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VII. A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. The Lady of his love was wed with One

The Lady of his love ;-Oh! she was changed, Who did not love her better :-in her home,

As by the sickness of the soul; her mind
A thousand leagues from his,-her native home, Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes,
She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy,

They had not their own lustre, but the look
Daughters and sons of Beauty,—but behold!

Which is not of the earth; she was become Upon her face there was the tint of grief,

The queen of a fantastic realm ; her thoughts The settled shadow of an inward strife,

Were combinations of disjointed things ; And an unquiet drooping of the eye,

And forms impalpable and unperceived As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.

Of others' sight familiar were to hers. What could her grief be?—she had all she loved, And this the world calls phrensy; but the wise And he who had so loved her was not there

Have a far deeper madness, and the glance To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish,

Of melancholy is a fearful gift; Or ill-repress'd affliction, her pure thoughts.

What is it but the telescope of truth? What could her grief be?—she had loved him not, Which strips the distance of its fantasies, Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved, And brings life near in utter nakedness, Nor could he be a part of that which prey'd

Making the cold reality too real !? Upon her mind-a spectre of the past.


A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

The Wanderer was alone as heretofore,
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

The beings which surrounded him were gone, The Wanderer was return'd.-I saw him stand

Or were at war with him; he was a mark Before an Altar—with a gentle bride;

For blight and desolation, compass'd round Her face was fair, but was not that which made

With Hatred and Contention ; Pain was mix'd The Starlight of his Boyhood ;-as he stood

In all which was served up to him, until, Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came

Like to the Pontic monarch of old days, The selfsame aspect, and the quivering shock

He fed on poisons, and they had no power, That in the antique Oratory shook

But were a kind of nutriment; he lived His bosom in its solitude; and then

Through that which had been death to many nen, As in that hour-a moment o'er his face

And made him friends of mountains: with the stars The tablet of unutterable thoughts

And the quick Spirit of the Universe Was traced—and then it faded as it came,

He held his dialogues ! and they did teach And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke

To him the magic of their mysteries; The fitting vows, but heard not his own words,

To him the book of Night was open'd wide,
And all things reel'd around him; he could see

And voices from the deep abyss reveald
Not that which was, nor that which should have been- A marvel and a secret-Be it so.
But the old mansion, and the accustom'd hall,

And the remember'd chambers, and the place, My dream was past; it had no further change.
The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade, It was of a strange order, that the doom
All things pertaining to that place and hour,

Of these two creatures should be thus traced out And her who was his destiny, came back

Almost like a reality-the one
And thrust themselves between him and the light: To end in madness—both in misery."
What business had they there at such a time ?

July, 1816.



Pastor Fido, with letters of Tasso, one from Titian

to Ariosto, and the inkstand and chair, the tomb Ar Ferrara, in the Library, are preserved the ori- and the house, of the latter. But, as misfortune has ginal MSS. of Tasso's Gjerusalemme and of Guarini's a greater interest for posterity, and little or done for

[This touching picture agrees closely, in many of its 4 [This poem is written with great beauty and genius-but circumstances, with Lord Byron's own prose account of the is extremely painful. We cannot maintain our accustome! wedding in his Memoranda ; in which he describes himself tone of levity, or even speak like calm literary judges, in the as waking, on the morning of his marriage, with the most midst of these agonizing traces of a wounded and disieur melancholy reflections, on seeing his wedding-suit spread pered spirit. Even our admiration is swallowed up in a out before him. In the same mood, he wandered about the inost painful feeling of pity and of wonder. It is impossible grounds alone, till he was summoned for the ceremony, and to mistake these for fictitious sorrows, conjured up for the joined, for the first time, on that day, his bride and her purpose of poetical effect. There is a dreadful tone of str. family. He knelt down--he repeated the words after the cerity, and an energy that cannot be counterielted in tbe clergyman ; but a mist was before his eyes-his thoughts expression of wretchedness, and alienation from human were elsewhere ; and he was but awakened by the congratu- kind, which occurs in every line of this poem.-JEFFRET.) lations of the bystanders to find that he was-married.

