Canto I

Fain would I sing that direful wrath which swayed
Men's bosoms for a Bucket, spoil renowned !
Stolen from Bologna, and in pomp displayed
By hostile Modenese with conquest crowned.
Phoebus ! the conflicts, and adventures dread,
Of horrid War, assist me to resound.
Inspiring God, till I am grown acuter,
Lend me thy helping hand, and be my tutor;

And thou, the Nephew of the Pope of Rome!
And of the generous Carlo, son the second ;
Thou, who hadst wisdom in thy youthful bloom,
In tender years of high endowments reckoned ;
From studies deep, in which thou 'rt quite at home,
If thou canst turn, by Recreation beckoned ;
List to my song; see here the Grecian Helen,
Transform 'd into a Bucket, War compelling !

Now had the Roman Eagle lost his sway,
With talons broken all his power had ceased,
Which had been terrible for many a day,
Beyond the British Isles, and in the East ;
The Italian Cities now inglorious lay,
Caring not for his perilous state the least ;
No more to honourable deeds exciting,
But like young colts cast loose, kicking and biting.

Save the bold Adriatic's sovereign ; she
In Eastern climes and provinces had fought;
From the discordant brawls of others free,
Deeply revolving high designs, she brought
Impious usurpers low to bend the knee,
Whom Greece obeyed, reducing them to nought ;
The others frisked at feasts, and to the sound
Of bells despoiled the villages around.

Some of them, Ghibellines, enjoyed the aid
Of Austria's Emperor, for a selfish view,
Some of them Guelphs, leagued with the Church, which fed'
With hope and promise; nothing rare or new ;
But so it happened—desperate feuds had bred
Between two rival provinces which drew
That conflict on stupendous, full of glory,
Which is recorded in Parnassian story.

The Sun has passed through Aries, and now pours
Upon the silver clouds his rays divine ;
The fields seem full of stars, the heavens of flowers,
And the winds sleep along the tranquil brine ;
Zephyr alone breathes softly through the bowers,
And balmy herbs and tendrils of the vine;
At dawn the nightingales delight the grove,
And asses bray their madrigals of love.

What time the Spring, with genial warmth endued,
Makes grasshoppers leap joyous in the meads ;
Suddenly clad in arms a multitude
Of Bolognese, to predatory deeds,
Led by two chiefs, move on ; insulting, rude ;
This band by sweet Panaro's stream proceeds ;
Passes the ford, and with the morning light
Modena gains midst tumult and affright.

Modena stands upon a spacious plain,
Hemmed in by ridges to the south and west,
And rugged fragments of the lofty chain
Of Appenine, whose elevated crest
Sees the last sunbeam in the western main,
Glittering and fading on its rippling breast;
And on the top with ice eternal crowned,
The sky seems bending in repose profound.

The flowery banks where beautifully flow
Panaro's limpid waters, eastward lie ;
In front Bologna, and the left the Po,
Where Phaeton tumbled headlong from the sky ;
North, Secchia's rapid stream is seen to go,
With changeful course, in whirling eddies by,
Bursting the shores, and with unfruitful sand
Sowing the meadows and adjacent land.

Then, like the Spartans lived the Modenese
Unfortified, without a parapet ;
So shallow were the fosses that with ease
Men might run in and out early or late ;
The Great Bell's toll now echoed on the breeze,
And up from bed jumped all the people straight;
Summoned to arm, some bolted quick down stairs,
Some to the windows rushed, and some to — prayers.

Some snatched a shoe and slipper, some in haste
Had only one leg stockinged, others again
in petticoats turned inside out were dressed —.
Lovers exchanged their shirts ; some with disdain,
Took frying pans for shields, and forward prest
With buckets on for helms, others were fain
To brandish hedge-bills, and in breastplates bright,
Ran swaggering to the Square—prepared for fight.

There had the post, ready at his post,
The City Standard valorously spread ;
Himself on horseback armed, and he could boast
Bright scarlet breeches, shoes too, lively red ;
The Modenese abridging, to their cost,
Potest, wrote but Potest, in its stead ;
And hence the Bolognese, in joke, had got a
Cognomen, and they called his Mayorship, Potta!

