Hear the warblings of Mr. Hunt’s nightingales.

A horseman is described—­

The patting hand, that best persuades the check, And makes the quarrel up with a proud neck, The thigh broad pressed, the spanning palm upon it, And the jerked feather swaling in the bonnet.—­p. 15.

Knights wear ladies’ favours—­

  Some tied about their arm, some at the breast,
  Some, with a drag, dangling from the cap’s crest.—­p. 14.

Paulo pays his compliments to the destined bride of his brother—­

  And paid them with an air so frank and bright,
  As to a friend appreciated at sight;
  That air, in short, which sets you at your ease,
  Without implying your perplexities,
  That what with the surprize in every way,
  The hurry of the time, the appointed day,—­
  She knew not how to object in her confusion.—­p. 29.

The meeting of the brothers, on which the catastrophe turns, is excellent:  the politeness with which the challenge is given would have delighted the heart of old Caranza.

May I request, Sir, said the prince, and frowned, Your ear a moment in the tilting ground? There, brother? answered Paulo with an air Surprized and shocked.  Yes, brother, cried he, there.  The word smote crushingly.—­p. 92.

Before the duel, the following spirited explanation takes place: 

  The prince spoke low,
  And said:  Before you answer what you can,
  I wish to tell you, as a gentleman,
  That what you may confess—­
  Will implicate no person known to you,
  More than disquiet in its sleep may do.—­p. 93.

Paulo falls—­and the event is announced in these exquisite lines: 

  Her aged nurse—­
  Who, shaking her old head, and pressing close
  Her withered lips to keep the tears that rose—­p. 101.

“By the way,” does Mr. Leigh Hunt suppose that the aged nurses of Rimini weep with their mouths? or does he mistake crying for drivelling?—­In fact, the young lady herself seems to have adopted the same mode of weeping: 

  With that, a keen and quivering glance of tears
  Scarce moves her patient mouth, and disappears.

But to the nurse.—­She introduces the messenger of death to the princess, who communicates his story, in pursuance of her command—­

  Something, I’m sure, has happened—­tell me what—­
  I can bear all, though you may fancy not. 
  Madam, replied the squire, you are, I know,
  All sweetness—­pardon me for saying so. 
  My Master bade me say then, resumed he,
  That he spoke firmly, when he told it me,—­
  That I was also, madam, to your ear
  Firmly to speak, and you firmly to hear,—­
  That he was forced this day, whether or no,
  To combat with the prince;—­’—­p. 103.