*[In a moment of dissatisfaction with himself, or during MOORE.)

some melancholy mood, when his soul felt the worthlessness ? (" For it becomes the telescope of truth,

fame and glory, ord Byron told the world at his mouse And shows us all things naked as they are.”-MS.)

should, for a long season, shroud herself in solitude, see 3 Mithridates of Pontus.

antė, p. 470;) and every true lover of genius lamented that

the cotemporary, the cell where Tasso was confined in Long years of outrage, calumny, and wrong ;
the hospital of St. Anna attracts a more fixed atten- | Imputed madness, prison'd solitude,
tion than the residence or the monument of Ariostom And the mind's canker in its savage mood,
at least it had this effect on me. There are two in- When the impatient thirst of light and air
scnptions, one on the outer gato, the second over the Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate,
cell itself, inviting, unnecessarily, the wonder and the Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade,
indi ruation of the spectator. Ferrara is much de- Works through the throbbing eyeball to the brain,
cayed, and depopulated: the castle still exists entire; | With a hot sense of heaviness and pain ;
and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were And bare, at once, Captivity display'd
beheaded, according to the annal of Gibbon.'

Stands scoffing through the never-open'd gate,
Which nothing through its bars admits, save day,
And tasteless food, which I have eat alone
Till its unsocial bitterness is gone ;

And I can banquet like a beast of prey,

Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave
Which is my lair, and—it may be-my grave.'

All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear,

But must be borne. I stoop not to despair ;
Long years !—It tries the thrilling frame to bear For I have battled with mine agony,
And eagle-spirit of a child of Song-

And made me wings wherewith to overfly

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ber lofty music was to cease. But there was a tide in his Woman has brooded with ineffable, and yearning, and unit obeying the laws of its nature, and not to be controlled bursuing tenderness of affection,-and over which old Age, try any human will. When he said that he was to be silent, alınost loosened from this world, has bowed his hoary de looked, perhaps, into the inner regions of his soul, and head in delighted approbation of that fraternal love, whose saw there a dinn, hard, and cheerless waste, like the sand of beauty and simplicity fing a radiance over the earth he is the seashore ; but the ebbed waves of passion in due course

about to leave, and exhibit our fallen nature in near apretuned, and the scene was restored to its former beauty proximation to the glories of its ultimate destiny. The and magnificence.-Its foain, its splendors, and its thunder. 1. Lament" possesses much of the tenderness and pathos of The mind of a imghly poet cannoi submit even to chains of the Prisoner of Chillon." Lord Byron has not delivered ita own imposing: when it feels most enslaved, even then, himself unto any one wild and fearful vision of the imprispernips, is it about to become most free ; and one sudden oned Tasso,-he has not dared to allow himself to rush hauh may use it from the darkness of its despondency up to forward with headlong passion into the horrors of his duntha pure air of untroubled confidence. It required. Therefore, geon, and to describe, as he could fearfully have done, the baik snall know leilge of human nature, to assure ourselves conflict and agony of his uttermost despair,-but he shows ut the obligation under which Lord Byron had laid him. us the poet situng in his cell, and singing there-a low, ! sell could not bind, and that the potent spirit within him melancholy, wailing Lament, sometimes, indeed, bordering wult laugh to souro whatever dared to curb the phrensy of on utter wretchedness, but oftener partaking of a settled ($

grief, occasionally subdued into mournful resignation, Il was wetong, therefore, till he again caine forth in his