Messer Lorenzo Scotti, sage and strong,
Was Potta then, and suits at law decided ;
Now foot and horsemen, a promiscuous throng,
All hurry to the Square, and these divided,
Are posted at the gateways ; from among
The rest, a chosen squadron is confided
To Rangon's son, Gherardo, — to his hand
The Standard too is given and chief command.

"Go, valiant son," he said, " and curb the pride
"Of these intolerable wretches, go !
"But recollect, let not your strength be tried
"Whilst we are separate, cope not with the foe ;
"Stop short at the Fossalta, on each side "
"Guard well the Pass, and cautious wait, for know
"That, if I 'm not mistaken, I shall soon
"In arms be with you, probably ere noon.

Now on his enterprize the Cavalier
Starts, with the flower of warriors, full of zeal,
And valiant martial spirits now appear
All stern, yet beautiful, and armed in steel;
A hundred damsels dressed in warlike gear,
Strengthen the squadron for the public weal ;
With javelins in their hands, and helmets gleaming,
And robes succinct and pure around them streaming.

Their gallant leader was Renoppia, young
And beautiful, a huntress used to arms,
From the same parents as Gherardo sprung,
Equal in valour, amidst wars alarms,
And courtesy ; and it was said and sung
Through Italy, she was unmatched in charms;
Manly in action, yet her cheek's soft hue
Ravished all hearts, and terrified them too.

Brown were her eyes and tresses, and the rose
And lily tinged her face, her bosom white
As ivory, ruby were her lips, and rows
Of pearl her teeth, in mind an angel bright ;
But Maccabrun dall' Anguille sneering chose
A comment on that sonnet sweet to write,
Which runs " This old, and bearded, spiteful crone,"—
And said—she was as deaf as post or.stone.

Now at the Square arriving she exclaimed :
"Signors, though feeble we may yet have art
"And strength to keep the gates, or hold unblamed
"The Passes, acting thus a gallant part ;
My fair compeers by valour all inflamed,
"Are ready to risk death by sword or dart ;
"Nor is it unbecoming well-born maid,
"Her country to defend, when cruel foes invade.

"When Barbarossa wrapt in flames Milan,
"That day, my grandsire won this ancient mail,
"My brother locked it up, prudential man,
"But all his cautious means were doomed to fail ;
"We 've got the treasure, and what courage can
"Perform, our foes shall witness to their bale.
"If they approach, their wounds and death shall prove
"The spirit and ardor which our bosoms move !"

The Damsel's words, magnanimous, excite
In every heart a generous disdain ;
And now the youths all burning for the light,
Rush out in arms and seek the dusty plain ;
But worthy of himself, and always right !
The Potta proudly calls them back again,
"Whither so fast, ye dolts! whither, I say,
"Scampering without discipline or array.

Perhaps you think there 's waiting for you, wine,
"Ice-cold, and pies all ready for regaling ;
"Dress yourselves quick, ye foolish men ! in line,
"Feeders at others' cost, ye are unfailing."
Thus he reproached, with laudable design,
And put them into order. Luck prevailing,
The brave Gherardo reached his destination,
In time just suited to the great occasion.

For rough Bordocchio Balzan, who directed
The enemy's first battalions, had got there
Before him, and his awkward force collected,
Under the Barrier-tower ; with watchful care
The Tower-men broke the drawbridge which protected
One flank, and shut the Pass — whizzing in air,
Arrows and darts and missiles, now they throw,
From battlement and window on the foe.

The Captain of the Bolognese brigade
Who was a hero, muscular and fat,
Roared to his people, seemingly afraid,
Unable to proceed — " What are you at !
"Push forward, merrily, and undismayed ;
"Leap o'er the foss, and we shall have them, pat!
"Or, want ye to skulk back, in quest of forage ;
"On, on, ye re full of hog-wash and not courage !"

Thus spoke he, when behold with dauntless mien
He saw Gherardo coming ; sharply moving
Well to the right, a goodly space between
Leaving, at once superior caution proving ;
And trusting to his friends, whose drums unseen
Were heard distinctly — and not danger loving,
Slunk from the bank — with all his men of might,
Weary with marching all the blessed night.

Gherardo then — " My valorous souls, behold !
"How God confounds these silly ones, — they hear
"The drums of their companions, just as bold,
"Who still are on Panaro's banks—but ere
"Those join them let our courage uncontrolled
"Extinguish these, fatigued and pressed with fear ;
"Quick, follow me ; amidst the shallow ford,
"I'll cut my path-way with my breast and sword."

