And down came blazing rafters, strown Around, and many a falling stone, Deeply dinted in the clay, 1060 All blacken'd there and reeking lay. PARISINA ΤΟ 1070 SCROPE BERDMORE DAVIES, ESQ. THE FOLLOWING POEM IS INSCRIBED BY ONE WHO HAS LONG ADMIRED HIS TALENTS AND VALUED HIS FRIENDSHIP. January 22, 1816. 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 obser vation, the Marquis of Este discovered the incestuous loves of his wife Parisina and Hugo his bastard son, a beautiful and valiant 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. IT is the hour when from the boughs Seem sweet in every whisper'd word; And in the heaven that clear obscure, As twilight melts beneath the moon away. II 10 50 With many a lingering look they leave The lip that there would cling for ever, While gleams on Parisina's face The Heaven she fears will not forgive As if each calmly conscious star V And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed, A husband's trusting heart beside. A name she dare not breathe by day, 60 71 80 Sounds fearful as the breaking billow, So came upon his soul the shock. VII - 100 110 He pluck'd his poniard in its sheath, Had frozen her sense to sleep again; While in his thought her days are number'd. IX He was not one who brook'd delay: Upon his throne of judgment sate. Yet thus must Hugo meet his sire, X And still, and pale, and silently Did Parisina wait her doom; 141 How changed since last her speaking eye Glanced gladness round the glittering room, 150 Where high-born men were proud to wait, Where Beauty watch'd to imitate Her gentle voice, her lovely mien, And gather from her air and gait The graces of its queen. Then, had her eye in sorrow wept, A thousand warriors forth had leapt, A thousand swords had sheathless shone, And made her quarrel all their own. Now, what is she? and what are they? Can she command or these obey? All silent and unheeding now, With downcast eyes and knitting brow, And folded arms, and freezing air, 161 And lips that scarce their scorn forbear, Her knights and dames, her court - is there. And he, the chosen one, whose lance Had yet been couch'd before her glance, Who were his arm a moment free Had died or gain'd her liberty; The minion of his father's bride, He, too, is fetter'd by her side; Nor sees her swoln and full Less for her own despair than him. eye swim Those lids, o'er which the violet vein Wandering leaves a tender stain, Shining through the smoothest white That e'er did softest kiss invite, Now seem'd with hot and livid glow To press, not shade, the orbs below; 170 180 Hugo, the priest awaits on thee, And then-thy crime's reward! Away! address thy prayers to Heaven, Before its evening stars are met Learn if thou there canst be forgiven; Its mercy may absolve thee yet. But here, upon the earth beneath, There is no spot where thou and I Together, for an hour, could breathe. Farewell! I will not see thee die But thou, frail thing! shalt view his head Away! I cannot speak the rest. Go! woman of the wanton breast; Not I, but thou his blood dost shed: Go! if that sight thou canst outlive, And joy thee in the life I give.' Thou gav'st, and may'st resume my A gift for which I thank thee not; The other victim of thy pride, Thou know'st for me was destined long. Thou saw'st, and covetedst her charms; And with thy very crime, my birth, Thou tauntedst me as little worth; A match ignoble for her arms, Because, forsooth, I could not claim The lawful heirship of thy name, Nor sit on Este's lineal throne: 250 260 Yet, were a few short summers mine, My name should more than Este's shine With honours all my own. 270 I had a sword - and have a breast From thee in all their vigour came 290 300 For though thou work'dst my mother's ill, And made thy own my destined bride, I feel thou art my father still; And, harsh as sounds thy hard decree, 310 'Tis not unjust, although from thee. Begot in sin, to die in shame, My life begun and ends the same: As err'd the sire, so err'd the son, And thou must punish both in one. My crime seems worst to human view, But God must judge between us too!' XIV He ceased, and stood with folded arms, Would she thus hear him doom'd to die! Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, 330 But round their orbs of deepest blue 340 350 So large and slowly gather'd slid From the long dark fringe of that fair lid, It was a thing to see, not hear! And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes. To speak she thought the imperfect note Was choked within her swelling throat, Yet seem'd in that low hollow groan Her whole heart gushing in the tone. It ceased again she thought to speak, Then burst her voice in one long shriek, And to the earth she fell like stone Or statue from its base o'erthrown, More like a thing that ne'er had life, A monument of Azo's wife, Than her, that living guilty thing, Whose every passion was a sting, Which urged to guilt, but could not bear That guilt's detection and despair. But yet she lived, and all too soon Recover'd from that death-like swoon, But scarce to reason every sense Had been o'erstrung by pangs intense; And each frail fibre of her brain (As bowstrings, when relax'd by rain, The erring arrow launch aside) Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wideThe past a blank, the future black, With glimpses of a dreary track, Like lightning on the desert path When midnight storms are mustering wrath. 360 It is a lovely hour as yet Before the summer sun shall set, He bends to hear his accents bless Oh! that parting hour was bitter! Even the stern stood chill'd with awe: XVII The parting prayers are said and over Of that false son and daring lover! 410 420 43G |