PORTUGUESE poetry is like a time-honoured Olive, that in its prime was rich in luxuriant leaves and fair fruit, but is now drooping in decay; its foliage thinned, and its fruits degenerated, and giving no sign of throwing up vigorous saplings from its root.

It is, however, sometimes pleasant to let memory recall the flourishing times of a good old tree in its declining age: thus a few reminiscences of the better days of the Lusitanian muse may not be unacceptable now in its decadence, and the specimens we offer through the medium of translation we may symbolise as leaves, preserving the form, and in some degree the colour, though not the freshness, of their original existence.

The literature of Portugal is not so full in all its departments as that of Spain; but it is more rich in lyric and pastoral poetry than its Castilian rival, and the Portuguese muse flourished before the Spanish existed. "Portuguese songs," says the editor of the

Lusitanian Parnassus," "are coeval with the language itself;" but the early versifiers are difficult to be understood, and are often unintelligible, even to natives of Portugal, at the present day.

But though King Diniz in the thirteenth century, and his son, King Alfonso IV., encouraged Portuguese poetry by their own examples, it was not till the fifteenth century that it approached the rapid and vigorous development in which it flourished under King Emanuel, surnamed "the Great," and "the Fortunate." Emanuel loved literature and science, and assiduously studied geography, navigation, and astronomy: that he was also a believer in judicial astrology is not surprising, considering his era. He particularly delighted in history, frequently causing the chronicles of his predecessors

to be read to his son, afterwards John III., for his instruction, and to himself for his recreation. He was reputed a good Latin scholar, and took pleasure in conversing with learned men at his table; and was anxious that the young nobility should be well educated. He wished to render his Court the most polished in Europe; and, therefore, endeavoured to compose it of men distinguished for cultivation and for honourable sentiments, and of women esteemed for their accomplishments and virtues.

This respectable Court was, however, in danger of becoming gloomy and austere under the auspices of the Queen (Mary of Arragon, second wife of Emanuel), for her Majesty appears, from the testimony of Damian de Goes, to have been a sombre devotee, who was rarely seen to smile, but was wholly absorbed in religious exercises and conventual observances; and whose recreations consisted only in needlework, in which she kept her ladies employed as well as herself, firmly believing a moment of idleness, or of mere recreation, to be sinful. Yet she was a woman of large and consistent benevolence, and unrelaxing alms deeds. She was sister of Katherine of Arragont (the unhappy first wife of our eighth Henry), who bore a strong resemblance to Mary in habits (though of more amiable temper), for Katherine wore the Franciscan dress under her robes, and followed monastic rules of prayer and fasting; and was a great adept at the needle, in the use of which she and her sisters had been strictly reared by their mother, the great Isabella of Castile, herself the most notable sempstress in Europe, who piqued herself on making all her royal husband's shirts, besides executing quantities of ecclesiastical embroideries, &c. Katherine and her

sister, Mary, had a singular coincidence (but only in one respect) in their matrimonial lot; both married their brothers-in-law. Katherine was the widow of Henry's elder brother, Arthur; and Mary, in wedding Emanuel, married the widower of her eldest sister, Isabella; but Emanuel was as respectable a husband as Henry was the reverse.

The triste example of the Portuguese Queen was counteracted by the cheerful inclinations of Emanuel, who loved music and dancing. He kept a band of chamber music to play to him while at table: and often, after he had retired to rest, he sent for his Moorish musicians to sing beside his bed, to the accompaniment of their national lutes and tambourines; and he frequently gave balls, and joined, himself and his family, in the dances. Queen Mary died in 1517, leaving many children, to whom she seems to have been a stern and cold mother. Her successor, Emanuel's third wife, Eleanor, sister of the Emperor Charles V., was of a much more genial disposition, and testified great affection for her step-children.

