University of Virginia Library

CANTO III.

SONNET.

As from her couch his rescued patient sprung,
Thus to her favourite notes Lucilio sung,
Deriving from their trust in powers above
A blissful prospect of immortal love.
While, sav'd by his fond vigilance, the fair
Pour'd her full thanks for all his soothing care,
The hallow'd guard of their sequester'd scene,
As calm in peril, as in friendship keen,
Kind Theodore arrives, his charge to greet
With chearful tidings of a new retreat:
With gay benevolence his spirit glow'd;
And thus the fervour of his heart o'erflow'd:
“Now in calm rest may all your troubles close!
I come to speak of safety and repose:
We must no more, till time has cool'd his ire,
Attempt the reconcilement of your sire;
But, with Marcella, I a plan pursued
To foil his vengeance, and his wrath elude.
He thinks, that, finding supplication vain,
To soothe his anger, and his heart regain,
In fearful wishes not to wound him more,
You have resolv'd to quit Italia's shore;
And now, with terror's hasty sail unfurl'd,
He deems you steering to the western world.
In this persuasion let his fury rest,
While I conduct you to a halcyon's nest!
A scene of wond'rous secrecy, it lies
Safe from the prying search of curious eyes;
And (strange to tell) the master of the spot,
Made a recluse by a disast'rous lot,
In this calm refuge, to the world unknown,
Has long allowed access to me alone.
A man he is of cultivated mind,
As truth unvarnish'd, and as nature kind;
'Twas his dire chance, tho' by no guilt defil'd,
To plunge in hasty death a darling child;
In his rash grief, in life's yet opening prime,
He vow'd to expiate an imagin'd crime,
By passing years, sequester'd in a glen
From social joys, and all the haunts of men.
I, as his confessor, his bosom see,
And all its secrets are consign'd to me;
With me alone he will admit discourse,
So deep, and yet so needless, his remorse;
But I, in searching human minds, am taught
To pity all excess of tender thought.
A scene not far from Bergamo, but found
Before you enter on Venetian ground,
A scene most richly wild, and near the seat,
Where in his fav'rite shades of calm retreat,
Learn'd Leonardo, from the world apart,
Enjoy'd deep studies of his graceful art;
This scene, whose varied charms my praise transcend
Forms the sweet villa of my lonely friend:
His sacred sorrow keeps the spot serene;
For all revere its lord, tho' never seen.
Domestics, who have lov'd him from a child,
Grown old, yet active, in this flowery wild,
Here, with a tender awe, his passion aid
For solitude's inviolable shade.
Within a lodge, that near the mansion stands,
A faithful steward acts his lord's commands;
Comforts of neighbouring cottagers the grief,
Or chears the weary pilgrim with relief,
Opening to none that interdicted gate,
Which shields his master's solitary state.
The good Manfredi (so my friend we call)
In gardens, guarded by a lofty wall,
Year after year, with such seclusion rests,
I and a brother are his only guests.
Haply my zeal for you has wak'd a thought,
With which Manfredi's friendly spirit fraught,
May help you to elude Donado's rage,
Till time and nature soothe his spleenful age,
Yet more!—Your talents, and your friendly zeal,
May crown the wish, that for my friend I feel;
And yet restore, ere gloomy dreams destroy,
His grief-endanger'd mind to social joy.
From this kind thought his fancy catches fire:
If he can shield Venusia from her sire,
His expiation he may deem fulfill'd,
For dire mischance, when he his darling kill'd.
On hearing all the story of your lives,
This hope, whence his pure heart new warmth derives,
Leads him by me, his proxy, to request,
Your refuge may be now the halcyon's nest;
For so he calls the calm, sequester'd scene,
Where first his stormy grief became serene;
Where music, learning, exercise, and prayer
His hours of sorrowful existence share.
As in a feast, with festive ardour wild,
His undesigning hand destroy'd his child,
In his lone life no stated meal he makes,
But rudest viands, and at random, takes:
So wounded fancy, in a feeling mind,
Delights in torture, by itself assign'd;
But such bewilder'd minds no longer stray
By melancholy's dark depressive sway,
When friendly cares their selfish fears controul,
And active kindness reillumes the soul.
Already (blest be Heaven! so oft implor'd,
For this sweet omen of a friend restor'd!)
Manfredi, with benevolence alert,
Cheerfully conscious of your rare desert,
And anxious, that you never more may fear
