nto the recesses
of the forest, was thickly covered with wild flowers, of many colors and
delicate forms; but we liked best the violets, for they reminded us
of home, though the driver seemed to think them less valuable than the
seeds of the pine-cones. A lovely day and history and romance united
to fascinate us with the place. We were driving over the spot where,
eighteen centuries ago, the Roman fleet used to ride at anchor. Here,
it is certain, the gloomy spirit of Dante found congenial place for
meditation, and the gay Boccaccio material for fiction. Here for hours,
day after day, Byron used to gallop his horse, giving vent to that
restless impatience which could not all escape from his fiery pen,
hearing those voices of a past and dead Italy which he, more truthfully
and pathetically than any other poet, has put into living verse. The
driver pointed out what is called Byron's Path, where he was wont to
ride. Everybody here, indeed, knows of Byron; and I think his memory
is more secure than any saint of them all in their stone boxes, partly
because his poetry has celebrated the region, perhaps rather from
the perpetuated tradition of his generosity. No foreigner was ever so
popular as he while he lived at Ravenna. At least, the people say so
now, since they find it so profitable to keep his memory alive and to
point out his haunts. The Italians, to be sure, know how to make
capital out of poets and heroes, and are quick to learn the curiosity of
foreigners, and to gratify it for a compensation. But the evident
esteem in which Byron's memory is held in the Armenian monastery of St.
Lazzaro, at Venice, must be otherwise accounted for. The monks keep his
library-room and table as they were when he wrote there, and like
to show his portrait, and tell of his quick mastery of the difficult
Armenian tongue. We have a notable example of a Person who became a monk
when he was sick; but Byron accomplished too much work during the few
months he was on the Island of St. Lazzaro, both in original composition
and in translating English into Armenian, for one physically ruined and
broken.

DANTE AND BYRON

The pilgrim to Ravenna, who has any idea of what is due to the genius of
Dante, will be disappointed when he approaches his tomb. Its situation
is in a not very conspicuous corner, at the foot of a narrow street,
bearing the poet's name, and beside the Church of San Francisco, which
is interesting as containing the tombs