He said, and spurred his charger, where the rage
Of contest seemed the hottest, where it blazed ;
Dashing among the waters to engage;
Aloft his glittering sword he firmly raised ;
Not Captain Curzio did such battle wage "
At Lisbon, or in Flanders, as amazed
The Sipas, when Gherardo broke their ranks,
Thundering between the river's trampled banks.

He killed poor Bertoletto, squab and thick ;
Once Roman procurator, he had hied
To recreate at Lino, but old Nick
Conducted him to battle, and he died ;
Mastro Galasso too he slaughtered quick,
Dentist expert, and mountebank beside.
Balls, powders, trusses, he disposed of, bawling,
Better for him had he not changed his calling.

Caesar Vian was left without a nose,"
Brother of the Podest' of Medicina,
And a sharp arrow gave a fatal dose
To the unlucky son of Doctor Guaina ;
A waggish shaver then was shaven close,
The dexterous Barbier di Crespellina.
Then Mastro Constantin, surnamed Maglitte,
Famous for making bird-traps — rather pretty.

A wight facetious of the Zambeccari,
Gave him a blow upon the belly band ;
At the same time Gian-Petron Scadinari
Slit up his breeches with his lance in hand ;
But brave Gherardo not disposed to tarry,
Soon laid the assailants weltering on the sand,
Having cut off their cut, clean and neat,
And seen them trunkless rolling at his feet.

As erst Achilles on the Xanthus stood,
And swelled its sacred waves with Trojans slain ;
Or bold Hippomedon, made red with blood
Asopus' banks, in that renowned campaign,
Against the Theban Cities: so the flood
By the fierce Youth received a crimson stain ;
But, so innumerous those each party slew,
The Muse can but immortalize a few.

The host of Chid Zambon of Moscadello,
Spread where he passed a most tremendous ruin ;
A blowzy-haired-assassin-looking fellow,
Without a helm or cap, a fearful Bruin ;
He soon encountered Sabatin Brunello,
Sausage-inventor, who, his trade pursuing,
Chopped off the blowzy head, and cleared a passage.
With the huge chopping knife that chopped up sausage.

Meantime Bordocchio had crossed o'er the river,
Surmounting all impediments at last ;
When from the Tower Gherardo, watchful ever,
Heard that the Potta was approaching fast.
Bordocchio this perceiving, his endeavour
Was to turn back, but wheeling round in haste,
Down fell his charger floundering in the flood,
And he was taken prisoner — smeared with mud.

All those that previously had got across,
Were killed by brave Gherardo, those behind
Quickly were routed with prodigious loss ;
Too late convinced of council bad and blind,
When to their aid they saw in column close,
Their friends all speedful through the meadows wind ;
These to the left bank were in passing slow,
Because the stream had there a deeper flow.

Giammaria de la Grascia, cunning knave,
Was Captain of that squadron, and descrying
Bordocchio's corps defeated, thought to save
The remnant, pusillanimously flying,
Whose blood distained the ground—with aspect grave,
He censured them, the harshest terms employing,
And pushing forward like a furious Roman,
Made a tremendous slaughter of the foe-men.

Radaldo Ganaceti, to protect.
The passage, manned the bridge, but he was thrown
Precipitately downward, broken-necked,
Charger and all, and drowned—the bottom stone
Became his grave — Gherardo to direct
New .succours for defence were moving on, —
When, lo ! to .sounds of echoing horns and drums,
And trumpet-clang, the glorious Potta comes.

The Enemy closed up and retrograded,
By such a martial clangor terrified ;
But brave Gherardo all their ranks invaded,
Aspiring, for it was his valour's pride,
To route tuo armies, right and left he waded,
Midst blood and carnage and destruction wide ;
Broken his sword, and bristling on his shield
A hundred darts, he fought against the field.

His head half naked — from his saddle bow
He drew his iron mace, and killed outright
Fantin Vizzan, Castelli Prospero,
Astor, Bianchi, Martin, him with bright
Cuirass, and helm, and shield, a warrior-beau ;
These trophies gilt, he seized on as his right,
To deck himself — but truly 'twas a shame,
To kill such gentlemen of noble name.

