The triumph of music :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fav'rites of Heaven! who, with delight profound,
Enjoy the magic of melodious sound!
Ye fair! whose beauty mental charms endear,
Who chaste affection's hallowed warmth revere!
Whose graces from that source of radiance rise,
As colours from the sun adorn the skies!
Kindly to truth's eventful tale attend,
Where spells of harmony, and nature blend!
Where love exults new wonders to display;
And Music proves her soul-reforming sway!

In pleasure's palace, her Venetian dome!
That echoes to her songs, her fav'rite home!
In that fair city, whose gay scenes inspire
The simple gondolier with tuneful fire,
To woman's height the young Venusia grew;
A form more lovely nature never knew:
Tho' young, majestic! tho' majestic, mild!
Modestly gay, and delicately wild!
The rays of fancy in her features shone;
Her eyes had all the power of beauty's zone.
Instructive love a stranger to her breast,
She knew not yet the magic she possest;
Or knew it darkly; as her sole desire
Was but to soothe the spirit of her sire:
For him, with rare exertion, she combin'd
All arts, that grace the person, and the mind.
Each talent her's, that softens, or alarms!
She much excell'd in all; but most in vocal charms.
Her speech was melody; and, when she sung,
Enchanted age believ'd, that he was young,
Her sire, the stern Donado! with delight
Train'd his sweet child, for ever in his sight;

Himself a noble of Venetian pride,
He destin'd her to be a brother's bride;
A brother of the state; in rank his peer;
One, whose wealth made him to ambition dear;
Such vain ambition may proud beauty melt;
But such the pure Venusia never felt.

Her sire, tho' eager her young form to place
In hoary grandeur's winterly embrace,
Subtly resolv'd to keep her youthful mind
Unconscious of the scheme, his pride design'd,
Till the rash project, rais'd on wealth and power,
Was ripe, for him, to fix her nuptial hour;
Convinc'd, his pliant child could ne'er withstand
The sudden impulse of his strong command!
Now, as her sire, with proud delight, survey'd
The various talents, that his child display'd;
Her vocal powers, pre-eminently sweet,
He wish'd, with fondest culture, to complete,
While, blest in quick docility, the fair
Shone the bright idol of paternal care.

It chanc'd, that Venice with her sons had rear'd
A genius, much to harmony endear'd!

A man he was, thro' storms of anguish tost,
By nature cherish'd, as by trouble crost:
Of parts so quick, so various in his power,
It seem'd, kind fancy in his natal hour
Had told him, with munificence divine,
Wish for a talent, it will straight be thine!
His griefs he could, by different arts, controul;
But music was the darling of his soul;
And grief had made him (grief severe, and long)
A mighty master of pathetic song.
His name Lucilio! once he had attain'd
An height of bliss, by mortals rarely gain'd,
What most they pray for from the powers above,
Health, and renown, and affluence, and love:
In his domestic scene supremely blest,
A peerless wife, and daughter, he possest;
The living treasures of his lively heart,
Both deeply skill'd (sweet rivals) in his art.
With these, his prime associates, and his pride;
'Twas oft his joy to sail, at even tide;
And, teaching his light boat to glide along,
Charm the mute current with a triple song:

But ah! how oft, in man's precarious state,
Gay pastime ministers to ruthless fate:
One starless eve a sudden tempest blew;
And instant sunk the love-united crew.
The strong Lucilio gain'd the neighb'ring shore;
And (wond'rous effort!) thro' the waves he bore
His dear companions both—all perils brav'd,
He wildly deem'd his life's best portion sav'd:
Each rescued darling, in high hopes, he prest,
With fondest question, to his panting breast;
Cried “speak!” but sought in vain their stifled breath;
And soon his agonies grew worse than death,
His chearless heart seem'd turning into stone;
He loath'd the life, preserv'd to him alone.

Tho' long, in dreary solitude, he pin'd,
Religion shed her balm upon his mind;
And lenient friendship led his wounded heart
First to endure his long relinquish'd art:
Then, as mild piety her powers had shewn,
And love's torn heart-strings gain'd a firmer tone,
He used, reclining on their tomb, to shed
Affection's tuneful incense o'er the dead:

SONG.

HEAVEN! to whose indulgent smile
Nature leads the drooping soul,
When the world's delusive guile
Yield's to reason's calm controul.

Yet, ere clouds of dark decay
Round my aching temples spread,
Grant me mental power, to pay
Sacred duties to the dead!

SONG.

O my friends! who are gone to the skies,
And have left upon earth a good name!
To your virtue my song shall arise,
And yours be affection, and fame,
For ever!

