Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; "Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath. Oh! could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanish'd scene; As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, Be midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to ms. March, 182A PARISINA.* TO SCROPE BERDMORE DAVIES, ESQ., THE FOLLOWING POEM IS INSCRIBED, 27 ONE WHO HAS LONG ADMIRED HIS TALENTS AND VALUED AI FRIENDSHIP. ADVERTISEMENT. THE following poem is grounded on a circumstance mentioned in Gibbon's "Antiquities of the House of Brunswick." I am aware, that in modern times the delicacy or fastidiousness of the reader may deem such subjects unfit for the purposes of poetry. The Greek dramatists, and some of the best of our old English writers, were of a different opinion: as Alfieri and Schiller have also been, more recently, upon the Continent. The following extract will explain the facts on which the story is founded. The name of Azo is substituted for Nicholas, as more metrical. "Under the reign of Nicholas III., Ferrara was polluted with a domestic tragedy. By the testimony of an attendant, and his own observation, the Marquis of Este discovered the incestuous loves of his wife Parisina, and Hugo his bastard son, a beautiful and vauant youth. They were beheaded in the castle by the sentence of a father and husband, who published his shame, and survived their execution. He was unfortunate, if they were guilty; if they were innocent, he was still more unfortunate; nor is there any possible situation in which I can sincerely approve the last act of the justice of a parent."-Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works, vol. iii. p. 470. The facts on which the pretent poem was grounded are to be found 'n Frizzi's " History of Ferrara." PARISINA. I. IT is the hour when from the boughs Seem sweet in every whisper'd word; Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the heaven that clear obscure, Which follows the decline of day, As twilight melts beneath the moon away. II. But it is not to list to the waterfall That Parisina leaves her hall, And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light, "Tis not for the sake of its full-blown flower- There glides a step through the foliage thick, And her cheek grows pale-and her heart beats quick There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves, And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves: A moment more-and they shall meet "Tis past-her lover 's at her feet. III. And what unto them is the world beside, Of aught around, above, beneath. Their very sighs are full of joy Alas! we must awake before We know such vision comes no more. IV. With many a lingering look they leave The frequent sigh-the long embrace- While gleams on Parisina's face The Heaver she fears will not forgive hor, The frequent sigh, the long embrace, With all the deep and shuddering chill V. And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed, A husband's trusting heart beside. A name she dare not breathe by day, VI. He clasp'd her sleeping to his heart, When he shall wake to sleep no more, VII. - He pluck'd his poniard in its sheath, He could not slay a thing so fair- Which, had she roused her from her trance, Gleam'd on the dew-drops big and damp. She spake no more-but still she slumber'dWhile, in his thought, her days are number'd, VIII. And with the morn he sought, and found, In many a tale from those around, To save themselves, and would transfer IX. He was not one who brook'd delay: |