Such hideous perils, as surpriz'd you here,
In his capacious all-excluding dome,
For you prepares a safe, and separate home.
From intercourse with him you must abstain;
All else is yours within his rich domain;
All fix'd, to make your private transit sure,
And keep your secret residence secure.”
The tender pair, enliven'd by his sight,
With wonder, gratitude, and fond delight,
List'ning to Theodore, with warmth commend
The just precautions of this hallow'd friend;
And with affection, confidently just,
To him the guidance of their lives entrust.
And now with zeal, that 'scapes all searching eyes,
By nightly journies, and by deep disguise,
The friendly priest has led the tender pair,
Where quiet seems to consecrate the air;
Where pensive fancy, with a voice sedate,
Appears to whisper all who pass the gate,
“Ye, who have enter'd, banish every fear,
For safe tranquillity is sovereign here!”—
In times remote, this fair, and fertile spot
Of a young noble form'd the busy lot;
Manfrendi's ancestor! his active mind
Indulg'd unbounded love for arts refin'd.
Here, with a skilful architect his friend,
He bade his statues, and his shrines ascend;
Here he so mingled, with his cells and towers,
His streams, his pastures, and his sylvan bowers,
The charms of Greece to second life he rais'd;
In one bright villa all Arcadia blaz'd.
But here, where new born art attain'd her prime,
Rash prodigality, assisting time,
Half its profuse magnificence destroy'd,
Ere its new lord the verdant scene enjoy'd.
When first this heritage became his lot,
Manfredi sigh'd o'er the dismantled spot;
For statues, of prime note, had fled away;
Towers fell, and temples trembled in decay.
Still with sunk charms, yet awfully serene,
The ghost of grandeur seem'd to guard the scene.
Manfredi's penetrating eye could see
All it had been, and all it yet might be:
Tho' in the mould'ring villa he had found
Scarce half the beauties, that once deck'd the ground,
Yet, as these suited his afflicted soul,
He deem'd the half superior to the whole.
The relicks, soon with guardian order grac'd,
He cherish'd with neat care, and pensive taste,
His house, beneath whose roof a prince might dwell,
In part unfurnish'd stands, a sumptuous shell!
In parts, with modest elegance compleat,
For many a friend might form a choice retreat.
Open arcades of different aspects run
To catch the rising, and the setting sun;
O'er these apartments, of nice order, rise;
Each with a prospect to enchant all eyes!
His eastern wing allotting to his guest,
Lonely Manfredi lurks within the west;
But like a secret minister of good,
Some unseen genius of a sacred wood,
With quiet bounty, searching as the air,
Broods o'er the charge confided to his care;
And, tho' for ever to their sight denied,
Leaves not a want, they suffer, unsupplied.
Daily his written courtesies enquire,
If his dear guests have all their hearts desire:
Oft thro' his lattice he unseen beheld
The happy pair, and oft his bosom swell'd
With secret yearnings yet again to share
Friendly discourse, sweet antidote of care!
His vow restrains him—he reveres its force:
With these lov'd inmates he abjures discourse,
Till his hurt mind has full atonement made
To his lost darling's ne'er-forgotten shade.
But as devotion rul'd his virtuous mind,
With influence inflexible, yet kind,
Her power suggested, what he gladly seiz'd,
Permitted modes of being fondly pleas'd;
And hours, in which unseen he might rejoice
In sacred carols from Venusia's voice.
Near to the mansion, in a winding vale,
Whose fragrant flowers enrich'd the passing gale,
Of Grecian form a simple temple stood,
Gracefully skirted by a circling wood.
Pure in its front a placid river ran:
The fane its founder had inscrib'd to Pan:
Here once, in freakish pride, his statue smil'd.
A guardian form more delicately mild
Now grac'd the spot—now deck'd with charms divine,
The temple bore the name of Pity's Shrine;
Not undeserv'd!—The kind Manfredi here
Plac'd a pure form, that heavenly charms endear;
The finest relic of his sculptur'd store!
Long hid, tho' such as love and taste adore!
So touching is the legend, they relate,
Of the young sculptor's merit, and his fate:
He work'd a stripling, and a stripling died;
But his last labour is Italia's pride:
From love and death the dying artist caught
Powers, that surpast, whatever health had wrought.
This youth, too fond of a disdainful fair,
Grew by degrees enamour'd of despair;
And wish'd to perish by his hapless flame!
The nymph relenting view'd his alter'd frame;
