y were originally deposited. This monument of
Ludovico, which still exists, is built of the most costly marble, and
adorned with two statues representing Glory and Poetry, together with
an effigy of the poet in alabaster."

Lord Byron illustrates a singular circumstance respecting the tomb of
Ariosto. "Before the remains were removed from the Benedictine Church to
the Library of Ferrara, his bust, which surmounted the tomb, was struck
by lightning, and a crown of iron laurels melted away:--

"'The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust
The iron crown of laurels' mimic'd leaves;
Nor was the ominous element unjust,
For the true laurel-wreath which glory weaves
Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves,
And the false semblance but disgraced his brow;
Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves,
Know, that the lightning sanctifies below
Whate'er it strikes;--yon head is doubly sacred now.'"[4]

The transfer of these sacred ashes on the 6th of June, 1801, was one of
the most brilliant spectacles of the short-lived Italian republic, and
to consecrate the memory of the ceremony, the once famous fallen
_Intrepidi_ were revived, and re-formed into the Ariostean academy.
The large public place through which the procession paraded, was then
for the first time called Ariosto Square.[5]

We must return to Mr. Stebbing's delightful _Lives of the Italian
Poets_, which work has so frequently aided us in the previous
columns.

[1] For these Lord B. acknowledges his obligation to his excellent
friend J.C. Hobbouse, Esq. M.P.

[2] In "Lives of the Italian Poets." By the Rev. Henry Stebbing,
vol. ii.

[3] Few persons will be disposed to question this extreme
sensitiveness, since instances of similar effects on men of
genius are by no means rare. Whoever has read Mr. Moore's _Life
of Byron_ must have remarked the asperity with which he
inveighs against blundering printers in the Letters to Mr.
Murray, his publisher.

[4] "Childe Harold," canto 4, st. xli.

[5] Notes to lines 1 and 2 of the preceding stanza.

* * * * *

FANNY.

(_For the Mirror._)

"I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
Would steal before the steps of time,
And waste thy bloom away."--MOORE.

Her place of rest is mantled o'er
With dews of early morning;
She heeds