 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
125
TASSO.
[“A Prince of royal birth confined the Poet in a mad-house for more than seven years; the great and wealthy left him to a precarious life; but a Mountain Robber, by the road side, controlled in his favor the instinct of his gang, and craved forgiveness at the hands of the Author of the ‘Gerusalemme.’”]
Life of Tasso.
The swarthy Captain of the Band
Before the weary wanderer stood,
And the keen poniard in his hand
Had often tasted blood.
Awaiting but a sign from him,
In view were lawless men and bold,
Deep scars upon their features grim
Of strife and carnage told.
Before the weary wanderer stood,
And the keen poniard in his hand
Had often tasted blood.
Awaiting but a sign from him,
In view were lawless men and bold,
Deep scars upon their features grim
Of strife and carnage told.
“Thy purse, or life!” exclaimed the chief—
But savage look and threat'ning tone
Fear woke not in a heart where grief
Held mastery alone.
“Our trade admits of no delay—
The quest-hounds of the law are near;
No longer hesitate—OBEY,
Or end your journey here!”
But savage look and threat'ning tone
Fear woke not in a heart where grief
Held mastery alone.
“Our trade admits of no delay—
The quest-hounds of the law are near;
No longer hesitate—OBEY,
Or end your journey here!”
“These hollow cheeks—this mean attire,
And hair untimely streaked with snow,
But little aid from speech require
To tell of want and woe.”
Out spoke the robber in reply,
More darkly frowning than before—
“Perchance some wealthy friend would buy
Thy life with yellow ore.”
And hair untimely streaked with snow,
But little aid from speech require
To tell of want and woe.”
Out spoke the robber in reply,
More darkly frowning than before—
“Perchance some wealthy friend would buy
Thy life with yellow ore.”
126
Then mournfully the Pilgrim said:
“At night, upon the dewy sod,
I often rest this aching head—
My only friend is God!
Not always was my fate so hard,
Raised high my fellow men above—
While a proud princess bade the bard
His lute-strings tune to love.”
“At night, upon the dewy sod,
I often rest this aching head—
My only friend is God!
Not always was my fate so hard,
Raised high my fellow men above—
While a proud princess bade the bard
His lute-strings tune to love.”
“Those rags do not become, I ween,
The regal glance of those dark eyes:
I clearly trace in thy proud mien
Some lordling in disguise!”
“Ah! I am not unknown to fame,
Though a poor outcast now I roam;
Grim robber! Tasso is my name—
The world's wide street my home.”
The regal glance of those dark eyes:
I clearly trace in thy proud mien
Some lordling in disguise!”
“Ah! I am not unknown to fame,
Though a poor outcast now I roam;
Grim robber! Tasso is my name—
The world's wide street my home.”
“Flame and the sword I would defy
To shield thy person, Child of Song!
An hundred deaths would rather die
Than see thee suffer wrong.
Thy verse beneath his sable wave,
Oblivion can never hide;
Forgiveness is a boon I crave,”
The kneeling robber cried.
To shield thy person, Child of Song!
An hundred deaths would rather die
Than see thee suffer wrong.
Thy verse beneath his sable wave,
Oblivion can never hide;
Forgiveness is a boon I crave,”
The kneeling robber cried.
Although the rich had heard him pour
A prayer for aid with cold disdain—
Though long within a cell he wore
The flesh-consuming chain—
A man whose soul was dark with crime,
Whose heart compassion seldom felt,
Before the bard of strain sublime
In admiration knelt.
A prayer for aid with cold disdain—
Though long within a cell he wore
The flesh-consuming chain—
A man whose soul was dark with crime,
Whose heart compassion seldom felt,
Before the bard of strain sublime
In admiration knelt.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |