IX.

I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er;-
My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd
My brain against these bars as the sun flash'd
In mockery through them ;-if I bear and bore
The much I have recounted, and the more

Which hath no words, 'tis that I would not die
And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie

Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame
Stamp madness deep into my memory,
And woo compassion to a blighted name,
Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim.
No-it shall be immortal!—and I make
A future temple of my present cell,
Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.
While thou, Ferrara! when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,
And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearthless halls,
A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls!
And thou, Leonora! thou-who wert ashamed
That such as I could love-who blush'd to hear
To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear,
Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed
By grief, years, weariness-and it may be
A taint of that he would impute to me-

om long infection of a den like this,

here the mind rots congenial with the abyss,
lores thee still;-and add-that when the towers
nd battlements which guard his joyous hours
banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot,

- left untended in a dull repose,
nis-this shall be a consecrated spot!

at Thou-when all that Birth and Beauty throws
f magic round thee is extinct-shalt have
me half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.

o power in death can tear our names apart,

s none in life could rend thee from my heart. es, Leonora! it shall be our fate

o be entwined for ever-but too late!

TO ***

OH Lady! when I left the shore,

The distant shore, which gave me birth,
I hardly thought to grieve once more,
To quit another spot on earth:
Yet here, amidst this barren isle,

Where panting Nature droops the head,
Where only thou art seen to smile,

I view my parting hour with dread. Though far from Albin's craggy shore, Divided by the dark-blue main;

A few, brief, rolling seasons o'er,

Perchance I view her cliffs again:
But wheresoe'er I now may roam,
Through scorching clime, and varied sea,
Though Time restore me to my home,

I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:
On thee, in whom at once conspire

All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire,

And, oh! forgive the word-to love.

Forgive the word, in one who ne'er
With such a word can more offend;
And since thy heart I cannot share,

Believe me, what I am, thy friend.