cheered by delighiful remembrances, and elevated by the fertar strength, and exercised that dominion over our confident hope of an immortal fame. His is the gathered surits which is truly a power too noble to be possessed grief of many years, over which his soul has brooded, till without being wielded. Though all his heroes are of one she has in some measure lost the power of misery ; and furnily, yet are they a noble band of brothers, whose coun this soliloquy is one which we can believe he might have frances and whose souls are strongly distinguished by uttered to himself any morning, or noon, or night of his ular characteristics. Each personage, as he advances solitude, as he seemned to be hali communing with his own belise us, reminds us of some other being, whose looks, heart, and half addressing the ear of that human nature thoughts, words, and steeds bad troubled us by their wild from which he was shut out, but of which he felt the conand perturbed grandeur. But though all the same, yet are tinual and abiding presence within his imagination.-Proide all strangely different. We hail each successive ex FESSOR Wilsos.) lence with a profounder sympathy; and we are lost in "[The original MS. of this poem is dated, “The Apen. Wandes, in fear, and in sorrow, at the infinitely varied nines, April 20, 1817.". It was writien in consequence of reales, the endless and agonizing modifications of the Lord Byron having visited Ferrara, for a single day, on his bunan passions, as they drive along through every gate way to Florence. In a letter from Rome, he says—** The ini avenue of the soul, darkening or brightening, elevating · Láinent of Tasso,' which I sent froin Florence, has, I

trust, arrived. I look upon it as a 'These be good rhymes! Fron such agitating and terrific pictures, it is delightful to as Pope's papa said to himn when he was a boy.") rani lo thuer compositions in which Lord Byron has allowed ? [Tasso's biographer, the Abate Serassi, has left it withNa soul to sink down into gentler and inore ordinary feelings. out doubt, that the first cause of the poet's punishment was Way beautiful and pathetic strans have tlowed from his his desire to be occasionally, or altogether, free from his part, of which the tenderness is as touching as the

servitude at the court of Alfonso. In 1575, Tasso resolved runder of tus nobler works is agitating and sublime. To to visit Rome, and enjoy the indulgence of the jubilee; ** Indeel, who looked deeply into his poetry, there "and this error," says the Abate, “increasing the suspicion Dexter was at any time a want of pathos ; but it was : already entertained, that he was in search of another

har $0 subduing and so profound, that even the poet service, was the origin of his misfortunes. On his return tercef semned afraid of being delivered up unto it; nay, to Ferrara, the Duke refused to admit him to an audience, Severinasi ashamed of being overcome by einotions, which and he was repulsed from the houses of all the dependants He soomy pnde of his intellect orten vaily strove to of the court; and not one of the promises which the Citr. 1970, and he dashed the weakness from his heart, and the dinal Albano had obtained for him was carried into effect.

e from his eyes, like a man suddenly ussailed by feelings Then it was that Tasso-after having suffered these hardsuch he wished to me, and which, though true to his na ships for some time, seeing himn.elf constantly discounten.

were inconsistent with the character which that inys anced by the Duke and the Princesses, abandoned by his lerrous nalure has been forced, is in self-defence, to assume, friends, and derided by his enemies-could no longer conBut there is one poen in which he has almost 'wholly land lain himself within the bounds of moderation, bui, giving ul reuembrance of the darker and stormer passions : which the tone of his spirit and his voice ai once is

vent to his choler, publicly broke forth mto the most in. **unt, and where he who seemed to care only for

jurious expressions imaginable, both against the Duke and

all the house of Esie, cursing his past service, and re** and remorse, and despair, and death, and in tracting all the praises he had ever given in his verses to Hans in all ibeir most appalling Torins, shows that he has those princes, or to any individual connected with them,

dan that can feed on the purest sympathies of our na; declaring that they were all a gang of poltroons, ingrates, es denver itself up to the sorrows, the sainess, and ancholy or bumbler souls. The Prisoner of Chile

and scoundrels, (poltroni, ingrati, e ribaldi). For this ofbisa puen over wuch Infancy has shed its first mys

sence he was arrested, conducted to the hospital of St. LETI tears for sorrows so alien to its own happy inno

Anna, and confined in a solitary cell as a inadman."Sovies which the gentle, pure, and pious soul of

SERASSI, Vita del Tasso.)

3 [In the Hospital of St. Anna, at Ferrara, they show a

or lasing prostrale.

