ADVERTISEMENT. AT Ferrara (in the library) are preserved the original MSS. of Tasso's Gierusalemme and of Guarini's Pastor Fido, with letters of Tasso, one from Titian to Ariosto, and the inkstand and chair, the tomb and the house of the latter. But as misfortune has a greater interest for posterity, and little or none for the conteinporary, the cell where Tasso was confined in the hospital of St. Anna attracts a more fixed attention than the residence or the monument of Ariosto-at least it had this effect on me. There are two inscriptions, one on the outer gate, the second over the cell itself, inviting, unnecessarily, the wonder and the indignation of the spectator. Ferrara is much decayed and depopulated; the castle still exists entire; and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were beheaded, according to the annal of Gibbon. THE LAMENT OF TASSO. 1. . LONG years! It tries the thrilling frame to bear, Long years of outrage, calumny, and wrong; And the mind's canker in its savage mood, Stands scoffing through the never-open'd gate, Till its unsocial bitterness is gone; And I can banquet like a beast of prey, Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave, II. But this is o'er-my pleasant task is done : Know that my sorrows have wrung from me none. Nor cause for such: they call'd me mad—and why? I was indeed delirious in my heart To lift my love so lofty as thou art; That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind; But let them go, or torture as they will, My heart can multiply thine image still; The wretched are the faithful; 't is their fate And every passion into one dilate, As rapid rivers into ocean pour; But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore. III. Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry Of minds and bodies in captivity, And hark! the lash and the increasing howl, And the half-inarticulate blasphemy! There be some here with worse than frenzy foul, Some who do still goad on the o'er-labour'd mind, And dim the little light that's left behind With needless torture, as their tyrant will Is wound up to the lust of doing ill: With these and with their victims am I class'd, 'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have pass'd; 'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close: So let it be for then I shall repose, |