wrecks! On the Alps his soul breathes the free air once more.
Free air! Alas! let the world-healers exhaust their chemistry; man never
shall be as free in the marketplace as on the mountain. But we, reader,
we too escape from these scenes of false wisdom clothing godless crime.
Away, once more

"In den heitern Regionen Wo die reinen Formen wohnen."

Away, to the loftier realm where the pure dwellers are. Unpolluted by
the Actual, the Ideal lives only with Art and Beauty. Sweet Viola, by
the shores of the blue Parthenope, by Virgil's tomb, and the Cimmerian
cavern, we return to thee once more.

CHAPTER 1.IX.

Che non vuol che 'l destrier piu vada in alto,
Poi lo lega nel margine marino
A un verde mirto in mezzo un lauro E UN PINO.
"Orlando Furioso," c. vi. xxiii.

(As he did not wish that his charger (the hippogriff) should take
any further excursions into the higher regions for the present,
he bound him at the sea-shore to a green myrtle between a laurel
and a pine.)

O Musician! art thou happy now? Thou art reinstalled at thy stately
desk,--thy faithful barbiton has its share in the triumph. It is thy
masterpiece which fills thy ear; it is thy daughter who fills the
scene,--the music, the actress, so united, that applause to one is
applause to both. They make way for thee, at the orchestra,--they no
longer jeer and wink, when, with a fierce fondness, thou dost caress
thy Familiar, that plains, and wails, and chides, and growls, under thy
remorseless hand. They understand now how irregular is ever the symmetry
of real genius. The inequalities in its surface make the moon luminous
to man. Giovanni Paisiello, Maestro di Capella, if thy gentle soul could
know envy, thou must sicken to see thy Elfrida and thy Pirro laid aside,
and all Naples turned fanatic to the Siren, at whose measures shook
querulously thy gentle head! But thou, Paisiello, calm in the long
prosperity of fame, knowest that the New will have its day, and
comfortest thyself that the Elfrida and the Pirro will live forever.
Perhaps a mistake, but it is by such mistakes that true genius conquers
envy. "To be immortal," says Schiller, "live in the whole." To be
superior to the hour, live in thy self-esteem. The audience now would
give their ears for those variations and flights they were once wont to
hiss. No!--Pisani has been two-thirds of a life at silent work on his
masterpiece: there is nothing he can add