His worth, his talents, and his tender heart
Made her adore the artist, and his art:
Repentant she implor'd to be his bride:
With grief and triumph mixt, the youth replied:
“My blest Cecilia! precious, tho' too late,
Thy love, which cannot now prolong my date,
Shall yet ennoble, and endear my fate.
Thy husband!—No!—there never shall be made
Of this poor mould'ring frame an infant shade;
But I will leave a copy of thy form!
All eyes to fascinate, all hearts to warm!
Thou know'st how often I have watch'd unseen
To seize the matchless graces of thy mien:
I saw thee when thy grief from friends withdrawn
Had sought to mourn alone thy favourite fawn:
I saw thee kneel beside that favourite, dead;
And o'er it tears of sweet compassion shed;
Then I saw beauty in perfection's light;
My ready pencil trac'd the touching sight.
In marble now half wrought this image stands;
Let me compleat it with my dying hands!
Cecilia, grant me now this pure desire,
Achieving this, contented I expire.”
The soften'd fair one bade him hope and live;
Long life was his, if she had life to give.
With modest duty, as his real bride,
Her heart with his impassion'd wish complied;
She hop'd, that as her marble image grew,
Her happy artist would his life renew;
And strange to tell! tho' on his injur'd breast
Impending death his signet had imprest,
Yet when the nymph, his mandate to fulfill,
Kneels as the model of his plastic skill,
His hand, his eye, his soul, at once acquire
A wond'rous portion of new vital fire;
Of his recover'd life fresh hopes arise,
Hopes that add lustre to Cecilia's eyes!
His darling work to finish and adorn,
He gave his earliest hour of every morn;
It was an altar of pure Parian stone,
On this, in high relief, Cecilia shone;
A tree by light'ning split, its wound display'd;
And by its side her heaven-struck fawn was laid;
O'er it she bent—in her unfinish'd face
Such pensive beauty, such pathetic grace
Th'impassion'd artist from his model caught,
He work'd, and wonder'd at the work he wrought:
And as he gave the lip its lovely swell,
Where feeling's most expressive fibres dwell,
With care intense exerting all his skill
The face with pity's perfect charms to fill,
He saw the point attain'd, his soul desir'd,
He shouted—kiss'd the marble, and expir'd.
Griev'd, that she felt his worth too late to save,
The nymph soon join'd her lover in the grave:
Crown'd with one dead, and one half dying dove,
A monument of pity, and of love!
This signal sculpture, of unrivall'd grace,
It pleas'd Manfredi in that fane to place,
To which fond fancy led him to repair,
And breathe, at morn and eve, his lonely prayer.
Here oft, in tender reveries alone,
He gaz'd entranc'd upon the graceful stone,
For here, the sculptor's magic charms to aid,
Invisibly a mournful organ play'd;
Behind the temple, an apartment spread,
Where, nicely parted from their parent bed,
The waters of the river taught to flow
Soft plaintive music, as they pass, bestow.
Here lingering, double services they pay;
With secret power the latent organ play,
Or pouring in wide cells their lucid wealth,
Form a transparent bath, a friend to health!
Now with benevolence, whose soft controul
Lightens the gloomy burthen on his soul,
Manfredi, grown more cheerfully benign,
New decoration adds to Pity's Shrine.
Near to the marble, with her image grac'd,
An organ of unrivall'd powers he plac'd,
Of tones most ravishing, thro' all the range
Of varying stops, and sweet in every change;
This to his tuneful friends his care devotes;
Here piety may guide their blended notes,
Permitting him, secluded from their sight,
To share invisibly the sacred rite,
Whether they bless their God, in morning's blaze,
Or make sweet evening sweeter by his praise.
He mark'd the hours, when from his loftier home
To this harmonious prayer-devoted dome
He wish'd to pass, unnotic'd!—this request
His tender friends with lively hope imprest;
For gratefully obedient, by degrees
They sought to lure his mind to social ease;
That hope enliven'd many a serious hour;
Unconscious, as they are, that stronger power,
Than powers of harmony, the most resin'd,
Must heal, (if aught can heal) his wounded mind.
Tender Lucilio! gratitude's true child!
Oft, as he rov'd o'er this enchanting wild,
Pray'd in his heart, enamour'd of the place,
That Heaven would teach him, as a signal grace,
To re-inspirit its dejected lord.
He tries to cheer him with a sprightly chord;
And, while no clouds the eye of hope bedim,
The tuneful pair, thus sing their grateful hymn.