Amid this estimable and cheerful Court, was a man who became the most admired poet of his time; and is even still held in high consideration, Bernardim Ribeyro. In early life, Ribeyro had studied the law; and was subsequently appointed by the King to the office of gentleman of the chamber. The principal ornament of Emanuel's court was the Infanta Beatrix, the second daughter of his Queen Mary. Beatrix, born in 1504, was fifteen at the period of her father's remarriage; but her mind and manners were in advance of her age; she was accomplished, intellectual, high spirited, and extremely handsome; and Ribeyro, although a married man, had the weakness and the misfortune to become deeply enamoured of her; notwithstanding such insuperable barriers as her high rank and his marriage vows lay between them. Beatrix, besides his passion, became his genius, and his muse, at whose inspiration he poured forth verses that served at once to immortalise his name among his countrymen, and to solace and nourish bis intense and unhappy love. But in his situation, it was of the utmost importance that the object of his audacious attachment should be sus

pected by none, save herself. Hence, in all his works, there is a studied obscurity and mystery, and a strain of enigmatical allusion, a great part of which remains hidden beneath an unlifted veil; and the rest would never have been intelligible, but for the light thrown upon it by those chroniclers who point to the Infanta as the idol of Ribeyro's worship. It does not appear that the poet's presumption was ever discovered by the King, who not only patronised him, but also did him the honour of causing his paternal Arms to be emblazoned on the walls of the Heraldic Chamber, added by Emanuel to the Palace of Cintra.

Ribeyro's poems are pastoral and lyric. He does not attain to sublimity; he is not rich in original or sparkling ideas; and is often diffuse, even to tediousness; but his verse is sweet and flowing. Though he is addicted to repetitions, and plays upon words, there is something pleasing in the antique quaintness of his conceits, and his effusions breathe a sincerity, an earnestness, and a tenderness that prove him to have written from the fulness of his heart: his was no imaginary passion of which he sang for mere effect; he loved truly (though not sanely), and he felt deeply and enduringly.

It is difficult to conjecture what degree of encouragement Ribeyro might have received from the young princess. In one of his eclogues he says that his beloved (concealed under the name of the shepherdess Catherine) had regarded him with favour, and that he had once reckoned confidently on her partiality, believing that he had deserved it, but that he had found himself in error. From the reputation for prudence and for pride which Beatrix maintained through life, we may naturally infer, that while she accepted Ribeyro's poems graciously, as literary productions worthy of her notice, she discreetly abstained from seeming to comprehend their personal application.

One of Ribeyro's cantigas, or songs, though it carefully conceals the name and rank of the lady to whom it is addressed, reveals too plainly his heart's preference of her over his wedded wife. Like all the old cantigas, it consists of a mote, or motto, i. e. a prefatory idea, which serves as a text for the "gloss" or paraphrase in the succeeding stanzas, called voltas, or variations. The

motto of the following cantiga is literally

"I am not married, lady, For though I gave my hand, I did not marry my heart."*

THE CANTIGA.

мотто.

"O lady! never be it said

That nuptial bonds my fate enslave; For sooth to say, when I was wed

My hand, but not my heart I gave."

VOLTAS.

"And to thy charms no wrong I've done,
For, lady, long before we met
I pledged my hand, an empty one;
That pledge I now in vain regret.
Yet still my heart, my eyes are free,
And loving bachelors for thee.

"That marriage valid is, they say, That free-will made, unforc'd, unbought; Then thus I tender to thy sway

Love, liberty, and soul, and thought. Blest since my hand I gave elsewhere, That still the heart's thy nobler share.

"When first I saw thee, lady mine, Though words my feelings dar'd not tell, I plac'd thee in my bosom's shrine,

And there for ever shalt thou dwell.
What if the hand another's be!
The heart has still been kept for thee.

"If I be wed it is to care,

For thy dear sake, my only love; Speak not of other ties-forbear,

While loyal to thy charms I prove. To live alone at thy command, So wills my heart that's in thy hand.

"In me no change has marriage made; It has not chill'd affection's glow, Nor hope of kind return forbade

Then scorn me not as wed, but know, That though I gave my hand alone, The loving heart is all thine own."

