University of Virginia Library

CANTO VI.

Nameless fiend! whate'er thou art,
Hov'ring, hov'ring, o'er my heart!
Tho' I know thee not by name,
Yet I know thy certain aim,
Thus with loads of leaden pain
Crushing half my clouded brain!
'Tis thy office, tis thy joy,
Still to spoil, and still destroy,
This poor texture, till thy power
Triumph in its final hour:
Be it so, if Heaven's decree
Fashion'd it a prey for thee!
Yet, I trust, my guarded soul
Shall escape thy worst controul;
And, in spite of thee, serene
Smile upon my closing scene;
Shedding, with my parting breath,
Benedictions, strong in death,
Like angelic guards above
To the darlings of my love.
Pleas'd to bid this earth adieu,
And a brighter world to view,
Safe, on Faith's supporting wing,
May I soar to Mercy's king!
And, in nobler being, still
Bless his name! and act his will!

SONNET.

SONNET.

While grief and kindness to his bosom clung
So to his lonely harp Manfredi sung:
To his young friends he thus unveil'd a mind
Tho' deeply suff'ring, yet to Heaven resign'd;
Long-struggling with adversity of heart,
He wish'd, and yet he dreaded to depart;
Wish'd to rejoin, in brighter scenes above,
His darling objects of afflicted love;
Dreaded to leave the dear adopted pair
Less safe, depriv'd of his concealing care.
By new-rais'd fears, his gentle heart was shock'd,
Fears that within his friendly breast he lock'd!
Lest it should wound Lucilio, to disclose
How from his kindness recent danger rose.
His love most anxious to preserve his wife
In her first hazard of maternal life,
Plac'd, with Manfredi's leave, in his domain
A skilful servant of Lucina's train;
This aid from Milan came.—Manfredi's care,
Learning Donado now resided there,
Often the watchful Theodore desir'd
To search, if secrets from his vale transpir'd.
E'en curiosity, with ears erect,
Appear'd that rare assylum to respect:
She oft flew by it, on a silent wing,
Convinc'd, that “sorrow is a sacred thing.”
And learning, in that refuge, to revere
The privacy of one, to nature dear,
Whose spirit tost on grief's tempestuous surge,
Had oft been driven to delirium's verge.
The blow, that first o'er-power'd Manfredi's mind,
Was so tremendous, of so dire a kind,
That, at his name, discourse was quick to turn
To awful pity, and a mute concern.
'Twas at a time, when high in health and joy,
He blest the birth-day of his darling boy;
The stripling's years, that day, had reach'd to seven;
A boy more promising ne'er look'd to Heaven:
Graceful his form, tho' of a slender size;
Genius and courage sparkled in his eyes;
Yet both so modest, so benignly bright,
That envy seem'd to perish in his sight;
Tho' young, to every rank of life endear'd,
The great caress'd him, and the poor rever'd:
Rejoicing much in general esteem,
His father's praise was his delight supreme.
Light, as a little Mercury, his frame,
His spirit, playful as ætherial flame,
Such was the young Rinaldo, when his sire,
Blessing that birth-day with convivial fire,
Near Parma then, his friends assembled, all,
And richly feasted in his splendid hall.
'Twas said, his wife, who gave a daughter birth,