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The narrow circus of my dungeon wall,

III. And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall;

Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry And revell d among men and things divine,

Of minds and bodies in captivity. And pour'd my spirit ovor Palestine,

And hark! the lash and the increasing howl, In honor of the sacred war for Him,

And the half-inarticulate blasphemy! The God who was on earth and is in heaven,

There be some here with worse than phrensy foul,
For he has strengthen'd me in heart and limb. Some who do still goad on the o'er-labor'd mind,
That through this sufferance I night be forgiven, And dim the little light that's left behind
I have employ'd my penance to record

With needless torture, as their tyrant will
How Salem's shrine was won and how adored. Is wound up to the lust of doing ill :S

With these and with their victims am I classid,
But this is o'er-my pleasant task is done :-

'Mid sounds and sights like these long years bave pass'd;

'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close : ! My long-sustaining friend of many years !

So let it be-for then I shall repose.
If I do blot thy final page with tears,
Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none.

But thou, my young creation ! my soul's child ! I have been patient, let me be so yet ;
Which ever playing round me came and smiled, I had forgotten half I would forget,
And woo'd me from myself with thy sweet sight, But it revives--Oh! would it were my lot
Thou too art gone-and so is my delight:

To be forgetful as I am forgot!
And therefore do I weep and inly bleed

Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell With this last bruise upon a broken reed.

In this vast lazar-house of many woes? Thou too art ended-what is left me now?

Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind, For I have anguish yet to bear-and how?

Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankind; I know not that-but in the innate force

Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows, Of my own spirit shall be found resource.

And each is tortured in his separate hellI have not sunk, for I had no remorse,

For we are crowded in our solitudesNor cause for such : they call d me mad—and why ? Many, but each divided by the wall, Oh Leonora! wilt not thou reply ?a

Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods :I was indeed delirious in my heart

While all can hear, nono heed his neighbor's callTo lift my love so lofty as thou art ;

None ! save that One, the veriest wretch of all, But still my phrensy was not of the mind;

Who was not made to be the mate of these, I knew my fault, and feel my punishment

Nor bound between Distraction and Disease. Not less because I suffer it unbent.

Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here? That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind,

Who havo debased me in the minds of men,
Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind; Debarring me the usage of my own,
But let them go, or torture as they will,

Blighting my life in best of its career,
My heart can multiply thino image still ;

Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear? Successful love may sate itself away,

Would I not pay them back these pangs again, The wretched are the faithful ; 'tis their fate

And teach them inward Sorrow's stifled groan? To have all feeling save the one decay,

The struggle to be calm, and cold distress, And every passion into one dilate,

Which undermines our Stoical success? As rapid rivers into ocean pour;

No!-still too proud to be vindictive-I But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.

Have pardon'd princes' insults, and would die.

The in

cell, over the door of which is the following inscription: argument, four tragedies, of which I had formed the plan. I "Rispettate, O posteri, la celebrità di questa stanza. dove had scheined, too, many works in prose, on subjects the most! Torquato Tasso, infermo più di tristezza che delirio, di lofty, and most useful to human lile; I had designed to write tenuto dimord anni vil, mesi ii., scrisse verse e prose, e fu philosophy with eloquence, in such a manner that there mighs rimesso in libert; ad instanza della città di Bergamo, nel remain of me an eternal memory in the world. Alas! I had giorno vi. Luglio, 1586." --- The dungeon is below the ground expected to close my life with glory and renown: but now, Hoor of the hospital, and the light penetrates through its oppressed by the burden of so many calamities, I have lost grated window from a small yard, which seems to have been every prospect of reputation and of honor. The fear of per: common to other cells. It is nine paces long, between five petual imprisonment increases my melancholy : the in::g. and six wide, and about seven feet high. The bedstead, so nities which I suffer auginent it; and the squalor of my they tell, has been carried off piecemeal, and the door half beard, my hair, and habit, the sordidness and filth, er cut away, by the devotion of those whom “the verse and ceedingly annoy me. Sure am I, that, if she who so little prose" of the prisoner have brought to Ferrara. The poet has corresponded to my attachment-if she saw me in such was confined in this room from the middle of March, 1579, a state, and in such affliction--she would have some conto December, 1580, when he was removed to a contiguous passion on me."--Opere, t. x. p. 367.) apartment much larger, in which, to use his own expres (For nearly the first year of his confinement Tasso ensions, he could philosophize and walk about."

dured all the horrors of a solitary cell, and was under the scription is incorrect as to the immediate cause of his en care of a jailer whose chief virtue, although he was a poet largement, which was promised to the city of Bergamo, but and a man of letters, was a cruel obedience to the color was carried into effect at the intercession of Don Vincenzo mands of his prince. His name was Agostino Maruti Gonzaga, Prince of Mantua.-HOBHOUSE.)