On the tomb where your relicks repose,
I pay them fond memory's debt:
There my sorrow incessantly flows,
And that duty I never forget,
No, never!

Sweet the joy that mild evening bestows
Whom her pensive attractions endear!
But sweeter the vision, that shows
All the worth of the dead we revere,
For ever!

In the season of silence, and night,
Ye idols, ador'd in my heart,
From gratitude's spiritual sight
May your images never depart!
No, never!

SONG.

THERE is, good Heaven! a sacred charm,
In that pure love, we pay the dead,
Which may the rage of grief disarm,
Nor let her dark delirium spread:

Tis when fair truth to her fond gaze,
In glory's light, her idol shows;
Then, list'ning to that idol's praise,
Grief feels a tender, proud repose.

Such were the songs, that, in his plaintive gloom,
Lucilio breath'd around his darlings' tomb.

Friendship, whose zeal had led him to forego
Sorrow's dread silence, and inactive woe,
To chear his mind, induc'd him to impart
To early genius his peculiar art:
At friendship's call, he taught a youthful fair
To give sweet pathos to the vocal air,
In songs, that, on his unexampled woes,
It sooth'd his wounded spirit to compose.

Pitied, esteem'd, admir'd, he much was sought:
Yet shun'd society for lonely thought;
His kind instruction many wish'd to gain,
But youth and beauty ask'd it oft in vain:
His precepts he confin'd to one alone,
To whom in early life his child was known;
This nymph appeas'd his anguish, while she prais'd
Her, whom his love to rare perfection rais'd:
And when attentive to his tuneful law
This young enthusiast of the harp he saw,
When, sweetly docile, she improv'd her strain,
Then his lost daughter seem'd to live again;
Or rather then, from lonely pangs releas'd,
His soul did homage to the dear deceas'd.

Then, with preceptive tenderness, he smil'd
On the young friend, he honor'd as his child.
His sunk eye glisten'd with a hallow'd joy,
His cold heart quicken'd in the blest employ.

In this pure light, by destiny impell'd,
Venusia's youthful charms he first beheld:
Her sire esteem'd him; and the nymph rever'd:
She grew a scholar to his soul endear'd,
For she had powers, angelically strong,
To soothe his sorrow, and to grace his song.
A perfect angel, in his sight, she seem'd;
And from her eyes celestial comfort beam'd,
When thus she sung, aspiring to his praise,
The fav'rite close of his pathetic lays:

SONG.

BY a tomb, that held his treasure,
All his filial pride, and pleasure!
Thus a father mourn'd his child:
Leave, ah leave me to my sorrow!
Dark my day! and dark my morrow!
Life is now a dreary wild:
Hope forsook me,
Misery took me,
When in death my darling smil'd.

Ere his plaint of woe was ended,
From an azure sky descended,
Gracious Pity cheer'd his sight:
Know, she said, and cease to languish,
Heaven afflicts, with transient anguish,
Hearts, that sacred bonds unite;
But to render
Bliss more tender
In eternal scenes of light.

The lovely songstress, with a power sublime,
Breathing sweet magic thro' the plaintive rhyme,
Felt, as she sung, in every thrilling vein,
Delight combin'd with melancholy pain;
Her friend's lost daughter she had lov'd a child,
And said this melody her grief beguil'd;
But grief was mingled, in her feeling mind,
With secret envy; of a tender kind!
She thought, she willingly could yield her breath,
To be so fondly honor'd after death.

Ah pure Venusia! Thou could'st ne'er surmize
How latent seeds of destin'd love arise!
Chaste as the smile of infancy, regard
Rose in thy soul for this parental bard:

To thee, while pity thy kind feelings nurst,
He seem'd a second sire, but gentler than the first:
And never father view'd a daughter's charms,
More purified from passion's coarse alarms,
Than now Lucilio on Venusia gaz'd,
Proud of her talents, at her skill amaz'd.
In his pure eye there lurk'd no sparks of fire,
To wake suspicion in her watchful sire;
He deem'd Lucilio but a living shade;
His frame by deep dejection had decay'd;
Tho' strength and grace had deck'd his youthful form,
Both were impair'd by grief's convulsive storm,
And his fond soul seem'd eager to rejoin
His buried darlings' in a choir divine.

Hence keen Donado felt no anxious dread,
If chance his step from her apartment led.
When, in sweet privacy, the tuneful maid
Improv'd her music by Lucilio's aid.
Not without reason had her sire relied
On young Venusia's honorable pride;
She, from the season of her infant life,
Was train'd to form a noble's future wife.