Had left her couch too soon, to join the mirth.
The gay Manfredi, with parental glee,
(What festive eyes in sport a peril see?)
Bade his quick boy upon his shoulder stand,
And take a tiny goblet in his hand,
That thus united, they at once might pay
Full honour to the guests, who grac'd the day,
Drinking a double health:—The frolic charm'd;
They drink; they shout, in triumph unalarm'd;
But while in air their sportive cups are tost,
The exulting boy his slippery footing lost;
The father turn'd, in hasty terror wild,
And striving but to catch, he struck his falling child.
The feast was sadden'd by the dire event;
Tho' none discern'd the misery's extent;
Or thought it, though oppressive to the breath,
A source of slow and agonizing death:
But ling'ring anguish, thus by Heaven ordain'd,
That brave angelic child so well sustain'd;
With thoughts at once so tender, and elate,
He sooth'd the mental suff'rers in his fate,
With hope, yet inextinct in reason's spite,
His father watch'd his pangs;—heart-piercing sight!
Till darkling roll'd the heaven-directed eye,
He still sustain'd to see his darling die.
That awful moment past, his sinking mind
With deep despondence, and distraction blind,
No more could bear to search the waste of life.
The softer mother, with less mental strife,
Felt grief more deadly;—said, “God's will be done!”
Yet in the skies soon join'd her angel-son.
When lost Manfredi, with dark fancies fraught,
Was gradually restor'd to lenient thought,
He still (what friendship hardly could allow)
Impos'd upon himself his well-meant vow,
For many a year (the term now almost o'er)
In scenes of social life to mix no more,
Unless he hurried to a sudden strife,
In hope to rescue some endanger'd life;
And O! how gladly would he now expire
To guard Venusia from her murd'rous sire,
Still madly thirsting for Lucilio's blood,
Tho' sav'd himself by Heaven, in danger's flood.
The faint Manfredi, pining in his bed,
Was now alarm'd, with no unfounded dread;
The secret of his guests had been betray'd:
Hence eager prayers to Theodore convey'd,
To watch Donado's movements, and to send
Hints of those movements to his anxious friend!
The quick Venetian knew he was observ'd;
Still keen in wrath, and not by age unnerv'd,
Most subtly arm'd with poison, and a dirk,
He took the garb, and semblance of a Turk;
With one attendant, like himself disguis'd,
The night half past, as he had well devis'd,
By moon-light now the lofty wall he gains,
That guards pure amity's retir'd domains:
By ropes he past, an undiscover'd foe,
Leaving his vassal, and his steeds below:
The shrine Lucilio used for morning prayer
He reaches, seeking for concealment there.
Now morning dawns;—It happen'd on this day,
A debt of tender charity to pay,
Lucilio had engaged, at early dawn,
To visit the sick shepherd of the lawn;
Hence to their matins, now the day-spring shone,
His wife and Marcellina, walk'd alone.
The morn was lovely; their devotion warm,
By viewing nature in her sweetest form:
The shrine was scented with the morning air,
And thus Venusia sung her filial prayer.

