Puslapio vaizdai
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Men, it is said, by famine so reduced,
Have eaten their slain enemies; one wretch
Askt if 'twere worse to eat men than to slay,
To eat the murderer than to slay the helpless;
Then, turning to a priest who taunted him,
"Madden'd by famine brought on us by you
We ate our enemies, you eat your God."
Pincers tore out the tongue that thus blasphemed.
After long winters and hard fights against
Successive hosts the fortalice was won;
Few the survivors; one Dolcino was,
Another was the virgin; neither wish'd
For life, both yearn'd for truth and truth alone. !
Dolcino was led forward: pots of pitch
And burning charcoal were paraded round
The cart that bore him, iron pincers glow'd
With fire, and these contending priests applied
To every portion of his naked flesh

Until the bones were bare; then was he dragg'd
Thither where Margarita stood above

Small fagots, for her lingering death prepared.

Few and faint words she spoke, nor heard he these. "Have we not lived together, O Dolcino,

In sisterhood and brotherhood a life

Of chastity, God helping this desire,

Nor leaving other in the cleansed heart."

She paus'd; his head hung low; then added she "Our separation is the worst of pangs

We suffer: bear even this: pincers and barbs
I now feel too."

"Dolcino, art thou faint?

Speakest thou not? then is thy spirit fled,

Mine follows."

There was on each eye a tear

(For Margarita was but woman yet)

Not one had fallen, else the flames had dried it.
She uttered these last words, scarce audibly,
"Blessed be God, thou seest his face, Dolcino,
O may I see it! may he grant it soon!"

VIII.

TO VENICE.

Dishonour'd thou hast been, but not debased,
O Venice! he hastes onward who will bring
The girdle that enclosed thy virgin waist,
And will restore to thee thy bridal ring.

Venice! on earth are reptiles who lift high
The crested head, both venomous and strong
Are they; and many by their fangs shall die,
But one calm watcher crushes them ere long.
So fare who ever twists in tortuous ways,
Strown with smooth promises and broken vows,
Who values drunken shouts, not sober praise,
And spurns the scanty pittance Truth allows.

IX.

SYRACUSE.

In brighter days the Dorian Muse
Extoll'd the kings of Syracuse.
Hieros and Gelons shook the rein
Of coursers on the Olympic plain,
Victors at Elis, where they won
A crown no king can leave his son.-
There Pindar struck his harp aloud,
And shared the applauses of the crowd.
Then Science from deep study rais'd
A greater man than bards have prais'd.
When Syracuse met Roman foes,
Above her proudest he arose;

He called from heaven the Lord of Light
To lend him his all-piercing might.

The patriot's pious prayer was heard,
And vaunting navies disappeared;

Through clouds of smoke sparks widely flew,
And hissing rafts the shore bestrew;
Some on the Punic sands were cast,
And Carthage was avenged at last.
Alas! how fallen art thou since,
O Syracuse! how many a prince
Of Gallia's parti-colour'd brood
Have crept o'er thee to suck thy blood!
Syracuse, raise again thy head,
Long hast thou slept, but art not dead.
A late avenger now is come

Whose voice alone can split the tomb.
Hearest thou not the world throughout
Cry Garibaldi? One loud shout
Arises, and there needs but one
To shatter a polluted throne.

X.

TO ALFIERI.

Alfieri, thou art present in my sight
Tho' far removed from us, for thou alone
Hast toucht the inmost fibres of the breast,
Since Tasso's tears made damper the damp floor
Whereon one only light came thro' the bars;

Love brought it, and stood mute, with broken wing.
The vision of Leonora could not raise

His heavy heart, and staid long nights in vain.

Thou scornedst thy own country, scorn thou wouldst
Many who dwell within it now her bonds

Are broken: adulation at all times

Was her besetting sin, nor leaves her yet,

But thou couldst tell her, and couldst make her hear,
That Corsic honey* which attracts the hive

Is poison.. turn then from the mortal taste.

