LEONORA D'ESTE.

Of all the heaven-bestowed privileges of the poet, the highest, the dearest, the most enviable, is the power of immortalizing the object of his love; of dividing with her his wreath of glory, and repaying the inspiration caught from her eyes with a crown of everlasting fame. It is not enough, that in his imagination he has deïfied her-that he has consecrated his faculties to her honor—that he has burned his heart in incense upon the altar of her perfections; the divinity, thus decked out in richest and loveliest hues, he places on high, and calls upon all ages and all nations to bow down before her, and all ages and all nations obey! worshiping the beauty thus enshrined in imperishable verse, when others, not less fair, have gone down unsung, to Idust and endless darkness." How many women, who would otherwise have stolen through the shade of domestic life, their charms, virtues, and affections buried with them, have become objects of eternal interest and admiration, because their memory is linked with the brightest monuments of human genius.

Leonora D'Este, a princess of the proudest house in Europe, might have wedded an emperor and have been forgotten. The idea, true or false, that she it was who frenzied the brain and broke the heart of Tasso, has glorified her to future ages-has given her a fame something like that of the Greek of old, who bequeathed his name to posterity by firing the grandest temple in the universe.

No poet, perhaps, ever owed so much to female influence as Tasso, or wrote so much under the intoxicating inspiration of love and beauty. The high tone of sentiment, the tenderness and the delicacy which pervade all his poems, which prevail even in his most voluptuous descriptions, may be traced to the adoration he cherished for Leonora.

When Tasso was first introduced to Leonora, in her brother's court at Ferrara, in 1565, she was in her thirtieth year—still eminently lovely-in that soft, artless, unobtrusive style of beauty, which is charming in itself, and in a princess irresistible, from its contrast with the loftiness of her station and the trappings of her rank. Her complexion was extremely fair; her features small and regular; and the form of her head peculiarly graceful. Her eyes were blue, and her exquisitely beautiful mouth, Tasso styles "a crimson shell”—

Purpurea conca, in cui si nutre

Candor di perle elette e pellegrine.

Ill health, and her early acquaintance with the sorrows of her unfortunate mother,* had given to her countenance a languid and pensive cast, and destroyed all the natural bloom of her complexion; but "Paleur qui marque une ame tendre, a bien son prix" so Tasso thought; and this pallor which “ vanquishes the rose, and makes the dawn ashamed of her blushes," he has frequently and beautifully celebrated.

When Tasso first visited Ferrara he was just one-and-twenty, with all the advantages which a fine countenance, a majestic figure, noble birth, and exceeding talents could bestow. was already distinguished as the author of the Rinaldo, his

* Renée of France, the daughter of Louis XII. She was closely imprisoned during twelve years, on suspicion of favoring the early reformers.

earliest poem, in which he had celebrated (as if prophetically) the Princess D'Este-and chiefly Leonora. Tasso, from his boyish years, had been a sworn servant of beauty. Refined, even to fastidiousness, in his intercourse with women, he had formed, in his own poetical mind, the most exalted idea of what a female ought to be, and, unfortunately, she who first realized all his dreams of perfection was a princess—“ there seated where he durst not soar.

Although Leonora was his senior by several years, disparity of age is certainly no argument against the passion she inspired. For a young man, at his first entrance into life, to fall in love ambitiously-with a woman, for instance, who is older than himself, or with one who is, or ought to be, unattainable—is a common occurrence. Leonora was not unworthy of her illustrious conquest. She was of studious and retired habits-seldom joining in the amusements of her brother's Court, then the gayest and most magnificent in Italy. Her mother, Reneé of France, had early instilled into her mind a love of literature, and especially of poctry. She was passionately fond of music, and sang admirably; and, to a sweet-toned voice, added a gift, which, unless thus accompanied, loses half its value and almost all its charm. She spoke well; and her eloquence was so persuasive, that we are told she had power to move her brother Alphonso, when none else could. Tasso says most poetically,

"El' aura del parlar cortese e saggio,

Fra le rose spirar, s'udia sovente;"

—meaning—for to translate literally is scarcely possible—that eloquence played round her lips like the zephyr breathing

With what emotions must a young and ardent poet have

listened to his own praises from a beautiful mouth, thus sweetly gifted! He says, "My heart was touched through my ears; her gentle wisdom penetrated deeper than her beauty could reach."

To be summoned daily into the presence of a princess thus beautiful and amiable—to read aloud his verses to her, to hear his own praises from her lips, to bask in her approving smiles, to associate with her in her retirement, to behold her in all the graceful simplicity of her familiar life—was a dangerous situation for Tasso, and surely not less so for Leonora herself. That she was aware of his admiration and perfectly understood his sentiments, and that a mysterious intelligence existed between them, consistent with the utmost reverence on his part, and the most perfect delicacy and dignity on hers, is apparent from the meaning and tendency of innumerable passages scattered through his minor poems-too significant to be mistaken. Without multiplying quotations which would extend this sketch from pages into volumes, it is sufficient that we may trace through Tasso's verses the little incidents which varied this romantic intercourse. The frequent indisposition of Leonora, and her absence when she went to visit her brother, the Cardinal d'Este, at Tivoli, form the subjects of several beautiful little poems. He relates, in a beautiful little madrigal, that, standing alone with her in a balcony, he chanced, perhaps in the eagerness of conversation, to extend his arm on hers. He asks pardon for the freedom, and she replies with sweetness, “You offended not by placing your arm there, but by withdrawing it." This little speech in a coquette would have been sans consequence. From such a woman as Leonora it spoke volumes, and her lover felt it so. But Leonora knew, as well as her lover, that a princess was no love-mate for a bard." She knew far