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And the black bell became invisible, Which break a teachless nature to the And the red tower looked gray, and all yoke : between

Mine is another faith "_thus much I The churches, ships and palaces were spoke

And noting he replied not, added : Huddled in gloom ;-into the purple sea The orange hues of heaven sunk silently. This lovely child, blithe, innocent and We hardly spoke, and soon the gondola free, Conveyed me to my lodgings by the She spends a happy time with little

way. The following morn was rainy, cold While we to such sick thoughts suband dim,

jected are Ere Maddalo arose, I called on him, As came on you last night-it is our And whilst I waited with his child I

will played ;

Which thus enchains us to permitted A lovelier toy sweet Nature never made,

illA serious, subtle, wild, yet gentle being, We might be otherwise we might Graceful without design and unforesee

be all ing,

We dream of, happy, high, majestical. With eyes-Oh speak not of her eyes! Where is the love, beauty, and truth —which seem

we seek Twin mirrors of Italian Heaven, yet But in our mind ? and if we were not gleam

weak With such deep meaning, as we never Should we be less in deed than in

desire ?" But in the human countenance. With "Aye, if we were not weak and we

aspire She was a special favourite : I had nursed How vainly to be strong !” said MadHer fine and feeble limbs when she

dalo : came first

“You talk Utopia.” “It remains to To this bleak world; and she yet seemed know,” to know

I then rejoined, “and those who try On second sight her ancient playfellow, Less changed than she was by six How strong the chains are which our months or so;

spirit bind ; For after her first shyness was worn out Brittle perchance as straw We We sate there, rolling billiard balls are assured about,

Much may be conquered, much may When the Count entered. Salutations

be endured past;

Of what degrades and crushes us. “ The word you spoke last night might We know well have cast

That we have power over ourselves to A darkness on my spirit--if man be

do The passive thing you say, I should And suffer - what, we know not till not see

we try ; Much harm in the religions and old But something nobler than to live and

die(Tho' I may never own such leaden So taught those kings of old philolaws)




may find


ous air

Who reigned, before Religion made We disembarked. The clap of tortured men blind;

hands, And those who suffer with their suffer- Fierce yells and howlings and lamenting kind

ings keen, Yet feel their faith, religion.” “My And laughter where complaint had dear friend,”

merrier been, Said Maddalo, “my judgment will not Moans, shrieks, and curses, and blasbend

pheming prayers To your opinion, tho' I think you Accosted us.

We climbed the oozy might

stairs Make such a system refutation-tight Into an old courtyard. I heard on As far as words go. I knew one like

high, you

Then, fragments of most touching melody, Who to this city came some months But looking up saw not the singer there. ago,

Through the black bars in the tempestuWith whom I argued in this sort, and he

I saw, like weeds on a wrecked palace Is now gone mad,-and so he answered growing, me,

Long tangled locks Aung wildly forth, Poor fellow! But if you would like to and flowing, go

Of those who on a sudden were beguiled We'll visit him, and his wild talk will Into strange silence, and looked forth show

and smiled How vain are such aspiring theories." Hearing sweet sounds.—Then I : “Me. “I hope to prove the induction other- thinks there were wise,

A cure of these with patience and kind And that a want of that true theory, still,

If music can thus move but Which seeks a 'soul of goodness' in what is he things ill,

Whom we seek here?” “ or his sad Or in himself or others, has thus history bowed

I know but this,” said Maddalo, “he His being—there are some by nature proud,

To Venice a dejected man, and fame Who patient in all else demand but | Said he was wealthy, or he had been

thisTo love and be beloved with gentle. Some thought the loss of fortune

wrought him woe ; And being scorned, what wonder if But he was ever talking in such sort they die

As you do-far more sadly; he seemed Some living death? this is not destiny

hurt, But man's own wilsul ill.”

Even as a man with his peculiar wrong,

As thus I spoke To hear but of the oppression of the Servants announced the gondola, and


Or those absurd deceits (I think with Through the fast-falling rain and high

you wrought sea

In some respects you know) which Sailed to the island where the madhouse

carry through stands.

The excellent impostors of this earth






did sway

When they outface detection : he had These words we called the keeper, and worth,

he led Poor fellow ! but a humourist in his To an apartment opening on the sea way

There the poor wretch was sitting Alas, what drove him mad ?” “I mournfully cannot say ;

Near a piano, his pale fingers twined A lady came with him from France, One with the other, and the ooze and and when

wind She left him and returned, he wandered Rushed through an open casement, and

then About yon lonely isles of desert sand His hair, and starred it with the brackish Till he grew wild-he had no cash or

spray ; land

His head was leaning on a music book, Remaining, the police had brought And he was muttering, and his lean him here

limbs shook ; Some fancy took him and he would not His lips were pressed against a folded bear

leaf Removal ; so I fitted up for him In hue too beautiful for health, and Those rooms beside the sea, to please grief his whim,

Smiled in their motions as they lay And sent him busts and books and urns apartfor flowers

As one who wrought from his own fervid Which had adorned his life in happier heart hours,

The eloquence of passion, soon he raised And instruments of music - you may His sad meek face and eyes lustrous and guess

glazed A stranger could do little more or less And spoke—sometimes as one who wrote For one so gentle and unfortunate :

and thought And those are his sweet strains which His words might move some heart that charm the weight

heeded not From madmen's chains, and make this If sent to distant lands: and then as one

