544 A mirror found? He knew not-none could know. The light of his frank eyes, as if to show He knew not of the grief within that burned, For all who knew and loved him then perceived Between his heart and mind,-both unrelieved Made this where now he dwelt a penal hell; From God's displeasure, like a darkness, fell And others: "'Tis the shadow of a dream But through the soul's abyss, like some dark stream A lair of rest beneath thy spirit pure, So spake they, idly of another's state Babbling vain words and fond philosophy: Men held with one another. Nor did he, Another, not himself, he to and fro Questioned and canvassed it with subtlest wit. That which he knew not-how it galled and bit His weary mind, this converse vain and cold; Upon his being,- -a snake which fold by fold Pressed out the life of life, a clinging fiend PART II. PRINCE ATHANASE had one beloved friend; And lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend He was the last whom superstition's blight Had spared in Greece-the blight that cramps and blinds,— Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds A fertile island in the barren sea, One mariner who has survived his mates Many a drear month in a great ship-so he With soul-sustaining songs and sweet debates From her high lattice o'er the rugged path Where she once saw that horseman toil, with brief She saw, And soon within her hospitable hall And Athanase, her child, who must have been IX. My head is wild with weeping for a grief To seek,-or haply, if I sought, to find; 1818. X. Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow Mad. No access to the Duke! You have not said That the Count Maddalo would speak with him? Pigna. Did you inform his Grace that Signor Pigna Waits with state papers for his signature? Mal. The Lady Leonora cannot know That I have written a sonnet to her fame, In which I . . . Venus and Adonis. You should not take my gold, and serve me not. Alb. In truth I told her; and she smiled and said, "If I am Venus, thou, coy Poesy, Art the Adonis whom I love, and he The Erymanthian boar that wounded him." Oh trust to me, Signor Malpiglio, Those nods and smiles were favours worth the zechin. That I reach not: the smiles fell not on me. Pigna. How are the Duke and Duchess occupied ? Alb. Buried in some strange talk. The Duke was leaning— His finger on his brow, his lips unclosed. The Princess sate within the window-seat, And so her face was hid; but on her knee Her hands were clasped, veinèd, and pale as snow, And quivering. Young Tasso, too, was there. Mad. Thou seest on whom from thine own worshiped heaven Thou draw'st down smiles--they did not rain on thee. Mal. Would they were parching lightnings, for his sake On whom they fell! 1818. SONG FOR TASSO. I LOVED-alas! our life is love; But, when we cease to breathe and move, I thought (but not as now I do) Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore,- And still I love, and still I think, And, if I think, my thoughts come fast; Sometimes I see before me flee A silver spirit's form, like thee, still watching it, Till by the grated casement's ledge XII. I. LET those who pine in pride or in revenge, Or think that ill for ill should be repaid, 2. A massy tower yet overhangs the town, 3. Another scene ere wise Etruria knew Its second ruin through internal strife, As death to life. As winter to fair flowers (though some be poison) 4. In Pisa's church a cup of sculptured gold Was brimming with the blood of feuds forsworn At sacrament: more holy ne'er of old 5. And reconciling factions wet their lips With that dread wine, and swear to keep each spirit Undarkened by their country's last eclipse. 6. Was Florence the liberticide? that band A nation amid slaveries, disenchanted Since Athens, its great mother, sunk in splendour, As ocean its wrecked fanes, severe yet tender. Was drawn from the dim world to welcome thee. 8. And thou in painting didst transcribe all taught By loftiest meditations; marble knew The sculptor's fearless soul, and, as he wrought, The grace of his own power and freedom grew. Of direst weeds hangs garlanded—the snake A beast of subtler venom now doth make And love and freedom blossom but to wither; So that their grapes may oft be plucked together; But, if the morning bright as evening shone, Pursued into forgetfulness, which won So much of water with him as might wet He hid himself, and hunger, toil, and cold, |