Meanwhile the Potta his first squadron pushed,
To reinforce his people in a flurry,
And he himself towards the bridg-e-work rushed.
Where aid was most demanded, hurry skurry
He rode upon a mule, with valour flushed,
Snorting and kicking, as with fighting merry ;
When Grascia by a cruel javelin wounded,
Retired from battle desperately astounded.

Now when the Bolognese, of battle shy,
Saw one poor Captain wounded, and another
Made captive—fortune going all awry,
Those valorous men could not their feelings smother ;
Though self-called heroes off they run — they fly,
No waiting for command in such a pother ;
Some on their horses scampering, some light-heel'd
On foot, quit rapidly the fatal field.

But swiftly with a bill-hook swinging round,
The Potta, like a demon, forward darted ;
And stretched so many lifeless on the ground,
That Heaven became through pity tender hearted ;
The River, so increased with blood, was found
Crimson for several days and heat imparted.
Once it was called the Fiumicel, but ever
Since that, its name has been the Tepid River.

All day, and all the long-live night were chased
The Bolognese, in miserable plight,
Covering the roads and fields. Manfredi traced
The fugitives, and urged a following fight,
With horse three hundred, without halt, or rest,
But with such zeal and persevering might,
That when the morn removed night's dusky pall,
He found himself beneath the city wall.

Open was thrown the San Felice gate,
By the good citizens in haste ; the din
And gathering crowd, and tumult were so great,
Victors and vanquished rolled impetuous in ;
Manfredi's men were not the men to wait,
They dashed, an arrow's flight, through thick and thin ;
And would have been shut up there, every mortal
Had he not called, and formed them at the Portal.

And Spinamont del Forno, Rolandino,
Savignan Aliprando d'Arrigozzo,
Denti da Balugola, Albertino,
Foschiera, Calatran di Borgomozzo,
Fatigued with heat and running, found within a
Short distance a Draw-well, they call a Pozzo,
And a new Bucket made of fir, where first
They sat them down to quench their burning thirst.

The Pulley being broken, and the rope
Full of hard knots — the Well too rather deep,
Slow was the operation, slide and stop,
Jerking the Bucket ; when with spring and leap,
(Scarcely had Rolandino got a drop)
The citizens rushed on them in a heap
From divers points, determined to environ
The group at once with swords of trusty iron.

Young Scarabocchio, son of Pandragone,
Petronio Orso, Ruffin, and besides
Vianese Albergati, and Griffone,
Came screaming, " Kill them, kill them, homicides!"
But each of the assailed, on horse or poney
Soon spring's, with shield and cuirass, and derides
The menace, grasping firmly his good blade
And bearing in his aspect " Who's afraid?"

And Spinamonte who the Bucket took
To drink from, promptly threw the water out,
And cutting the long rope, fixed by a hook,
Used it against the circumambient rout;
In his left hand he held it up, and shook
His weapon in the right, tossing about ;
By his compeers efficiently assisted,
The furious citizens he well resisted.

Now Aldrovandi and Ringhiera roared
Indignantly, "Besotted mob! give back
"That Bucket, if not to the Well restored,
"You shall repent it, faith, upon the rack!"
"Come on then!" cried Foschiera, "On my word
"You soon shall see how smartly we attack !"
He spoke, and without further pause,
Cut off adroitly poor Ringhiera's jaws.

Not with more toil the beauteous Grecian dame,
Some thousand years ago was borne away ;
Nor did the battle of immortal fame
For chaste Aristoclea wrath display.
Like this, for a vile Bucket. What a shame !
Carlon Cartari's dirk hath made its way
Into Calatran's paunch — Carlon the vain,
The sovereign hero of the Butcher-train.

And Rolandino by a blow well aimed,
Napulion di Fazio deeply wounded :
He too the hand of his opponent maimed,
And had not brave Manfredi forward bounded
To aid his friends, who all his courage claimed,
Not one would have escaped. Like vessel grounded
Great Balugola lay, his wounds all streaming,
And tore his uvula with furious screaming.

Manfredi at the gate his men collected,
And checked the daring enemy in style ;
Safe from the peril, as he had expected,
He came triumphant, crossed the ford the while,
And yet, upon his lance's point erected,
The champion could not boast more noble spoil
Than a poor wooden Bucket, which though not n
Prize of high worth, was destined for the Potta.