Rash freedoms never had she caus'd, or fear'd:
In conscious virtue she herself rever'd.
A modest majesty adorn'd her face,
Her smile was bounty; her attention grace:
And could a man, deprest by grief, endure
To wound the dignity of charms so pure?

No! just Lucilio had in silence died,
Rather than wish Venusia for his bride,
Had not her sire, with base tyrannic might,
Tried to deprive her of a daughter's right,
And barbarously doom'd her blooming charms
To the cold mildew of a dotard's arms.
The nymph, on graceful studies solely bent,
Felt no suspicion of her sire's intent:
Tho' fondly pompous, with officious care,
The rich Zanetti often prais'd the fair,
And oft familiar for admission pray'd,
When to the fair one's song Lucilio play'd.
This old Magnifico, more dull than pert,
Engag'd her notice only to divert
Her playful fancy, when she saw him melt
With taste assum'd for arts he never felt,

Since weak and corpulent, and apt to doze,
Sometimes he slumber'd in her music's close;
She smil'd, not thinking (innocently gay)
His wealth and weakness were her father's prey.
The base ambition, that his heart defil'd,
Fixt his resolve to sacrifice his child.
Chance to Lucilio that resolve betray'd,
He madden'd at the thought: yet undismay'd,
Of love unconscious, with no selfish care
He wish'd from wretchedness to shield the fair.

What could he do? in his distracted thought,
Plans for that purpose, still in vain, he sought.
But powers ætherial, who, tho' viewless, seem
To aid of virtuous zeal the wildest dream,
In two pure hearts, from conscious passion free,
Wak'd mutual kindness, till by Heaven's decree,
It made them, ere they knew its secret might,
In love's indissoluble ties unite.

When next Lucilio his Venusia saw
It chanc'd no witness made him mute with awe.
His features spoke his pain in all its force,
The nymph perceiv'd, and begg'd to know its source;

She little dream'd it from herself arose,
But in kind pity sought to soothe his woes,

Ere he would tell this source of grief profound,
The fair he first by adjurations bound,
Not to reveal, or by a sign make known,
A secret, that concern'd herself alone,
And pregnant with such misery to her,
Rather than see it he would racks prefer.
Venusia gave (her eager fancy fir'd)
Each promise of concealment he requir'd;
Then having drawn the secret from his breast,
She smil'd, and tried to make his fear a jest;
But seeing how the phantom pierc'd his brain,
And anxious only to relieve his pain,
“By Heaven I swear!” the sweet enthusiast cried,
“Me you shall ne'er behold Zanetti's bride.”
That sound exalted him to feverish bliss,
Grateful he gave her hand a burning kiss.
Intoxicated friendship made a trip,
He touch'd, in blind temerity, her lip;
But angry light'ning from Venusia's eye,
Pierc'd his pale form—he could not speak or sigh!

Down his wan cheek the tears of anguish stole,
And spoke the deep distresses of his soul:
Tears drew a silent pardon from the fair;
To end the troubled scene was now her care;
She clos'd her book.—In penitential awe,
The mute instructor hasten'd to withdraw:
The modest maiden would not bid him stay,
But for their meeting nam'd a future day.
Before that day arrived, a day that each,
Fear'd the slow feet of time would never reach;
What quick vicissitudes of various thought,
By Heaven suggested, and by nature taught!
Roll'd thro' Lucilio's and Venusia's breast,
To rob each sympathizing heart of rest.

The startled nymph contriv'd with subtle skill,
To sound an aged aunt against her will;
And learn'd, with all the aptitude of youth,
Donado's cunning, and Lucilio's truth.
What potent feelings in her bosom blend,
To raise her pity for her suffering friend!
Meantime his misery assumes an air,
Of hope-chear'd love renouncing dark despair;

The lip he wildly prest had wak'd a flame,
Of new existence in his manly frame,
Nature and genius, with their blended fire,
Bade him to bliss, he merited, aspire,
And spite of terror taught him to prepare,
Music and verse to fascinate the fair.
While lull'd in visions of a darker plot,
The social elders on a distant spot,
Deck'd, in blind vanity, a nuptial bed,
Which, as a snare, indignant virtue fled;
For quick, tho' seeming slow, arriv'd the morn,
When, like a nightingale upon a thorn,
The tender songstress ceas'd her song; to greet
Her kind preceptor.—Now alone they meet!
The blest musician o'er his idol hung,
And thus in softest harmony he sung:

SONG.

SHOULD a mortal, rais'd in vision
To a glimpse of scenes divine,
Madly cry, with bold decision,
Bliss of angels! thou art mine.

At the gate of Heaven presiding!
Seraphs might his zeal reprove;
But to teach, by heavenly chiding,
Future hope to patient love.

I was that presumptuous mortal!
And thy heart the heaven I view'd!
Truth, the seraph at the portal,
Tells me I too rashly sued.

Teach me now in true contrition,
(Injur'd Heaven requires no more)
How to soothe by just submission,
How deserve what I adore!

While in sweet tumults of the heart, the fair,
Stood rapt in wonder at love's tuneful prayer!
The tear of tremulous delight, the flush
Of fond surprize, and joy's triumphant blush,
Gave such bright force to beauty's richest hue,
On her angelic face such lustre threw,
She seem'd a seraph, in Lucilio's eyes,
Fit to unfold the mandate of the skies!
Nor could a seraph raise a higher flame,
Of wond'rous transport in a mortal frame,

Than she excited, when, in quick reply,
She spoke his fate appointed in the sky:

“O born to save me! long as life endures,
From vile abasement, that my heart abjures;
I bless the lot, the Heavens to me disclose,
'Tis mine to recompence thy signal woes;
For know, commission'd to preserve thy life,
I am in truth thy Heaven-elected wife!
And know, to magnify surprize so fond,
A parent sanctifies our nuptial bond!”
“What can thy sire!”—“Ah no!” (with shudd'ring dread
That thro' the warmth of hallow'd rapture spread,
The still exulting fair exclaim'd) “yet see
A parent quit her paradise for thee!
Listen, in calmer joy, while I relate,
The blessed marvels of our blended fate!”

“When first alarm'd, by what thy friendship told,
I sought my guardian aunt, still kind, tho' old,
All that she knew, she scrupled to confess,
But rais'd such doubts, as doubled my distress;
Some hints she gave, as if she gave them not,
From ill-dissembled pity of my lot.

And much I fear'd in night's first lonely hour,
Her awful feelings of paternal power!
I steep'd my pillow in the tears of grief,
But, ere I rose, receiv'd divine relief.
At morning's dawn she stood beside my bed,
And, as amaz'd I blest her, thus she said:”

“My child! as such, I long have held thee dear,
Now as the ward of Heaven I more revere;
For love and duty bid me now declare
Thee, in this crisis, Heaven's immediate care,
Thy mother (call'd to glory at thy birth)
For thee descended, this blest night to earth,
Confest in vision, she before me stood;
I speak her dictates for my darling's good:”
‘Ere three days end to Milan thou must fly,
Love will,’ she said, ‘a secret guard supply.’
“Her spirit, from maternal terror free,
Was troubled for thy sire, but not for thee,
O'er him dark perils of deep guilt impend;
For thee, she bade me fear not, but defend,
By telling thee her mandate—all the rest,
The love, that has her sanction, will suggest.

I felt an awful pleasure in her sight,
Serenely soothing as the lunar light;
Her presence rais'd my hopes, my wonder more,
That her pure breast an infant angel bore!
She bade me trust thee to thyself alone,
And keep thy wond'rous destiny unknown,
Nor hazard aught thyself, nor aught enquire,
That may betray thee, to thy hasty sire,
Whose barb'rous plot against thy native right,
'Tis now thy duty to evade by flight.
I bless and leave thee, that my feeble age
May 'scape by ignorance thy father's rage;
When here returning—soon will he return,
And fiercely will ambitious anger burn
To find thee gone.—'Tis mine to bid thee go,
But how and when, are points, I must not know.”—
“She bless'd me—then she hasten'd to withdraw.—
With heavenly zeal, and heaven-awaken'd awe,
Amaz'd, yet in amazement undismay'd,
Thus to the saint, who gave me birth, I pray'd:

SONNET.

THOU tender guide of that angelic band,
Who, friendly guardians of my feeling soul,
Shield it from evils, that around me roll;
Shade of my mother! teach me self-command;
Those fiery storms, of trouble to withstand,
Where the weak mind, is like a shrivell'd scroll;
Be mine thy courage, of divine controul!
Modestly firm, and confidently grand!
I hold thy dictates to my soul most dear,
Awfully sweet, as Heaven's descending dove!
Yet if thy voice devoutly I revere,
Once, in brief vision, to thy child appear!
So, strong in thy blest sanction from above,
My lighten'd heart may spring, to liberty and love.