Tasso says of him, in a letter to his sister, "ed usa reco i [The opening lines bring the poet before us at once, as if ogni sorte di rigore ed inumanità."--llonHOOSE.) the door of the dungeon was thrown open.

From this bitter [This fearful picture is finely contrasted with that when complaint, how nobly the unconquered bard rises into calı, Tasso draws of himself in youth, when nature and meditaand serene, and dignified exultation over the beauty of "that tion were forming bis wild, romantic, and impassione young creation, his soul's child," the Gierusalemme Liberata! genius. Indeed, the great excellence of the “ Lamient” eunThe exultation of conscious genius then dies away, and we sists in the ebbing and flowing of the noble prisoner's soul behold him, “bound between distraction and discase," no his feelings often come suddenly from afar off, --sometunes longer in an inspired mood, but sunk into the lowest prostra-gentle airs are breathing, and then all at once anse the tion of human inisery. There is something terrible in this storins and tempest.--the gloom, though black as mga transition from divine rapture to degraded agony.-WILSON.) while it endures, gives way to frequent bursts of radiance.

2[In a letter written to his friend Scipio Gonzaga, shortly -and when the wild strain is closed, our pily and cons. after his confinement, Tasso exclaims- Ah, wretched me! eration are blended with a sustaining and elevating sense I had designed to write, besides two epic poems of most noble of the grandeur and majesty of his character.-Wilson 2


Yes, Sister of my Sovereign! for thy sake
I weed all bitterness from out my breast,
It hath no business where thou art a guest;
Thy brother hates—but I can not detest ;'
Thou pitiest not-but I can not forsake.

Where I did lay me down within the shade
Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours,
Though I was chid for wandering; and the Wise
Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said
Of such materials wretched men were made,
And such a truant boy would end in wo,
And that the only lesson was a blow ;-
And then they smote me, and I did not weep,
But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt
Return’d and wept alone, and dream'd again
The visions which arise without a sleep.
And with my years my soul began to pant
With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain ;
And the whole heart exhaled into One Want,
But undefined and wandering, till the day
I found the thing I sought-and that was thee;
And then I lost my being all to be
Absorb'd in thine--the world was pass'd away-
Thou didst annihilate the earth to me!

Look on a love which knows not to despair,
But all unquench'd is still my better part,
Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart,
As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud,
Encompass d with its dark and rolling shroud,
17 struck, -forth flies the all-ethereal dart!
And thus at the collision of thy name
The vivid thonght still flashes through my frame,
And for a moment all things as they were
Flit by me ;-they are gone-I am the same.
And yet my love without ambition grew;

I knew thy state, my station, and I knew ! A Princess was no love-mate for a bard;

I told it not, I breathed it not, it was
Safficient to itself, its own reward ;
And if my eyes reveald it, they, alas!
Were punish'd by the silentness of thine,
And yet I did not venture to repine.
Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine,
Worshipp'd at holy distance, and around
Hallow'd and meekly kissid the saintly ground;
Not for thou wert a princess, but that Love
Hail robed thee with a glory, and array'd
Thy lineaments in beauty that dismay'd-
Oh! not dismay'd—but awed, like One above !

And in that sweet severity there was
1 A something which all softness did surpass-

I know not how-thy genius master'd mino-
My star stood still before thee:-if it were
Presumptuous thus to love without design,
That sad fatality hath cost me dear;
But thou art dearest still, and I should be
Fit for this cell, which wrongs me—but for thee.
The very love which lock'd me to my chain
Hath lighten'd half its weight; and for the rest,
Though heavy, lent me vigor to sustain,
And look to thee with undivided breast,
And foil the ingenuity of Pain.

