DUKE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Treasure "Room 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 in 2012 witin funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 littp://arcliive.org/details/lamentoftasso22byro 
 
THE 
 
 LAMENT OF TASSO. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 Is. 6d. 
 
T. DAVISON, LOMBARD-STREET, WHITEFRIARS, LONDON. 
 
THE 
 
 LAMENT OF TASSO. 
 
 BY LORD BYRON. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 ?a,^ol)^ 
 
 LONDON . 
 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE- STREET. 
 
 1817. 
 

 no- 
 
 At 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 j 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^ 
 ia the hospital of St. Anna attracts a more fixed attention 
 than the residence or the monument of Ariosto — at least it 
 had this effect on me. There are two inscriptions, one on the 
 outer gate, the second over the ceU itself, inviting, unneces- 
 sarily, the wonder and the indignation of the spectator. 
 Ferrara is much decayed, and depopulated j the castle still 
 exists entire j and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo 
 were beheaded, according to the annal of Gibbon. 
 
 ^^ :b ^ <i '^'S 
 
THE 
 
 LAMENT OF TASSO. 
 
 i. 
 
 LoiJG years ! — It tries the thrilling frame to bear 
 And eagle-spirit of a Child of Song — 
 Long years of outrage, calumny, and wrong ; 
 Imputed madness, prisoned 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 displayed 
 Stands scoffing through the never-opened gate. 
 Which nothing through its bars admits, save day 
 
8 LAMENT OF TASSO. 
 
 And tasteless food, which I have eat alone 
 
 Till its unsocial bitterness is gone ; 
 
 And I can banquet like a beast of prey, 
 
 Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave 
 
 Which is my lair, and — ^it may be — my grave. 
 
 All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear. 
 
 But must be borne. I stoop not to despair ; 
 
 For I have battled with mine agony, 
 
 And made me wings wherewith to overfly 
 
 The narrow circus of my dungeon wall. 
 
 And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall ; 
 
 And revelled among men and things divine. 
 
 And poured my spirit over Palestine, 
 
 In honour of the sacred war for him. 
 
 The God who was on earth and is in heaven. 
 
 For he hath strengthened me in heart and hmb. 
 
 That through this sufferance I might be forgiven,. 
 
 I have employed my penance to record 
 
 How Salem''s shrine was won, and how adored. 
 
 II. 
 
 But this is o'er — my pleasant task is done : — 
 My long-sustaining friend of many years ! 
 
LAMENT OF TASSO. 
 
 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 chUd ! 
 
 Which ever playing round me came and smiled. 
 
 And wooed me from myself with thy sweet sight. 
 
 Thou too art gone — and so is my delight : 
 
 And therefore do I weep and inly bleed 
 
 With this last bruise upon a broken reed. 
 
 Thou too art ended — what is left me now ? 
 
 For I have anguish yet to bear — and how ? 
 
 I know not that — but in the innate force 
 
 Of my own spirit shall be found resource. 
 
 I have not sunk, for I had no remorse. 
 
 Nor cause for such : they called me mad — and why ? 
 
 Oh Leonora ! wilt not tTiou reply ? 
 
 I was indeed delirious in my heart 
 
 To lift my love so lofty as thou art; 
 
 But still my frenzy was not of the mind ; 
 
 I knew my fault, and feel my punishment 
 
 Not less because I suffer it unbent. 
 
 That thou wert beautiful, and I not bUnd, 
 
 Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind ; 
 
 But let them go, or torture as they wiU, 
 
10 LAMENT OF TASSO. 
 
 My heart can multiply thine image still ; 
 
 Successful love may sate itself away, 
 
 The wretched are the faithful ; 'tis their fate 
 
 To have all feeling save the one decay, 
 
 And every passion into one dilate, 
 
 As rapid rivers into ocean pour ; 
 
 But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore. 
 
 ni. 
 
 Above me, hark ! the long and maniac cry 
 
 Of minds and bodies in captivity. 
 
 And hark ! the lash and the increasinor howl. 
 
 And the half-inarticulate blasphemy { 
 
 There be some here with worse than frenzy foul. 
 
 Some who do still goad on the o'er-laboured mind, 
 
 And dim the httle light that's left behind 
 
 With needless torture, as their tyrant wiU 
 
 Is wound up to the lust of doing ill : 
 
 With these and with their victims am I classed, 
 
 'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have 
 
 passed ; 
 'Mid sights and sounds like these my hfe may close : 
 So let it be — for then I shall repose. 
 
LAMENT OF TASSO. 11 
 
 IV. 
 
 I have been patient, let me be so yet ; 
 
 I had forgotten half I would forget^ 
 
 But it revives — oh ! would it were my lot 
 
 To be forgetful as I am forgot ! — 
 
 Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell 
 
 In this vast lazar-house of many woes ? 
 
 Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind, 
 
 Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankind ; 
 
 Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows. 
 
 And each is tortured in liis separate hell — 
 
 For we are crowded in our sohtudes — 
 
 Many, but each divided by the wall. 
 
 Which echoes Madness in her babbhng moods ; — 
 
 WhUe all can hear, none heed his neighbour's call — 
 
 None ! save that One, the veriest wretch of all, 
 
 Who was not made to be the mate of these. 
 
 Nor bound between Distraction and Disease. 
 
 Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here ? 
 
 Who have debased me in the minds of men. 
 
 Debarring me the usage of my own. 
 
 Blighting my life in best of its career. 
 
 Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear ? 
 
12 LAMENT OF TAfiSO. 
 
 Would I not pay them back these pangs again, 
 And teach them inward sorrow's stifled groan ? 
 The struggle to be calm, and cold distress. 
 Which undermines our Stoical success ? 
 No ! — still too proud to be vindictive — I 
 Have pardoned princes' insults, and would die. 
 Yes, Sister of my Sovereign ! for thy sake 
 I weed all bitterness from out my breast, 
 It hath no business where thou art a guest ; 
 Thy brother hates — but I can not detest ; 
 Thou pitiest not — but I can not forsake. 
 
