herb yielding, seed, and the fruit-tree yielding
fruit .. . and it was so. In the figurative language of
that volume, which „abounds in sublime delineations of
nature, the hills appeared to shout for joy, the woods to
clap their hands, and the valleys to break forth into
singing; for, lo ! the winter is past, the rain is over and
gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the
singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is
heard in our land.
" The rich blue of the Italian sky was reflected in
every stream and rivulet, the mountains were covered
with verdure, the meads were enamelled as with the
brightest gems.
" All nature was happy ; and was not 'l'asso also
happy? Did the inanimate works of God rejoice; and
yet was a child of God, was one of the vast family of
man, for whom these beauties shone, sorrowful or de-
sponding? Oh, it should not be so !—for the Creator
giveth us all things richly to enjoy:—the heavens and
the earth are full of His mercy I
" It is painful to reflect, that in a scene of such sur-
passing loveliness there can be any human being
wretched; and yet the poor, the oppressed, the desolate,
are out of tune with all the sweet harmonies of nature.
The brightness of the sun oppresses them: they long
for shade, for darkness. The return of spring bears
not to them a return of former joys, but mocks them as
she declares, My children are renewed in strength, in
gladness, and in youth; they are born again; from their
very ashes they derive a new and happy existence.' But
then she gently leads the child of woe by the hand, and
would console him: ' Come and see the delights I have
prepared for thee. It is for thee, not for myself, I have
spread this feast. Come and smile with me. "
And in another place, referring to the same
theme :
"To those who, even while in health, are worn out by
fatigue in doing nothing, and are incapable of taking
pleasurnin Nature's scenes, we would say, be ill for a
time, in order to be well. Be shut up in your room for
• 801112111 weeks in summer; behold the light streaming
through your prison window, babbling of green fields and
running streams, which you in your enfeebled condition
can desire, but not enjoy. And then, on the return of
health, when you can wander in country lanes and daisied
meadows, when you may again ascend the hill and view
the smiling valley, again roam by the ocean wave and
taste the delights of liberty, you will not complain of
life, you will no longer be indifferent to Nature's charms;
every leaf will possess its peculiar interest, every song
of the merry birds will be sweet music. You will then
find—
Tongues in trees, books in the running brook,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
The following is a splendid exposition of the truth of
poetry. Tasso is told that his noble art is very well
as an amusement :-
6" An amusement!' replied Tasso, scornfully; it is
a business of life; it is life itself ; nay, more than the
life of this world. It is the power of the life to come,
shedding its bright, immortal influence upon our souls.
Amnsementl It is one of the most serious affairs on
which our minds can be engaged.'
" Yes, yes; what you say is true, to some extent.
But even you must allow it is mere fiction after all, not
reality, about which our, or rather your art is con
cerned. -I have heard it said, by learned men, that
poetry is a lie.'
'" Then,' said Tasso, with enthusiasm, is existence
itself a lie; a gross deception from beginning to end. If
poetry be not true, then is nothing true on earth, in our
hearts, in our souls. This is a slander on one of the
divinest gifts which has been vouchsafed to man. Poetry
is the expression of the truest and deepest emotions of
our souls. It appeals to the purest and most permanent
principles of our nature, to the divine part of humanity,
the es:wilco breathed into man by his Maker, and
destined to live for ever. With earnest, yet simple
truthfulness, it tells us what we are; with prophetic
power it shows us what we shall be. Hence, in ancient
times, the poet and the prophet were one. He is styled
divine, because he seems to partake of divinity by the
similarity of his operations to those of the Sovereign
Artificer ; the Greeks named him by an attribute of
deity, inferring that none deserve the name of creator

but God and the poet. Be is the creator of the good,
the beautiful, the true.
" ' The conventialistns of daily intercourse, the super-
ficial, artificial, habits of society, these are lies, for they
conceal eternal facts from us, would hide them, would
not recognise them, would trifle them away into mere
nothingness. The poet, like the inspired men of old,
lifts the veil of nature, and declares the mysteries which
lie, unknown to us, within our own souls, and the secrets
of a higher state of existence.
" If man were just to himself, he would perceive
that his sublimest and deepest aspirations belong to him
permanently, eternally. They are essentially the man;
they alone will live for ever. He would also feel con-
scious that the mere life he leads does not satisfy these
aspirations; it does not agree, nor harmonize with them.
It therefore must be false, if it be discordant with prin-
ciples which, in themselves, are, as I assert, true.
0, my friend, let us not deceive ourselves. Our
daily routine of thoughts, words, and actions, is too
often at variance with the spirit within us. We will not
obey the dictates of our higher faculties, but fritter them
away on the merest trifles. We endeavour to stifle their
voice. Hence our characters are deficient in harmony
and proportion; hence are we discontented, dissatisfied,
because our spiritual nature is not satisfied, because
its powers are unexercised, its mighty influence dis-
regarded.' "
Here is a poetical eulogium uponja tear :

