The triumph of music | ||
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!”
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;
142
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!”
The triumph of music | ||