 V. 
 
 Look on a love which knows not to despair. 
 But all unquenched is still my better part. 
 Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart 
 As dwells the gathered Hghtning in its cloud. 
 Encompassed with its dark and rolling shroud. 
 Till struck, — forth flies the all-etherial dart ! 
 And thus at the colHsion of thy name 
 The vivid thought still flashes through my frame, 
 And for a moment all things as they were 
 Flit by me ;^ — they ai*e gone— I am the same. 
 
LAMENT OF TASSO. 13 
 
 Ahd yet my love without ambition grew ; 
 I knew thy state, my station, and I knew 
 A princess was no love-mate for a bard; 
 I told it not, I breathed it not, it was 
 Sufficient to itself, its own reward ; 
 And if my eyes revealed it, they, alas ! 
 Were punished by the silentness of thine, 
 And yet I did not venture to repine. 
 Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine, 
 AVorshipped at holy distance, and around 
 Hallowed and meekly kissed the saintly ground ; 
 Not for thou wert a princess, but that Love 
 Had robed thee with a glory, and arrayed 
 Thy lineaments in beauty that dismayed — 
 Oh ! not dismayed — but awed, like One above ; 
 And in that sweet severity there was 
 A something which all softness did surpass — 
 I know not how — thy genius mastered mine — 
 My star stood still before thee : — if it were 
 Presumptuous thus to love without design. 
 That sad fatahty hath cost me dear ; 
 But thou art dearest still, and I should be 
 Fit for this cell, which wrongs me, but for thee. 
 
14) LAMENT OF TASSO. 
 
 The very love which locked me to my chain 
 Hath lightened half its weight ; and for the testf 
 Though heavy, lent me vigour to sustain, 
 And look to thee with undivided breast, 
 And foil the ingenuity of Pain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 It is no marvel — from my very birth 
 My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade 
 And mingle with whatever I saw on earth ; 
 Of objects aU inanimate I made 
 Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, 
 And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise^ 
 Where I did lay me down within the shade 
 Of waving trees, and dreamed uncounted hours, 
 Though I was chid for wandering ; and the wise 
 Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said 
 Of such materials wretched men were made. 
 And such a truant boy would end in woe, 
 And that the only lesson was a blow ; 
 And then they smote me, and I did not weep. 
 But c.ursed them in my heart, and to my haunt 
 Returned and wept alone, and dreamed again 
 
LAMENT OF TASSO. 15 
 
 The visions which arise without a sleep. 
 And with my years my soul began to pant 
 With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain ; 
 And the whole heart exhaled into One Want, 
 But undefined and wandering, tiU the day 
 I found the thing I sought — and that was thee ; 
 And then I lost my being all to be 
 Absorbed in thine — ^the world was past away— « 
 Tliou didst annihilate the earth to me ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 I loved all solitude — ^but little thought 
 To spend I know not what of hfe, remote 
 From all communion with existence, save 
 The maniac and his tyrant ; had I been 
 Their fellow, many years ere this had seen 
 My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave. 
 But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave ? 
 Perchance in such a cell we suffer more 
 Than the wrecked sailor on his desart shore ; 
 The world is all before him — mine is here. 
 Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier. 
 
16 LAMENT OF TASSO. 
 
 What though he perish, he may Hft his eye 
 And with a dying glance upbraid the sky — 
 I will not raise my own in such reproof, 
 Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Yet do I feel at times my mind decline. 
 But with a sense of its decay : — I see 
 Unwonted lights along my prison shine. 
 And a strange demon, who is vexing me 
 With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below 
 The feehng of the healthful and the free ; 
 But much to One, who long hath suffered so. 
 Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, 
 And all that may be borne, or can debase. 
 I thought mine enemies had been but man. 
 But spirits may be leagued with them — all Earth 
 Abandons — Heaven forgets me ; — ^in the dearth 
 Of such defence the Powers of Evil can. 
 It may be, tempt me further, and prevail 
 Against the outworn creature they assail. 
 Why in this furnace is my spirit proved 
 
LAMENT OF TASSO. 17 
 
 Like steel in tempering fire ? because I loved ? 
 Because I loved what not to love, and see, 
 Was more or less than mortal, and than me. 
 
 IX. 
 
 I once was quick in feeling — that is o'er ; — 
 My scars are callous, or I should have dashed 
 My brain against these bars as the sun flashed 
 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-slaug-hter the dull he 
 Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame 
 Stamp madness deep into my memory. 
 And woo compassion to a bhghted name, 
 Seahng 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, 
 
18 LAMENT OF TASSO. 
 
 A poet''s dungeon thy most far renown, 
 
 While strangers wonder o"'er thy unpeopled wails ! 
 
 And thou, Leonora ! thou — who wert ashamed 
 
 That such as I could love — who blushed 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 — 
 
 From long infection of a den like this. 
 
 Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss, 
 
 Adores thee still; — and add — that when the towers 
 
 And battlements which guard his joyous hours 
 
 Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot, 
 
 Or left untended in a dull repose. 
 
 This — this shall be a consecrated spot ! 
 
 But Thou — when all that Birth and Beauty throws 
 
 Of magic round thee is extinct — shalt have 
 
 One half the laurel which o*'ershades my grave. 
 
 No power in death can tear our names apart. 
 
 As none in life could rend thee from my heart. 
 
 Yes, Leonora ! it shall be our fate 
 
 To be entwined for ever — but too late ! 
 
f7 
 
^^le JO 
 
 1 V