XI.

TO CAREY, ON HIS APPOINTMENT TO AN OFFICE IN THE BRITISH

MUSEUM.

Carey! I fear the fruits are scanty

Thou gatherest from the fields of Dante,
But thou hast found at least a shed
Wherein to cram thy truckle-bed;
The porter's lodge of the Museum
May daily hear thee sing Te Deum.
Peaches and grapes are mostly found
Richest the nearest to the ground:
Our gardeners take especial care
To keep down low all boughs that bear.
Dante's long intertwisted line

Is straiten'd and drawn tight by thine :
Hell, devil, dog, in force remain,
And Paradise blooms fresh again.

XII.

AN OLD POET TO SLEEP.

No God to mortals oftener descends

Than thou, O Sleep! yet thee the sad alone
Invoke, and gratefully thy gift receive.
Some thou invitest to explore the sands

Left by Pactolos, some to climb up higher,

Much of the honey in Corsica is extracted from the flower of box and unwholesome.

Where points Ambition to the pomp of War;
Others thou watchest while they tighten robes

Which Law throws round them loose, and they meanwhile
Wink at a judge, and he the wink returns.
Apart sit fewer, whom thou lovest more
And leadest where unruffled rivers flow,
Or azure lakes neath azure skies expand.
These have no wider wishes, and no fears,
Unless a fear, in turning, to molest
The silent, solitary, stately swan,
Disdaining the garrulity of groves

Nor seeking shelter there from sun or storm.
Me also hast thou led among such scenes,
Gentlest of Gods! and Age appear'd far off
While thou wast standing close above the couch,
And whispered'st, in whisper not unheard,

66

'I now depart from thee, but leave behind

My own twin-brother, friendly as myself,

Who soon shall take my place; men call him Death.
Thou hearest me, nor tremblest, as most do,

In sooth why shouldst thou? what man hast thou wrong'd
By deed or word? few dare ask this within."

There was a pause; then suddenly said Sleep "He whom I named approacheth, so farewell."

XIII.

THE POETS OF SCOTLAND.

Thomson, there born where mist and snow
Are the sole change the Seasons know,
Saw them alternate in his dreams,

And woke to charm the Nymphs of Thames.
The generous Scott and stalwart Burns
Blew Caledonia's pipe by turns;
And Campbell with no fainter voice
Bade her in one more bard rejoice,
When Hohenlinden made reply
To "Glorious Death or victory!"

XIV.

Jonson to Shakespeare was preferr'd
By the bell-jingling low-brow'd herd,
Cowley to Milton. Who would mind
The stumbles of the lame and blind?
We may regret their sad estate,

But can not make them amble straight.

XV.

TO MEMORY.

Thy daughters often visit me
And call thee mother, Memory!
Doubtful if thou art quite divine,
I never askt them who was thine.
Altho' these children are so good,
There's somewhat acrid in thy blood,
For here and there I think I trace
A more than freckle in thy face.
Why tell me how serenely bright
Shone over me the morning light?
Why lead me backward far away
And make me wish for close of day?

XVI.

To see the cities and to know the men

Of many lands, in youth was Homer's lot;

In age to visit his far home again

The Gods, who never feel it, granted not.

XVII.

TO THE EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH.

Pleas'd was I when you told me how

In hat that buffeted the brow

And mason's loose habiliment

With masons thro' Ham's gate you went.

Heartily glad was I to see

A prisoner, though a prince, set free.

"Prince!" said I, "you've escaped two worst Of evils."

"I have known a first," Said you, "but that is only one, Tell me the other."

""Tis a throne."

I could not add what now I might, It keeps the worthy out of sight,

Nor lets the sitter sit upright.

Can there be pleasure to keep down
In rusty chains a struggling town?
Can there be any to hear boom

Your cannon o'er the walls of Rome?
Or shows it strength to break a word
As easily as girls a cord

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