I loved all Solitude--but little thought
To spend I know not what of life, remote
From all communion with existence, save
The maniac and his tyrant ;-had I been
Their fellow, many years ere this had seen
My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave,
But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave?
Perchance in such a cell we suffer more
Than the wreck'd sailor on his desert shore;
The world is all before him-mine is here,
Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier.
What though he perish, he may lift his eye
And with a dying glance upbraid the sky-
I will not raise my own in such reproof,
Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof.

Yet do I feel at times my mind decline,
But with a sense of its decay :-I see
Unwonted lights along my prison shine,
And a strange demon, who is vexing me
With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below
The feeling of the healthful and the free;
But much to One, who long hath suffer'd so,
Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place,
And all that may be borne, or can debase.
I thought mine enemies had been but Man,
But Spirits may be leagued with them-all Earth
Abandons-Heaven forgets ine ;-in the dearth
Of such defence the Powers of Evil can,
It may be, tempt me further,--and prevail
Against the outworn creature they assail.

It is no marvel—from my very birth
My soul was drunk with love,—which did pervade
And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth ;
Of objects all inanimate I made
Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers,
And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise,

[Not long after his imprisonment, Tasso appealed to the 3 [Tasso's profound and unconquerable love for Leonora, mercy of Alfonso, in a canzone of great beauty, couched in sustaining itself without hope throughout years of darkness terus so respectful and pathetic, as must have moved, it and solitude, breathes a moral dignity over all his sentimight be thoughi, the severest bosom to relent. The heart ments, and we feel the strength and power of his noble spirit of Alfonso Was, however, impregnable to the appeal ; and in the un-upbraiding devotedness of his passion.-WILTanso, in another ode to the princesses, whose pity he in SON.) vosed in the name of their own mother, who had herself known, ií pot the like horrors, the like solitude of imprison

*["My mind like theirs adapted to its grave.”—MS.) ment, and bitterness of soul, made a similar appeal.

* Con

6 ["* Nor do I lament," wrote Tasso, shortly after his constered merely as poems,” says Black, “these canzoni are

finement, " that my heart is deluged with almost constant extremely beautiful; but, if we contemplate them as the

misery, that my head is always heavy and often painful, productions of a mind diseased, they forin important docu

that my sight and hearing are much impaired, and that all ncats the history of man."-Lifc of Tasso, vol. i. p. 408.]

my frame is become spare and meager ; but, pussing all *{As to the indifference which the Princess is said to have this with a short sigh, what I would bewail is the infirmity exhibited for the misfortunes of Tasso, and the little effort of iny mind. My mind sleeps, not thinks; my fancy is chill, te made to obtain his liberty, this is one of the negative and forms no pictures; my negligent senses will no longer arguments founded on an hypothesis that may be easily de furnish the images of things; my hand is sluggish in writing, stroyed by a thousand others equally plausible was not the and my pen seems as if it shrunk from the office. I feel as Process anxious to avoid her own run? In taking too warm if I were chained in all my operations, and as if I were overan interest for ibe poet, did she not risk destroying herself, come by an unwonted numbness and oppressive stupor.". without saying him?-Foscolo.)

Opere, t. viii. p. 258.]

Why in this furnace is my spirit proved

A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,-Like steel in tempering fire? because I loved ? A poet's dungeon thy most far renown, Because I loved what not to love, and see,

While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls ! Was more or less than mortal, and than me.

And thou, Leonora !-thou—who wert ashamed

That such as I could love-who blush'd to hear IX.

To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear, I once was quick in feeling--that is o'er ;

Go! tell thy brother, that my heart, untamed
My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd By grief, years, weariness—and it may be
My brain against these bars, as the sun flash'd A taint of that he would impute to me
In mockery through them ;--If I bear and boro From long infection of a den like this,
The much I have recounted, and the more

Where the mind rots congenial with the abyxe, Which hath no words,--'tis that I would not die Adores thee still;—and add—that when the towers And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie

And battlements which guard his joyous hours Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot, Stamp Madness deep into my memory,

Or left untended in a dull repose, And woo Compassion to a blighted name,

This-this--shall be a consecrated spot! Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim.

