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ALBANO. Buried in some strange talk. The Duke was

leaning, His finger on his brow, his lips unclosed. The Princess sate within the window-seat, 20 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.

MADDALO. Thou seest on whom from thine own wor

shipped heaven Thou drawest down smiles—they did not rain

on thee.

MALPIGLIO. Would they were parching lightnings for his

sake On whom they fell!

SONG FOR “TASSO.”

1.
I LOVED-alas! our life is love;
But when we cease to breathe and move
I do suppose love ceases too.
I thought, but not as now I do,
Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore,
Of all that men had thought before,
And all that nature shows, and more,

II.
And still I love and still I think,
But strangely, for my heart can drink

The dregs of such despair, and live,
And love;
And if I think, my thoughts come fast,
I mix the present with the past,
And each seems uglier than the last.

111.
Sometimes I see before me flee
A silver spirits form, like thee,
O Leonora, and I sit
Still watching it,
Till by the grated casement's ledge
It fades, with such a sigh, as sedge
Breathes o'er the breezy streamlet's edge.

MARENGHI.

LET those who pine in pride or in revenge,

Or think that ill for ill should be repaid, Or barter wrong for wrong, until the exchange Ruins the merchants of such thriftless

trade, Visit the tower of Vado, and unlearn Such bitter faith beside Marenghi's urn.

1 Mrs. Shelley says—“This fragment refers to an event, told in Sismondi's Histoire des Républiques Italiennes, which occurred during the war when Florence finally subdued Pisa, and reduced it to a province.” Pietro Marenghi is said to have been a Florentine exile, who, while Florence was trying to reduce Pisa by famine, swam to a galley that was bringing provision for Pisa and fired it in circumstances of considerable heroism. The galley was taking refuge from the enemy under the tower of Vado at the time. -ED.

II.

A massy tower yet overhangs the town,

A scattered group of ruined dwellings now.

III.

Another scene ere wise Etruria knew

Its second ruin through internal strife, And tyrants through the breach of discord

threw The chain which binds and kills. As death

to life, As winter to fair flowers (though some be

poison) So Monarchy succeeds to freedom's foison.

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In Pisa's church a cup of sculptured gold
Was brimming with the blood of feuds for-

sworn
At sacrament: more holy ne'er of old

Etrurians mingled with the shades forlorn Of moon-illumined forests.

*

And reconciling factions wet their lips
With that dread wine, and swear to keep each

spirit
Undarkened by their country's last eclipse.

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VI.

Was Florence the liberticide? that band
Of free and glorious brothers who had

planted,

Like a green isle 'mid Æthiopian sand,

A nation amid slaveries, disenchanted Of many impious faiths—wise, just-do they, Does Florence, gorge the sated tyrants' prey ?

VII. O foster-nurse of man's abandoned glory, Since Athens, its great mother, sunk in

splendour; Thou shadowest forth that mighty shape in

story, As ocean its wrecked fanes, severe yet

tender :The light-invested angel Poesy Was drawn from the dim world to welcome

thee.

VIII. 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. And more than all, heroic, just, sublime, Thou wert among the false — was this thy

crime?

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Yes; and on Pisa's marble walls the twine

Of direst weeds hangs garlanded—the snake Inhabits its wrecked palaces ;-in thine

A beast of subtler venom now doth make Its lair, and sits amid their glories over

thrown, And thus thy victim's fate is as thine own.

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The sweetest flowers are ever frail and rare,

And love and freedom blossom but to wither; And good and ill like vines entangled are, So that their grapes may oft be plucked

together ;Divide the vintage ere thou drink, then make Thy heart rejoice for dead Marenghi's sake.

XI.
No record of his crime remains in story,

But if the morning bright as evening shone, It was some high and holy deed, by glory

Pursued into forgetfulness, which won From the blind crowd he made secure and free The patriot's meed, toil, death, and infamy.

XII.
For when by sound of trumpet was declared

A price upon his life, and there was set
A penalty of blood on all who shared

So much of water with him as might wet His lips, which speech divided not-he went Alone, as you may guess, to banishment.

XIII.
Amid the mountains, like a hunted beast,

He hid himself, and hunger, toil, and cold, Month after month endured; it was a feast Whene'er he found those globes of deep-red

gold Which in the woods the strawberry-tree doth

bear, Suspended in their emerald atmosphere.

XIV.
And in the roofless huts of vast morasses,

Deserted by the fever-stricken serf,

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