“With filial hopes, now painfully intense,
I look'd to Heaven! till slumber seiz'd my sense.
My prayer was granted, the blest vision came;
A being, mantled in ætherial flame,
Wav'd o'er me smiling, and these words exprest:”
‘Trust thy pure heart, be fearless, and be blest!’
“I rose in trembling joy, and now I see
The guardian, she announc'd, reveal'd in thee.

Hence have I dar'd, in filial duty's pride,
Proclaim myself thy Heaven-elected bride.
Thy heart confirming what our stars enjoin,
Thy path shall be my path, thy laws are mine;
Justly to thee, my plighted faith is given,
Dearer than life, thou delegate of Heaven!”

With mute obedience, and with blushing grace,
Chastely she sunk in gratitude's embrace.
But O Lucilio! how did joy's high flame
Convulse thy fondly agitated frame,
'Till proudly gushing on thy fair one's cheek,
Heart-easing tears restor'd thy power to speak;
Thy tears, thy words, collected tho' not calm,
Seem'd to contend for eloquence's palm;
Nor fail'd those arts, that forceful love attend,
To grace the triumph of their fav'rite friend:
Prophetic fondness, in quick fancy strong,
Had rais'd the tribute of successive song.
Ere to the bright enchantress he replied,
Her harp he seiz'd, with an extatic pride;
Call'd forth its spirit with a sovereign power,
To tell the transport of the blissful hour;

And as inspir'd with momentary lays,
Proudly pour'd forth his own Venusia's praise.

SONG.

ART thou, my Venusia? yes thou art the maid,
By our stars pre-ordain'd, all my woes to repay,
Delightfully now will they all be o'erpaid,
For thy charms, and my love, are exempt from decay.

If thy roses should fade, those intelligent rays,
Of tenderness darting from eyes so benign,
Will transmit from thy heart, more than language conveys,
And with sympathy's magic re-animate mine.

If my features exhibit, as surely they will,
Too visible traces of trouble and time;
Yet with love's genial fervor, my fancy may still
Seem but just to have reach'd the sweet season of prime.

A garland with Amaranths gracefully starr'd,
To thee, my preserver, henceforth shall belong;
Thy beauties for lavishing bliss on a bard,
Shall immortally bloom in his rapturous song.

His verse he grac'd, by passion's soft controul,
With melting notes that penetrate the soul.

And from the trembling partner of his bliss,
Took the just tribute of a grateful kiss;
Then, as still speaking, in a trance of joy,
That earth's dark perils never could destroy:
“Queen of my life,” the blest Lucilio cried,
“Mark how Heaven sends thee, thy predicted guide!
Me, at my house, a friendly priest attends,
In Milan bred, the first of faithful friends;
Of heart most fervent, and of soul serene,
He comes to draw me to his native scene;
Eager with friendship's tutelary care,
To nurse my wasted health, that woes impair.
But little thinks he what a gracious power,
Sent him to Venice in this fateful hour;
How will his glowing heart rejoice to see,
Refuge in Milan, paradise to me.
How bless my angel, who, with aid divine,
Gives me to feel that paradise is mine.
Come then celestial guardian of my life,
To night assume the sacred name of wife;
Friendship and love in evening's fav'ring hour,
Shall watch and guide thee, to thy nuptial bower;

My heaven-deputed friend shall join our hands,
The spirit of the blest have sanctified our bands.
Rich in such union, may to-morrow's sun,
To Milan see our blissful course begun.
Too nobly frank to hint a cold delay,
Venusia promis'd, at the close of day,
To join her destin'd lord.—With joy intense,
He felt her charms, thro' each enchanted sense.
He almost doubts his bliss; and thus exprest,
The tender tumult of his throbbing breast:

SONG.

I know not, Venusia, if thou art indeed,
The being ordain'd to compensate my woes,
But I know that idea is part of my creed,
And a part, where my spirit delights to repose.

In a vision, that waking, I fondly behold,
I see thee that office angelic assume,
Teach a petrified heart with new life to unfold,
And a fancy, grief blighted, with extacy bloom.

It may all be illusion, yet surely to me,
No reality ever could seem more divine,
And I prize it the more, as I constantly see,
True tenderness, mixt with true piety, thine.

Such to me are thy charms, so imprest on my mind,
They seem to me present e'en when I'm alone,
Such a part of my being thy virtues I find,
Venusia's kind heart is the half of my own.