There is a melancholy softness in Portuguese verse which renders it peculiarly adapted for pastoral poetry; and of this advantage Ribeyro availed himself in his eclogues, which are distinguished, not only as being among the oldest specimens of the kind in Portugal, but as surpassing those of his contemporaries in Spain. In these pastorals, while he describes the scenes wherein he nursed his romantic love,

the banks of the Tagus and Mondego, and the neighbouring shores of the sea, he disguises under the garb of shepherds and shepherdesses the true characters of himself and his friends, and the lady of his affections, and makes allegorical allusions to the circumstances in which they stood. The following extract from Ribeyro's third eclogue will afford a specimen of the characteristic style of these poems, in which he loved to repeat, to return upon, and to "ring the changes" (so to speak), on particular words and ideas.

"Woe is me! Where shall I wend?

Knowing not (such cares control me),
What to do my griefs to end,
Have I one consoling friend?

Is there aught that can console me?

"Hei mihi! quid feci? quo me furor egit amantem?

Impia quid dubitas Deïanira mori

Tu quoque cognosces in me, Meleagre, So

rorem,

Impia quid dubitas Deianira mori ?"

Epis. 9. "Bis tamen adverso redierunt carbasa vento, Mentior ah demens! ille secundus erat; Ille secundus erat, qui me referebat euntem."

Epis. 21.

The year 1521 brought with it a sad event for Ribeyro, the loss of her whom but to behold was felicity. The Infanta Beatrix, then about seventeen, was sought in marriage by the reigning Duke of Savoy, Charles III., then aged thirty-five. King Emanuel deferred giving a definitive answer; and, anxious for his child's happiness, secretly despatched his secretary, Silvester Nunez, into Savoy, to obtain private information respecting the disposition of the Duke, and the habits and manners of his court and family. During the time that the negociations were pending, Ribeyro suffered agonies of suspense and sorrow. He often wandered alone in the woods, and spent whole nights in their solitudes, embodying in verse the deep feelings of his love. What were the sensations of his unfortunate and neglected wife we have not been told by the biographers, but it is not difficult to form some idea of them.

The Portuguese envoy's report was favourable to Charles of Savoy, and Emanuel accepted him as his son-in-law. On the 7th of April, the Ducal Ambassador, being introduced by the Prince of Portugal, was received by Emanuel and his Queen Eleanor in great state, in a spacious room brilliant with innumerable lights in silver candelabra, and decorated with rich tapestry and cloth of gold. The Infanta Beatrix, and her elder sister, Isabella, were seated on cushions of magnificent brocade, and attended by a crowd of the most illustrious nobility of the kingdom. Then Don Martinez da Costa, Archbishop of Lisbon, solemnised, in due form, the ceremony of betrothment between the young Infanta and the Duke of Savoy, who was represented

by the Ambassador M. De Balcisan, as his proxy. A melancholy scene, notwithstanding all its splendour, for Ribeyro, if, in his official capacity, he happened to have been present. The evening concluded with a grand ball, at which the king, the bride, and all the royal family danced.

Emanuel, who loved display, indulg ed his taste to the full on this nuptial occasion. Garcia de Resende, the chronicler of Don John, Emanuel's son and successor, wrote a long and minute account of the departure of Donna Beatrix for Savoy, in which he dwells with great complacency on the pomps and ceremonies of the embarkation. The fleet for her convoy consisted of eighteen sail (exclusive of the Admiral's vessel), fully equipped and armed. Vast expense was lavished on the decoration of the vessels, not only by the king, but also by the nobles who accompanied the royal bride; and among them the Archbishop of Lisbon, who equipped, at his own cost, one of the largest and most sumptuous

of the convoy. The Infanta's ship, the Santa Catherina of Mount Sinai, was elaborately carved and gilded in all parts; the saloons, ante-chamber, and the royal bed-room, were rich in cloth of gold and splendid furniture, as was also the chapel fitted up for daily mass. Over the quarter-deck was drawn a gorgeous awning of blue velvet and yellow satin, relieved with white silk, and richly fringed, hanging over the sides of the ship almost to the water. Other handsome awnings were displayed over the fore parts of the Santa Catherina, which was all in a flutter, with no less than eighty-four pennants and ensigns, besides two immense flags, one at the poop, the other at the bow, with the royal arms emblazoned in gold. In fact, the Infanta's ship was, according to Resende,* "of an awful magnificence, delightful to behold, but of which he dared not write;" and its companions were suitably decorated.