HYMN.

While, with united voices, they intend
To cheer the spirit of their latent friend;
His injur'd nerves, too delicately strung!
Ach'd with new anguish, as they sweetly sung:
Soon from his cell of secrecy he stole,
To vent the wayward trouble of his soul.
In a quick billet, to Venusia sent,
He spoke, with kindness, of their kind intent;
But begg'd henceforth his weakness they will spare;
Since thanks and praise are things he cannot bear:
For he had faults to their pure minds unknown,
Faults! for which years of penitence must atone!
These, when the tumults of his heart subside
Haply his pen may to his guests confide;
Meantime their sweet devotion may diffuse
Peace o'er his mind, and hope's sublimest views,
If they address (his strange request forgiven)
Their thanks, in pure simplicity, to Heaven.
Thus on the morrow hoping to prolong
A pleas'd attention to their matin song,
He crav'd their pardon, that he shun'd their view;
Then fondly blest, and bade them both adieu.
The morrow came; and, with a zeal divine,
Lucilio's single voice first fill'd the shrine.

HYMN.

His carol ended, the harmonious pair
Pour'd, with united powers, a solemn air.

HYMN.

SPIRIT of truth! thou guest benign
Announc'd to man by lips divine!
For ever in my heart reside!
Be thou my guardian! thou my guide!
And make me ever kind, and just
In every act, in every trust!
Without presumption, doubt, or dread,
Grant me thy simple path to tread!
And with thy aid at last aspire
To gaze on thy almighty sire!
Then to a melody, devoid of art,
The simple produce of her feeling heart.
In sensibility's most tender tone,
Venusia breath'd a carol, all her own!
GOD let my soul, in virtues steady course,
Obey thy blessed Son!
Of good to many make my life the source!
The source of ill, to none!
Charm'd by her tender notes, the kind recluse,
Spoke his delight, in written thanks profuse;
But, anxious never from his vow to swerve,
Still he maintain'd his singular reserve:
Yet to return as aptly as he might,
The kindness, that produc'd such new delight,
He means, if unsaluted, and unseen,
They let him rest within his marble screen,
To his kind friends, their sacred music clos'd,
He means to sing, what his dark mind compos'd,
When from his harp he sought a weak relief,
Which rather echo'd, than appeas'd his grief.
The friendly compact fixt, when next the day
Call'd them, in pity's fav'rite shrine, to pray;
The tuneful pair, at their appointed hour,
Thus join'd in praising that benignant power.

HYMN TO PITY.

Thus aided by the organ's potent peal,
They made the shrine re-echo with their zeal;
Then paus'd.—With friendship eager, tho' sedate,
They now the promise of their host await.
The door half opens, that protects his cell,
And, with the prelude of a plaintive swell,
Rising to power, the harp's harmonious chord
Strengthen'd the tender voice of its dejected lord.

SONNET.

The sad Manfredi, tho' he had not gain'd
The vocal talents, that his guests attain'd;
Had yet a tender suavity of song;
And his rich voice, pathetically strong,
Made an immediate passage to the soul
By sensibility's supreme controul.
Its tones announc'd a heart, with virtues fill'd,
Fervent by nature! by misfortune chill'd!
His notes in soft Venusia's breast excite
The deep sensations of a sad delight:
She lov'd him as a child; and long'd to shew
Her filial eagerness to soothe his woe.
Lucilio prais'd her sympathy; his mind,
Vers'd in the wide afflictions of mankind,
Perceiv'd, with pain, a length of mental strife
Had fill'd Manfredi with disgust of life.
He, with his lovely partner, wish'd to mend
The gloomy spirits of their guardian friend.
The quick Venusia hasten'd to prepare
A letter, fraught with kind and anxious care,
In which her soft persuasive spirit tries,
Whate'er her grateful pity can devise,
To touch the desolate Manfredi's breast,
And lull his dark inquietude to rest.
“He mourns a child; and she has lost a sire;
These losses to supply, let both conspire!
Finding in him a guardian father's heart;
She begs for leave to fill a daughter's part:
Panting, with hope, to see his grief beguil'd
By fresh endearments, from the fondest child,
That e'er adoption to a parent gave,
His lonely life from ling'ring pangs to save;
And much of sorrow, that she long has prov'd,
Will from her lighten'd spirit be remov'd,
If a paternal benediction, shed
Daily by him, on his Venusia's head,
May one lost comfort of her youth replace,
A tender, sacred, fatherly embrace!”