While love's and harmony's united powers,
Give double speed to hope's extatic hours.
Venusia list'ning to her lover's rhyme,
Hardly perceives the hasty flight of time.
At length she tells him 'tis their hour to part,
Then, as she said it, sighing from her heart;
“But go not yet,” she cried, “once more prolong
The soothing magic of thy tender song;
For love I see, and in the sight rejoice,
Improves the sweetness of the sweetest voice.
Thine ever seem'd delightful to my ear!
Yet how does love its every grace endear;
That voice is now my sovereign.—Charm to rest
A timid slutter in my anxious breast;
Not for myself I fear, or thee my friend,
I feel the Heavens, who join, us will defend.
Yet for my blinded sire, base passion's prey,
The sire, whom duty bids me disobey!

For him!”—Her starting tears here stopt her tongue;
To her quick beating heart Lucilio clung,
And calm'd the soft inquietude of youth
With genuine sympathy, and manly truth.
He prais'd her filial tenderness; he pray'd,
That love might lead him, with celestial aid,
To win her sire, and, ere his days could close,
Lead his fierce spirit to divine repose!
Clasping with pride his voluntary wife,
“Thy peace,” he said, “is dearer than my life!”
And thus, in notes of magical controul,
He sung the dictates of his feeling soul.

SONG.

LET the lover who burns with mere earthly desire,
In vows to his fair vent his amorous fire,
And protest with presumption's importunate kiss,
He must die, if she fails to accomplish his bliss!

The love, that for thee, my Venusia, I own,
With a view more sublime, takes a different tone;
More nobly I bend to felicity's shrine,
With a primary wish, that her gifts may be thine.

I know that thy heart, from its infantine hours,
Was to excellence train'd by angelical powers!
All the love of that heart may they guide and enlarge,
As their foresight sees best, for the good of their charge!

If to make thy heart mine is a triumph to them,
I with rapturous gratitude value the gem!
The delight of the blessing I feel in each nerve,
And the gift, they bestow, duly pray to preserve.

But if now in my lot aught of ill they discern,
That for thee a brief joy to long sorrow may turn,
Though imagin'd my own, I the treasure forego,
And would sacrifice bliss to be bought by thy woe!

But here smiling in vision those angels I see,
For thy sake my Venusia they smile upon me,
And they tell me, that form'd for each other we live;
Our reciprocal love is the blessing they give.

Let not either, they say, our pure present disclaim,
It is love from the fount of seraphical flame!
It shall light you on earth, while on earth either stays,
And at last lead you both to beatitude's blaze.

As thus in mutual truth their hearts accord,
The chaste Venusia blest her chosen lord;

And with a proud esteem, and tender praise,
Hail'd him the sov'reign of her future days!
Then rapidly dismiss'd: for thought and care,
Bade her for evening's fateful hour prepare;
When she must seek, against the worst alarms,
The heaven-rais'd refuge of a husband's arms!

END OF THE FIRST CANTO.

CANTO II.

Ye sacred powers of secrecy, and truth!
Rever'd by genuine love, and beauteous youth!
Viewless ye hover'd o'er the happy pair,
Whose union now became your fav'rite care;
Nor aught seem'd wanting in the nuptial bower,
By you prepar'd, at evening's settled hour,
To crown the hallow'd hymeneal rite
With modest graces, and serene delight.
Lucilio, rich in treasures of the heart,
Had tender friends, who in his joy took part;
Two now beneath his hospitable roof,
Friends of tried faith! 'gainst every peril proof!

The priest of Milan, Theodore the kind,
And a fair sister of a softer mind;
By sorrow soften'd, yet of courage strong,
And grac'd with suavity of soul, and song!
A widow'd sister! happy in a child,
In whom the promise of perfection smil'd.
Both fondly guarded by Lucilio's care,
Oft' for his bliss had join'd their cordial prayer:
The mild Marcella, and her young compeer
In all the charms, that make affection dear,
Her little Marcellina, who had shed
Tears of fond pity o'er his drooping head,
Now gaily tender for Lucilio strove
To deck of privacy the dear alcove,
Where graceful friendship waits, with zealous pride,
To sing sweet welcome to the secret bride.
Evening's bright star had shed propitious light
On fond devotion's hymeneal rite;
Proud of indissoluble ties, the pair
Seem'd with celestial joy to float in air,
Devoutly conscious, Heaven had rul'd the hour,
Each owned sweet impulse from supernal power.

Friendship, with mingled extacy, and awe,
Not prodigal of words, this union saw:
From truth's pure altar passing now serene,
All blest the sweets of love's domestic scene.
Kind gratulation form'd, for gay surprize,
A secret carol on their sacred ties;
Round them, like magic, tender music floats;
And three kind voices pour according notes.