On the 4th of August the dazzled eyes of the loyal and admiring Portugese were rejoiced by beholding all the suite of the Infanta-Duchess mustered like troops for a review. Resende revels in ecstacy in the reminiscences of the velvets, brocades,

borders of pearls, gemmed girdles, golden chains, chased weapons, embroideries, &c.; never, he declares, did the Peninsula see an assemblage so richly, so elegantly clad. (N.B.Many of the nobles mortgaged their estates on the occasion.) And the horses and mules went as gay as their riders, and sonorous was the music of the numerous bands. On the same afternoon the royal family rode through the streets of Lisbon, hung with tapestry, escorting the betrothed princess to take leave of the Queen Dowager,* Donna Leonora. Queen Eleanor and the bride were carried in a horse litter, covered with cloth of gold, and followed by the king and five of his sons, in rich array, on splendidly caparisoned horses; Don Alfonso, the Cardinal-Infant, in rochet and hood, and scarlet gown, and red satin hat, mounted on a mule, with crimson velvet hangings; the Infanta Isabella, on her mule, with gilded trappings; and a host of equerries, pages, and ladies in waiting, all so glittering, that Resende calls it " a very lustrous affair."

After the royal adieux were over, there was at court, that night, a grand ball, opened by the king and the bride, followed by all the royal family (save the Cardinal), and by all who were going to Savoy, and many who were not. After some hours of incessant dancing, the court sat down to be refreshed by the sight of a puppet show! representing the marriage and embarkation of Donna Beatrix, performed by dolls, "admirably well made and managed, and very natural, being a matter remarkably well regulated, and very applicable," saith Resende.

On the 5th of August, the InfantaDuchess set forward to embark, es. corted by the king, the Ambassador of Savoy and his suite, the royal family, crowds of nobles, and the entire households of the king and queen, including the officials in every grade. Amongst them must have been Ribeyro, in virtue of his office: his eyes and heart must have ached with the glare of the pomp which celebrated, as a festival, that event over which he mourned as his greatest calamity. That very pomp ought to have cured him of his presumptuous folly, marking,

as it so forcibly did, the wide distance between himself and the object of his vain love; he, the mere insignificant unit, amid the crowds of attendants collected to do homage to her who, perhaps, did not perceive him, as she moved forward in the procession, leaning on the arm of her young stepmother (then but twenty-four years of age), who showed her every affectionate attention. The way was covered with tapestry, and the royal barge filled with brocaded cushions, and decked with gold-embroidered flags of crimson and white damask: it was towed by two other gaily-adorned boats, their crews in full uniform, and followed by innumerable vessels of all sizes, each with its band of music, streamers, and green boughs, and flowers. On shore, the multitudes on foot, on horseback, and in carriages, were past calculating; and such shouting of people, thundering of artillery, and sounding of trumpets, was never heard in Lisbon before, or, perhaps, since. Emanuel and his queen, after leaving the Infanta-Duchess on board the Santa Catherina, returned to the city; but the Infanta Isabella, and the Infants, her brothers, remained with their parting sister, to render the departure of their beloved one from her family as gradual as possible. They must have slept but little in their floating palace; for, all night, the boats rowing round it, filled with musicians, kept up a perpetual serenade.

The following days were festivals. The Infanta-Duchess gave a grand fête, on board, to their Majesties and the nobility; and the next morning she held a farewell levee, at which many tears were shed; especially by the Prince of Portugal, who was strongly attached to his sister.

At length, on the 9th of August, the last leave was taken of the bride by her family. Emanuel remained for some time closeted with his daughter, alone; and when he left her, his eyes were red from weeping. With sobs and tears, and repeated embraces, the royal family tore themselves away, and descended to the boat that bore them back to shore ; and poor Beatrix stretched herself out of her cabin window, and watched them with streaming eyes till the last glimpse had