HYMN.

She paus'd; while Marcellina sued for more,
Venusia turn'd towards the private door,
To see, if haply this delightful morn,
Whose lustre glitter'd upon every thorn,
Had lur'd the kind Manfredi from his cell,
To hear the matin song he lov'd so well:
As to that cell she cast a rapid glance,
Sudden she saw a Turkish form advance:
Young Marcellina shriek'd:—a firmer heart
Glow'd in Venusia, saying, “if thou art
A new assasin, by my father sent,
Strike but his daughter! I shall die content.”
Before he had a moment to reply,
Manfredi, joy quick flashing from his eye,
Had seiz'd the seeming Turk, with such a grasp,
The strength of fiends could not elude the clasp;
While all his visage with bright transport flam'd,
Thus to his captive the recluse exclaim'd:
“Struggle no more, thou sire, with frenzy wild!
I hold thee fast; I will preserve thy child.”
Then with a groan, that seem'd to rend his breast,
And all the conflicts of his soul exprest
Donado said, scarce able now to stand;
“This, this, indeed is Heaven's apparent hand;
O blest Manfredi! thou hast nought to fear;
Mark but a penitent at last sincere!
Believing, as I learnt by treacherous aid,
Thee on the bed of ling'ring sickness laid,
I came an horrid purpose to fulfil;
But see the power of Heaven's o'er-ruling will!
It bids me now most loudly, ‘sin no more!
But here enrich the sire, I robb'd before!’
Venusia is thy child; thy bliss, thy pride!
'Twas thought, that in her infancy, she died;
She died by substitute;—a child of mine,
Nurst by her nurse, appear'd in quick decline;
My wealth, depending on a living child,
To base deception my proud heart beguil'd;
To change the infant girls I brib'd the nurse;
Crime leads to crime; the lighter to the worse!
But blest be God, that, still unstain'd with gore,
All I have wrongly gain'd, I can restore;
And I relinquish, with a spirit free,
Wealth to my relatives, a child to thee;
Yet happy, if her virtues plead at last
For my repented crimes, and long injustice past!”
Now folding his Venusia in his arms,
Gazing, in breathless transport, on her charms,
Manfredi, in an agony of bliss,
Now showed, by many a tear-attended kiss,
How high he rates the gem, his arms enclose,
Which o'er his rescued life new radiance throws:
So strong the father in his frame appears,
The words, that he attempts, all turn to joyous tears.
Tho' filial drops are trickling down her cheek,
Venusia first regains the power to speak:
Eager to Heaven her streaming eyes to raise,
Thus, in a burst of gratitude, she prays.
“Great God! whose gifts inspirit, or destroy,
Enable me to bear immensity of joy!
If thy kind mercy, to my heart's desire,
Had bid me from mankind select a sire,
Without a pause, Venusia's happy voice
Had gladly nam'd Manfredi as her choice.
How, for that sire, shall love and duty join,
Now God and nature have proclaim'd him mine!
His generous spirit will his child remind,
That, to her childhood by instruction kind,
Donado should her grateful care engage,
To still the storm that shakes repentant age.
Be cheer'd my early guard! none here forget
The claim of pity, or affection's debt.”
Then, as she spoke, Donado's hand she prest:
The old man wept, and weeping, kist her vest:
Now her quick eyes, that to the lawn she turn'd,
Lucilio distant from the shrine discern'd;
With kind Manfredi's gestures of applause,
The rapturous daughter from the shrine withdraws,
Swift to Lucilio's sympathetic heart
The transport of her bosom to impart;
And lead him, as her tender thoughts intend,
To clasp a foe, converted to a friend.
Meantime the good Manfredi nobly tries
By every mode, true kindness can devise,
To still the tumult in Donado's breast,
By deep remorse, and recent shame deprest.
The lovely pair now entering the shrine,
“Can you forgive such cruelty as mine?”
Donado faintly said, in accents meet,
Now falling prostrate at Lucilio's feet.
To raise him from depression's dark controul,
The brave Lucilio answer'd, “from my soul;”
Then leading the rais'd elder to a seat
Near to the music of this rich retreat,
He added tenderly, “this organ best
May tell you, what I feel, on your request.”
His prelude first enchants the little quire
With notes of solemn, yet of joyous, fire;
Then from soft tones that expectation nurst,
His brilliant voice beneficently burst.

SONNET.

HYMN.

From this kind music, and its solemn close,
What tender joy in every bosom rose!
Most in Venusia, by her father's side
In filial glory, and connubial pride!
Spring tides of pleasure in this scene of peace
Yet higher rise, with new, and large increase.
See! Theodore, and see! Marcella join
The blissful party, in the fav'rite shrine;
The watchful friend had to Manfredi's bed
Sent notice of a foe, by vengeance led;
The sister to imagin'd scenes of strife
Brought the kind priest, to shield her brother's life.
Who can describe the sweet surprize they felt,
To see all enmity to kindness melt!
Manfredi, now the happy sire declar'd,
To his own hall to guide his guests prepar'd.
“My father!” softly with a filial smile
Venusia said; “my father! pause a while!
Yet ere we move from this, our fav'rite shrine,
Indulge me, list'ning to a song of mine!
And kindly hear your grateful child rehearse
Her variations on Lucilio's verse!”
With fond applause the little temple rings,
And thus, by Heaven inspir'd, the rapt enthusiast sings.

HYMN.