SONG.

YE, for each other train'd by power divine,
In excellence, to mortals rarely given!
And led by angels to the nuptial shrine
With benedictions from the host of Heaven.

Forgive the weakness of each mortal voice,
That hails your union with delight sincere!
Words are too faint to show how we rejoice,
But truth irradiates joy's expressive tear.

And ye, kind angels, who this union form,
Sanction'd by life's all-seeing Lord above!
Protect the pair, ye join, thro' every storm!
And make their bliss transcendent as their love.

Kind Theodore, whose voice, divinely strong,
Gave force, and fervour to the friendly song,
Early, to guard their morrow from alarms,
Consign'd the lovers to each other's arms.
Brief was their blissful night: their hallow'd friend
Eager to bless, and cautious to defend,
Calls at the dawn his heaven-appointed charge:
Disguis'd they enter his departing barge,
And clad as pilgrims, with the priest their guide,
Grateful they launch upon a tranquil tide,
Ere Venice glitters in the morning blaze,
Her dusky towers the tender bride surveys;
With silent benediction hails the dome,
Whence Heaven directs her flight, her dangerous home!
And prays the letter, by her love addrest
To all the feelings of a father's breast,
May, when just reason calms a casual strife,
Preserve her still the darling of his life.
And if pure filial tenderness, and truth,
The genuine eloquence of artless youth,
If all, that nature, all that love can plead
To turn a parent from a barbarous deed;

If these strong charms were potent to assuage
The cruel passions of ambitious age,
Venusia's pen would, like celestial fire,
Have chac'd all evil from her alter'd sire.
But from his youth to wordly grandeur train'd,
Reckless of Heaven, whose guidance he disdain'd,
The fierce Donado, exercis'd in ill,
Measur'd all rights by his imperious will.
Warm with gay projects of illusive pride,
To make his daughter the rich dotard's bride,
In haste the keen Donado had return'd:
Venusia fled!—with instant rage he burn'd;
His rising fury scorn'd all mild controul,
And vengeance grew the passion of his soul;
Cunning and pride had many years possest
A joint dominion in Donado's breast;
Revenge now rose above them, like a flood;
The father thirsted for the lover's blood:
His daughter's letter, in her lord's behalf,
The savage, with a sanguinary laugh,
To atoms tore; and scattering in the air,
So wish'd the body of his foe to tear:

Yet subtle in his wrath, he would import
His vengeful wishes to Zanetti's heart.
The cold Zanetti catches not the fire,
That mounts so high in the vindictive sire.
Such want of sympathy inflam'd the more
The fierce Donado in his thirst of gore.
His frenzy spurns, whom once his flattery won,
Spurns, and abjures his ill-elected son.
Who, timely prudent, had resolv'd to spare
His age the pain to chace a flying fair;
And, with a cool good-nature, said, “his voice
Should give its sanction to Venusia's choice.”
This rash attempt to soothe his recent ire
Added new fury to the furious sire;
With rage, unmollified by thought, or time,
He plans a deep, premeditated crime:
His own hot hand a selfish dread restrains;
Him, who can burst from pity, fear enchains.
But panting still for blood, he borrows aid
From wretches, who in murder madly trade;
Two prov'd assassins now engage for hire
To sate the vengeance of the ruthless sire;

Two men they were by storms of misery driven
To lose the soul's sheet anchor, trust in Heaven!
Lucio and Basil the dire pair were call'd;
Deaf to remorse! in perils unappall'd!
Together tost on life's tempestuous flood,
Darkly they plied their partnership of blood.
These men, from justice by Donado sav'd,
Pamp'ring the passion, that his heart enslav'd;
Engag'd, by bribes of lavish fury fed,
To shew him the abhorr'd Lucilio dead.
While these, in Venice, with close guilt conspire
To sate Donado's murderous desire,
Little aware with whom they were to cope,
Leading a blissful life of love, and hope,
The happy pair, in Milan, with delight
Hid their endearments from the public sight.
The trusty Theodore had plac'd his friends,
Where o'er them secrecy's broad shield extends.
In Milan skirts a little convent stood,
Rich in sweet gardens, and a circling wood:
The hallow'd chief of this sequester'd scene,
Allied to Theodore, here hop'd to screen

From every hostile eye the happy pair,
Dear to his heart, as grateful for his care.
A rural cot, remote from every road,
In these pure precincts was their blest abode;
And, only at the hour of early day,
They ventur'd in this little quire to pray.
Here stood an organ, not of loudest power,
Yet such, as sweeten'd calm devotion's hour;
On this devout Lucilio lov'd to raise
The notes of duty of his Maker's praise;
Improv'd in privacy his favourite art,
And thus pour'd forth the fervour of his heart.