" I love the tear of pity! what holy feelings prompt
its flowing; what tender influences bid it to leave its
crystal cell, to come forth like a good hermit, on
active missions of duty. Beautiful is its cause, its
effect, knitting heart to heart in one sweet embrace of
human sympathy. It rivets the links of that great chain
that binds man to man; it is the eloquent language of
the purest affection, of religious hope, of exceeding joy,
of sorrow for the dead—or the living who are as if they
were dead. It glitters on the velvet cheek of youth and
beauty; it traces its coarse along the furrows of age. It
is the offering of pity on the altar where human hopes
and joys lie sacrificed, but it sanctifies and ennobles
them."
In one place it is very truthfully observed that
" human weaknesses are as the bonds by which the
Titans of old were restrained from soaring to heaven."
In another very effective simile the gloom which
occasionally overspread the soul of Tasso is com-
pared to " the rushing of dark waves over the
smiling scenes of industry ;" and in another
place, " A marriage without love is as a lifeless form ;
the soul, the divine essence, is absent. The cold and
earthly body alone is present. Say that there is
wealth ; it is but decking the corpse with jewels ; it
cannot restore the spirit which has fled." There is,
perhaps, too much truth in this brief but beautiful
sentence—" Life is one long tragedy to those who
feel." Some references to religious persecutions, to
war, and to the punishment of criminals, elicit the ex-
pression of some very generous and noble sentiments,
in perfect unison with the liberal tendencies of the
present day. In the general condemnation of war,
even the Crusades, celebrated by Tasso, are included.
" I can understand," says Leonora—for she it is who
expresses these sentiments—" I can understand the wars
carried on by the Greeks, the Romans, the Trojans,
and the Carthaginians; for their worship was of
gods, the chief of whom were but military heroes
delighting and taking part in the bloody victories of
their creatures. I can comprehend the Saracens love
of war, for Mahomet established his empire by the
sword, and encouraged its use among his followers.
But for Christians, worshippers of the God
of Peace, disciples of the Prince of Peace,
to engage in the shock of battle, to de-
stroy their fellow-men, to take away that which
they cannot restore, to make widows and orphans—
this I cannot understand. Would He, think you,
who lay in that sepulchre three days and nights, have
sanctioned their attempts Y Would he have desired his
tomb to be made the motive and the scene of murderous
warfare ? Oh, no !" In this condemnation of the
holy wars there are very few who will coincide, but
the expression of such opinions evidences the very
benevolent and humane sentiments of the authoress
of " Leonara." We are almost tempted to give the
touching picture of Leonara's death ; but it is better,
perhaps, to leave it to be perused at the conclusion of
the story of her hapless existence. The closing scene
of Tasso's life is also very powerfully depicted. How
beautiful is the conclusion of the history, where the
poet dies as he is summoned to his coronation !
" Hush! he is not suffering pain, but joy. Let the
broken spirit pass away in peace; his sorrows are at an
end; his pilgrimage is finished. Hark! the people shout
aloud for Tasso. To the Capitol! To the Capitol!'
He is in heaven with Leonora!"
This beautiful work:reminds us of Byron's noble
eulcgium on his brother poet and his indignant de-
nunciation of Alfonso of Ferrara, the brother of
Leonora, who consigned her lover to prison as a
madman for presuming to love his sister. Speaking
of Este and Ferrara, Byron beautifully and truthfully
exclaims—

‘. And Tasso is their glory and their shame.
Hark to his strain ! and then survey his cell !
And see how dearly earned Torquato's fame,
And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell ;
The miserable despot could not quell
The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend
With the surrounding maniacs in the hell
Where he had plunged it. Glory without end
Scattered the clouds away—and on that name attend
The tears and praises of all time
Peace to TorqUato's injured shade ! 'twas his
In life and death to be the mark where Wrong
A im'd with her poison'd arrows, but to miss.
Oh, Victor, unsurpassed in modern song !
Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long
The tide of generations shall roll on,
And not the whole combined and countless throng
Compose a mind like thine ? though all in one
Condensed their scattered rays, they would not form

a sun."

Heartily do we commend these delightful volumes
to our readers. Their theme is a most affecting and
most interesting one, and that theme is set forth in
the most natural and attractive manner possible. And
although we have often experienced admiration and
pleasure in witnessing the writer of " Leonora" in
various characters, we have never in any character
welcomed her with so sincere a pleasure as we do in
this, her new one, of an authoress.

CHILDREN'S CHRISTMAS BOOKS

GREEN'S NURSERY ANNUAL.

