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Ar 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 ink. stand 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 cotemporary, the cell where Tasso was confined in the hospital of St. Anna attracts a more fixed attention than the residence or the monument of Ariostom-at least it had this effect on me. There are two inscriptions, one on the outer gate, the second over the cell itself, inviting, un. necessarily, 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.
LAMENT OF TASSO.
1. Long years !--It tries the thrilling frame to bear And eagle-spirit of a Child of SongLong years of outrage, calumny, and wrong; Imputed madness, prison'd solitude, And the mind's canker in its savage mood, When the impatient thirst of light and air Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate, Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade, Works through the throbbing eyeball to the brain With a hot sense of heaviness and pain; And bare, at once, Captivity display'd Stands scoffing through the never-open'd gate, Which nothing through its bars admits, save day
And tasteless food, which I have eat alone
II. But this is o'er-my pleasant task is done :My long-sustaining friend of many years ! If I do blot thy final page with tears, Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none. But thou, my young creation! my soul's child! Which ever playing round me came and smiled,
And woo'd me from myself with thy sweet sight,
SII. 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 classid, 'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have
close: So let it be-for then I shall repose.
I have been patient, let me be so yet;