But to the Conqueror it was a token
Of high importance, for in open day
Bologna he had traversed, and had broken
The Enemy's force, and snatched the prize away,
To their disgrace eternal be it spoken.
The glorious news was sent without delay
To Modena, where it was soon decreed
Manfred should be much honoured for the deed. .

Adam Boschetto happened at that time
To be the city Bishop, and maintained
His varied flock from every sin and crime ;
His copy of the Bible was not stained,
Nor thumbed — he seldom read its truths sublime;
Hence all his people's reverence he obtained.
Matins and vespers were not his delight,
He gambled with his livings day and night.

This Bishop, when he heard, with admiration,
His townsmen were triumphantly returning
With Bucket won, amidst such desperation,
From people so renown'd, all danger spurning,—
He put himself in trim for gratulation,
To go and hail the Conqueror, concerning
The wonderous feat; by all his priests. attended,
Dressed in his festal robes, all vastly splendid

A robe of scarlet cloth the Potta wore,
Superbly large, a black cap on his head ;
The edge of which was richly figured o'er
Half a palm broad contrasting well with red ;
The Ancients followed him, a reverend corps,
In gowns, and mounted — rather vilely sped ;
Lank were the mules as e'er met observation,
Looking the very picture of starvation,

An armed Page before the Potta trotted,
Bearing aloft the Shield and naked Sword ;
And on his right and left in pomp were noted
Two senior Ancients, not with wisdom stored.
The Standard of the people fluttering floated
In Villa Franca's hand, a youth adored
For being brave as Mars, and noble hearted,
And for bright eyes that love and joy imparted.

Two troops of lancers — two of cuirassiers,
One in advance, the other close behind,
And Runners armed with staves swords or spears)
Kept off the mob, obstreperously inclined ;
Who were all hastening on the road with cheers,
Mad to St. Peter's neighbouring Gate, combined,
To see that Bucket, source of such contentions,
Believing it a mountain in dimensions.

And last came fifty country girls, all neat
And trim, in milk-white petticoats arrayed ;
With baskets, framed of osier, full of meat,
Bread, wine, and pastry rich, and marmalade,
Omlets, and hard boiled eggs, and jelly sweet,
For the exhausted warriors, who had made
Such havoc for the Bucket: thus supplied,
To the Fossalta chattering loud they hied.

There they the Parish Priest on duty found,
Bestowing comfort on the agonized ;
Absolving all the guilt of all around,
With holiest zeal the sinners he advised ;
And if he saw a ring, or heard the sound
Of money in their purses, which he prized,
Fearing they might be robbed, with eager care
He put it in his fob and kept it there.

Manfredi soon appeared, and bravely led
His squadron two by two triumphantly,
Before the Standard, beautifully spread,
Bold Spinamonte bore the Bucket high,
Adorned with flowers and myrtle — grand parade ;
It was a spoil .so glorious — rushing by,
The Potta quick the conquering chief embraced,
And his great joy in welcomes was expressed.

Then asked how he had strength and power to take
That: Bucket, how he was not killed outright ;
And how the Bolognese had failed to make
Him prisoner, shamed and stung by such a slight.
Manfredi said :—" God, kindly for the sake
"Of those who trust in him, affords his might;
"The foe had two good feet to chase us—we
"Had four to scamper from them, as you see !"

The country dames the warriors then invited
Upon the fresh grass of a flowery mead ;
And, all being famished, with the treat delighted,
Ihe whole was swallowed marvellous quick indeed.
The meal was finished, and the stomach righted,
Each hero forthwith, mounted on his steed,
Resumed the dusty march towards the Gate,
Thinking upon the slain, and mourning o'er their fate.

Under the Gate the Bishop stood prepared
With holy-water-sprinklers, singing shrill
A laudatory anthem ; in the yard
Of Poulterer, capons such sharp accents trill.
Manfred dismounting showed his high regard,
And bent both knees, due homage to fulfil ;
And with him to the sound of trumpets went,
To render thanks to God and every Saint.

But the famed Bucket promptly was secured
In the great Tower, there destined to remain ;
A trophy with religious care immured,
And fastened to the building by a chain ;
The Turret had five doors we are assured,
And every traveller is glad to gain,
When visiting Modena, for a while
A sight of this grand prize, this glorious spoil.