But thou—when all that Birth and Beauty throws No-it shall be immortal -and I make

Of magic round thee is extinct-shalt have A future temple of my present cell,

One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave. Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.?

No power in death can tear our names apart, While thou, Ferrara! when no longer dwell

As none in life could rend thee from my heart.
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,

Yes, Leonora ! it shall be our fate
And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearthless halls, To be entwined forever—but too late !"



And every monument the stranger meets, Ou Venice ! Venice! when thy marble walls

Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets; Are level with the waters, there shall be

And even the Lion all subdued appears, A cry of nations o'er thy sunken balls,

And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum, A loud lament along the sweeping sea!

With dull and daily dissonance, repeats If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,

The echo of thy tyrant's voice along What should thy sons do?--any thing but weep:

The soft waves, once all musical to song, And yet they only murmur in their sleep.

That heaved beneath the moonlight with the throng In contrast with their fathers—as the slime,

Of gondolas—and to the busy hum The dull green ooze of the receding deep,

Of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful deeds Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam,

Were but the overbeating of the heart, That drives the sailor shipless to his home,

And flow of too much happiness, which needs Are they to those that were ; and thus they croep,

The aid of age to turn its course apart Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets. From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood Oh! agony—that centuries should reap

Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood. No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years But these are better than the gloomy errors, Of wealth and glory turn’d to dust and tears ; The weeds of nations in their last decay,

1["Which nations yet shall visit for after days

and justified by Addison in prose, and by Akenside in verse: sake."-MS.) my

but there are moments of real life when its miseries and its ? [Those who indulge in the dreams of earthly retribution

necessities seem to overpower and destroy them. The bus. will observe, that the cruelty of Alfonso was not left without suffering, no adverse circumstances, operating on our :

tory of mankind, however, furnishes proofs that no billy its recompense, even in his own person. He survived the affection of his subjects and of his dependants, who deserted

terial nature, will extinguish the spirit of imagination. Per. | him at his death; and suffered his body to be interred with

haps there is no instance of this so very affecuing and so very out princely or decent honors. His last wishes were neg.

sublime as the case of Tasso. They who have seen the dark, lected; his testament cancelled. His kinsman, Don Cæsar,

horror-striking dungeon-hole at Ferrara, in which he was shrank froin the excommunication of the Vatican, and, after

confined seven years under the imputation of mainess, will a short struggle, or rather suspense, Ferrara passed away for

have had this truth impressed upon their hearts in a manner

never to be erased. ever from the dominion of the house of Este.-HOBHOUSE.)

In this vault, of which the sight makes

the hardest heart shudder, the poet employed himself in fia. 3 [In July, 1586, after a confinement of more than seven ishing and correcting his immortal epic poem, Lord Byron's years, Tasso was released from his dungeon. In the hope of “Lament" on this subject is as sublime and profound a les receiving his mother's dowry, and of again beholding his sis son in morality, and in the pictures of the recesses of the ter Cornelia, he shortly after visited Naples, where his pres human soul, as it is a production most eloquent, mosi pa: ence was welcomed with every demonstration of esteem and thetic, most vigorous, and most elevating among the gifts admiration. Beingon a visit at Mola di Gaeta, he received the of the Muse. The bosom which is not touched with ilfollowing remarkable tribute of respect. Marco di Sciarra, the the fancy which is not warmed,- the undersianding which notorious captain of a numerous troop of banditri, hearing is not enlightened and exalted by it, is not fit for human na where the great poet was, sent to compliment him, and of tercourse. If Lord Byron had written nothing but this, to fered him not only a free passage, but protection by the way, deny him the praise of a grand poet would have been fiaand assured him that he and is followers would be proud grant injustice or gross stupidity.-BRYDO ES) to execute his orders. See Manso, Vita dei Tasso, p. 219.]

6 [This Ode was transmitted from Venice, in 1819, along *[The "pleasures of imagination'' have been explained with Mazeppa.")

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