Of the myriads of elegant and attractive volumes
which make their appearance at this season, it is but
fair that a considerable number should be devoted to
the amusement of the younger portion of the com-
munity. In the school-room and the nursery, where
holidays are best appreciated, holiday gifts are most
appropriate. Authors and publishers have apparently
not failed to discover this fact, and the literary
1547 and and " New Year's Gifts" for
47 lB4B present
a very agreeable end attractive
variety, suited to all ages, tastes, and capacities. One of
the most elegant of these little volumes is " Green's Nur-
sery Annual." Its contents are, as its name intimates,
peculiarly adapted for very youthful readers, and to
them it carries a sufficient recommendation in its very
prepossessing appearance. Its cover is of crimson
velvet, elegantly embossed in fanciful designs, dis-
playing various youthful sports, with a golden group
in the centre. It is, of course, ornamented with nu-
merous illustrations, many of which are coloured, and
will, consequently, be esteemed doubly valuable by
the youthful connoisseurs; moreover, every page is
surrounded with a very elegant border of blue, pink,
green, or yellow, in which again children are depicted
at their sports, eager
" To chase the rolling circle's speed,

Or urge the flying
The literary department consists of simple but
pleasing tales, likely to amuse and interest those for
whom they are designed. Of these are " Arthur's
Ninth Birthday," by Miss J. Christmas ; " The
Clever Boy," by Mrs. S. C. Hall ; " The Harvest
Home." by Mrs. Sherwood ; " The Christmas Tree,"
by Mary Howitt ; and several contributions by the
Editor—among others, a very interesting little ar-
ticle, " Shaking the Crab Tree," conveying
,a moral
somewhat similar to that of La Fontaine 's fable,
"Le Laboureur et sea Enfans." Mrs. Abdy has
contributed some very pleasing little poems, under
the head of " Songs of the Affections,' about "My
Father,"
4, My Mother," "My Sister," &c., including
also "My Kitten." To the little inhabitants of the
nursery we can cordially recommend the " Nursery
Annual."

My OWN ANNUAL.
Although this little volume would seem to belong to
whoever may read its name, its title-page describes
it it as "an illustrated g ift-book for boys and girls,
while its contents seem to awardit more peculiarly
to the former—namely, to the elder brothers of those
to whom we have recommended the "Nursery An-
nual." Its contents, indeed, are of a higher cha-
racter than its name would lead us to suppose. A
brief enumeration of its articles will undoubtedly be
the best recommendation for "My Owa Annual."
Among the
more instructive yet very intereresting
papers which it contains are a chapter " On Stilts and
Stilt-fights ;" some anecdotes of the "Bedouin Arabs;"
descriptions of " Cairo," " Palmyra," and " Liverpool
and its Docks; " information about " Deer and
Deer-stalking," "Doves and Pigeons," " The
Pointer," and " Setters and Retrievers ;" -while
among the more entertaining and attractive articles
are " The Story of Fawnia the Fair and the Prince
Dorastus ;" several chapters of " Further Adventures
in the Life of Tom Thumb," " The Star," and other
tales. The volume is of course embellished with
many illustrations, and is likely to form a very valu-
able addition to the juvenile library.

JUVENILE VERSE AND PICTURE-BOOK.
We have classed this little volume with
" Children's" Books, for among such it numbers
itself " The Juvenile Verse and Picture-Book." It
would have been more appropriate, however, had it
styled itself a Universal "Verse and Picture-Book,"
for although every way calculated to please juvenile
readers, its admirers are likely to he of no one age
or taste, or capacity. Unpretending as is its name, this
Attie work contains many of the gems of English

poetry—some that are familiar to us as household
words, and others that appear ever new and attractive.
Among these are " The Burial of Sir John Moore,"
" Casablanca," " I.lwelyn and his Dog," " John
Gilpin," Scott's " Death of Keeldar," the sarcastic
eulogy of the " Famous Victory" of Blenheim, given
by old Caspar to his grandchildren—
" And everybody praised the Duke,
Who such a fight did win.
But what good come of it at last ?
Quoth little Peterkin.
Why, that I cannot tell, said he,
But 'twas a famous victory."
_ _ _

That astonishing and perfectly berNTildering assem-
blage of words, which tells " how the water
comes down at Lodore," numerous ballads and
other poems of every imaginable variety. But
the poetic contents of this volume are not its only
attraction—it is not only a " verse," but a " picture, '
book. Every page is ornamented with some fanciful
embellishment, and almost every page is adorned
with some most beautiful illustration. Birds, flowers,
landscapes, historical scenes, domestic groups, and a
variety of other subjects are all pourtrayed with
exceeding grace of design and exquisite delicacy of
finish.