Reproaching deeds never to be undone A heaven of sacred silence, hushed to With wondering self-compassion; then hear."

his speech “Nay, this was kind of you-he had no Was lost in gries, and then his words claim,

came each As the world says -“ None—but the Unmodulated, cold, expressionless,very same

But that from one jarred accent you Which I on all mankind were I as he

might guess Fallen to such deep reverse ;— his It was despair made them so uniform : melody

And all the while the loud and gusty Is interrupted—now we hear the din

storm Of madmen, shriek on shriek again Hissed thro' the window, and we stood begin ;

behind Let us

now visit him ; after this Stealing his accents from the envious strain

wind Ile ever communes with himself again, Unseen. I yet remember what he said And sees nor hears not any." Having Distinctly: such impression his words said


Hell appear

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my state


“ Month after month,” he cried, “to I have not as some do, bought penitence bear this load

With pleasure, and a dark yet sweet And as a jade urged by the whip and offence, goad

For then, if love and tenderness and To drag life on, which like a heavy truth chain

Had overlived hope's momentary youth, Lengthens behind with many a link of My creed should have redeemed me pain!

from repenting; And not to speak my grief-O not to But loathèd scorn and outrage unredare

lenting, To give a human voice to my despair, Met love excited by far other seeming But live and move, and wretched thing! Until the end was gained . . . as one smile on

from dreaming As if I never went aside to groan, Of sweetest peace, I woke, and found And wear this mask of falsehood even to those

Such as it is. Who are most dear—not for my own

“O Thou, my spirit's mate repose

Who, for thou art compassionate and Alas! no scorn or pain or hate could be wise, So heavy as that salsehood is to me- Wouldst pity me from thy most gentle But that I cannot bear more altered faces

eyes Than needs must be, more changed and If this sad writing thou shouldst ever

cold embraces, More misery, disappointment, and mis- My secret groans must be unheard by trust

thee, To own me for their father ... Would Thou wouldst weep tears bitter as blood the dust

to know Were covered in upon my body now ! Thy lost friend's incommunicable woe. That the life ceased to toil within my brow!

“Ye few by whom my nature has And then these thoughts would at the

been weighed least be filed;

In friendship, let me not that name Let us not fear such pain can vex the degrade dead.

By placing on your hearts the secret load

Which crushes mine to dust. There is “What Power delights to torture us?

one road I know

To peace and that is truth, which That to myself I do not wholly owe

follow ye! What now I suffer, tho' in part I may. Love sometimes leads astray to misery. Alas none strewed sweet flowers upon Yet think not tho' subdued-and I may

well Where wandering heedlessly, I met pale Say that I am subdued—that the full Pain,

Hell My shadow, which will leave me not within me would infect the untainted again

breast If I have erred, there was no joy in Of sacred nature with its own unrest ; error,

As some perverted beings think to find But pain and insult and unrest and in scorn or hate a medicine for the terror;


the way

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Which scorn or hate hath wounded- Am I not wan like thee? at the grave's how vain !

call The dagger heals not but may rend I haste, invited to thy wedding-ball again.

To greet the ghastly paramour, for whom Believe that I am ever still the same Thou hast deserted me ... and made In creed as in resolve, and what may

the tomb tame

Thy bridal bed . . . But I beside your My heart, must leave the understanding feet free,

Will lie and watch ye from my winding Or all would sink in this keen agony

sheet Nor dream that I will join the vulgar Thus .

wide awake tho' dead ... cry,

yet stay, O stay ! Or with my silence sanction tyranny, Go not so soon — I know not what I Or seek a moment's shelter from my say-pain

Hear but my reasons I am mad, I In any madness which the world calls fear, gain,

My fancy is o’erwrought . . . thou art Ambition or revenge or thoughts as stern

not here. As those which make me what I am, or Pale art thou, 'tis most true ... but turn

thou art gone, To avarice or misanthropy or lust ... Thy work is finished I am left Heap on me soon O grave, thy welcome alone !

dust! Till then the dungeon may demand its “ Nay, was it I who wooed thee to prey,

this breast And Poverty and Shame may meet and Which, like a serpent thou envenomest say

As in repayment of the warmth it lent? IIalting beside me on the public way, Didst thou not seek me for thine own . That love-devoted youth is ours-let's

content ? sit

Did not thy love awaken mine? I Beside him - he may live some six thought months yet.'

That thou wert she who said You kiss Or the red scaffold, as our country bends,

me not May ask some willing victim, or ye Ever, I fear you do not love me

friends May fall under some sorrow which this In truth I loved even to my overthrow heart

Her, who would sain forget these words: Or hand may share or vanquish or avert ;

but they I am prepared-in truth with no proud Cling to her mind, and cannot pass away.

joyTo do or suffer aught, as when a boy

"You say that I am proud--that I did devote to justice and to love

when I speak My nature, worthless now! .

My lip is tortured with the wrongs which “I must remove

break A veil from my pent mind. 'Tis torn The spirit it expresses . . . Never one aside!

Humbled himself before, as I have 0, pallid as Death's dedicated bride,

done! Thou mockery which art sitting by my Even the instinctive worm on which we side,



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