THE COLISEUM,

A FRAGMENT OF A ROMANCE.

AT the hour of noon, on the feast of the Passover, an old man accompanied by a girl, apparently his daughter, entered the Coliseum at Rome. They immediately passed through the Arena, and seeking a solitary chasm among the arches of the southern part of the ruin, selected a fallen column for their seat, and clasping each other's hands, sate as1 in silent contemplation of the scene. the eyes of the girl were fixed upon her father's lips, and his countenance, sublime and sweet, but motionless as some Praxitelean image of the greatest of poets, filled the silent air with smiles, not3 reflected from external forms.

But

It was the great feast of the Resurrection, and the whole native population of Rome, together with all the

Medwin omits as.

Medwin omits the word and, and makes this a new sentence. * The sense is wholly subverted

in The Shelley Papers by the omission of the word not.

In this line Medwin leaves out the words of Rome and all.

foreigners who flock from all parts of the earth to contemplate its celebration, were assembled round the Vatican. The most awful religion of the world went forth surrounded by emblazonry of mortal greatness, and mankind had assembled to wonder at and worship the creations of their own power.' No straggler was to be met with in the streets and grassy lanes which led to the Coliseum. The father and daughter had sought this spot immediately on their arrival."

A figure, only visible at Rome in night or solitude, and then only to be seen amid the desolated temples of the Forum, or gliding among the weed-grown3 galleries of the Coliseum, crossed their path. His form, which, though emaciated, displayed the elementary outlines of exquisite grace, was enveloped in an ancient chlamys, which half concealed his face; his snow-white feet were fitted with ivory sandals, delicately sculptured in the likeness of two female figures, whose wings met upon the heel, and whose eager and half-divided lips seemed quivering to meet. was a face, once seen, never to be forgotten. The mouth' and the moulding of the chin resembled the eager and impassioned tenderness of the statues of Antinous; but instead of the effeminate sullenness of the eye, and the narrow smoothness of the forehead, shone an expression of profound and piercing thought; the brow was clear and open, and his eyes deep, like two wells of crystalline

In Medwin's version, the creation of its own power.

2 According to Medwin, "No stranger was to be met with in the avenues that led to the Coliseum. Accident had conducted the father and daughter to the spot immediately on their arrival.'

It

3 Medwin omits weed-grown, and adds after Coliseum the words or the ruined arches of the Baths of Caracalla.

4 Medwin omits the next sentence, down to meet. 5 Medwin reads lips. 6 Medwin reads shapes.

water which reflect the all-beholding heavens. Over all was spread a timid expression' of womanish tenderness and hesitation, which contrasted, yet intermingled strangely, with the abstracted and fearless character that predominated in his form and gestures.

He avoided, in an extraordinary degree, all communication with the Italians, whose language he seemed scarcely to understand, but was occasionally seen to converse with some accomplished foreigner, whose gestures and appearance might attract him amid his solemn haunts. He spoke Latin, and especially Greek, with fluency, and with a peculiar but sweet accent; he had apparently acquired a knowledge of the northern languages of Europe. There was no circumstance connected with him that gave the least intimation of his country, his origin, or his occupation. His dress was strange, but splendid and solemn. He was for ever alone. The literati of Rome thought him a curiosity, but there was something in his manner unintelligible but impressive, which awed their obtrusions into distance and silence. The countrymen, whose path he rarely crossed, returning by starlight from their market at Campo Vaccino, called him, with that strange mixture of religious and historical ideas so common in Italy, Il Diavolo di Bruto.

plations, if they were so engaged, of the strangers, by addressing them' in the clear, and exact, but unidiomatic phrases of their native language :

"Strangers, you are two; behold the third in this great city, to whom alone the spectacle of these mighty ruins is more delightful than the mockeries of a superstition which destroyed them."

"I see nothing," said the old man.

"What do you here, then?"

I listen to the sweet singing of the birds, and the sound of my daughter's breathing composes me like the soft murmur of water-and I feel the sun-warm windand this is pleasant to me."

994

Wretched old man, know you not that these are the ruins of the Coliseum ?"

"Alas! stranger," said the girl, in a voice like mournful music, "speak not so-hes is blind."

The stranger's eyes were suddenly filled with tears, and the lines of his countenance became relaxed.

Medwin omits by addressing them, and reads phrase for phrases in the next line, which is very likely right.

2 Medwin reads great for mighty, and tones down the end of the speech thus, than the pageantry of religion.

3 Medwin reads hear.

According to Medwin, "I listen

to the sweet singing of the birds, the humming of the bees, which, and the sound of my daughter's breathing, compose me like the soft murmur of waters; and this sunwarm wind is pleasant to me.'

5 Medwin reads my father for he. 6 Medwin substitutes now for

were.

Blind" he exclaimed, in a tone of suffering, which was more than an apology; and seated himself apart on a flight of shattered and mossy stairs' which wound up among the labyrinths of the ruin.

"My sweet Helen," said the old man, "you did not tell me that this was the Coliseum."

"How should I tell you, dearest father, what I knew not? I was on the point of inquiring the way to that building, when we entered this circle of ruins, and, until the stranger accosted us, I remained silent, subdued by the greatness of what I see."

It is your custom, sweetest childs, to describe to me the objects that give you delight. You array them in the soft radiance of your words, and whilst you speak I only feel the infirmity which holds me in such dear dependence, as a blessing. Why have you been silent.

now ?" "

'I know not-first the wonder and pleasure of the sight, then the words of the stranger, and then thinking on what he had said, and how he had' looked—and now, beloved father, your own words."

Well, tell me now, what do you see?"

I see a great circle of arches built upon arches, and

According to Medwin, shallow and mossy steps.

According to Medwin, the circle of the ruins.

3 Medwin reads saw.

Medwin reads 'Tis for It is and girl for child.

5 In Medwin's version, diffidence. 6 Medwin reads so long silent. 7 Medwin omits had, and inserts on before your own words.

8 Medwin reads Well, dearest for Well, tell me now.