HYMN.

WITHOUT the help of God,
Nor innocence, nor faith, are sure
Their being to retain;
Or trial from the fiends endure
With no contagious stain:
Not safe the path by angels trod,
Without the help of God!

Without the help of God,
The powers of wisdom, courage, youth,
Dissolve, like steel, by rust,
The blazing eye of spotless truth,
Is only rayless dust,
And mental fire a senseless clod,
Without the help of God!

Without the help of God,
All is decay, delusion all,
On which mankind rely:
The firmament itself would fall,
And even nature die
Beneath annihilation's nod,
Without the help of God!

These pious orgies oft, at early dawn,
Had sooth'd Venusia, from the world withdrawn,
And lull'd to sacred, spiritual repose
Her terror, that from anxious love arose,
Lest the dark fury of her father's pride
Should aim to tear Lucilio from her side.
Little she dreamt, the fiends of murder knew,
And kept their destin'd victim full in view:

Fondly she hop'd, that faith, and friendship spread
Security's sure veil around his head:
But love in vain her secret would withold
From the strong search of all-corrupting gold.
The subtle ruffians, in Donado's pay,
Knew every art to baffle, and betray:
Mischief's dark war, in every mask, they wage,
Of plaintive penury, and nerveless age;
By specious guile they certain knowledge gain'd,
How hopes of safety in their victims reign'd;
How the blest husband, and the secret wife,
Employ'd each moment of sequester'd life.
They deeply ponder'd on the safest time,
When to atchieve this meditated crime;
They knew, that, when the morning service past,
Venusia and her lord retir'd the last:
Of this neat quire entrusted with the key,
Lucilio there, from every terror free,
Oft linger'd, and to please his tender fair,
To her alone prolong'd the pious air,
When to enrich some heaven-devoted rhyme.
He grac'd the verse with melody sublime;

And from Venusia won enraptur'd praise
By recent music, join'd to recent lays.
Still with a cautious, tho' a proud regard,
She watch'd o'er her musician, and her bard;
With tender care she lock'd the lonely quire,
When, ling'ring there, he sung with solemn fire:
First round the door her anxious eyes she cast,
When issuing thence, to take their morn's repast,
They walk'd together, by a shady scene,
Thro' a dim cloister, to their cot serene.
It chanc'd one morn, a morn of awful note!
To sacred music they their souls devote
With long delight, and zeal 'till then unknown,
Lucilio sung, in faith's sublimest tone,
The Hymn, that spoke his confidence in God.—
And now the pavement, near the door, they trod;
But ere the quick Venusia reach'd the key,
She hears a step; she starts; she turns—and see!
In the lock'd chapel a strange figure stands!
She darts upon it with extended hands:
“'Tis an assassin!” (she exclaims, aghast)
“Fly! Fly! Lucilio, while I bind him fast!

Fly, ere his dark accomplices appear!”
With love superior to all selfish fear,
That made her tender arms an iron clasp,
She held the speechless Lucio in her grasp:
Suddenly prostrate at Lucilio's foot
The trembling Basil, for a moment mute,
Knelt, in the tears of penitence, and said,
Shaking with strong compunction, not with dread:
“We were assassins; but abjure the guilt:
Let tears atone for blood in purpose spilt!
Most true, our night in that dire purpose past;
We fixt this fatal morn Lucilio's last!
But mark! how Heaven defeats the subtlest plan
By the blest talent of this godlike man!
His harmony, inspir'd by angels, wrought
Conversion in our souls surpassing thought,
Hearing his hymn, in mutual tears we burst
Each in his brother new repentance nurst.
Our whispers, for we fear'd to speak aloud,
Have preservation to Lucilio vow'd.
Fear not, fair lady! so divinely brave!
What e'er our destiny, your lord you save.

The man, you hold as hostile to his life,
Has sworn to shield him from all future strife.”
With manly penetration, void of fear,
Lucilio saw their penitence sincere;
And fondly smiling on his lovely guard,
Whose wond'rous force still prest her prisoner hard;
“Doubt not,” he said, “my tutelary love!
Release your captive!—trust the powers above!
We are blest mortals, who, with mercy's rod,
May lead these lost, and recreant souls to God.
I read their true repentance in their eyes;
Let them attend us! fear no base surprize!
Be it our joy to give repented sin
A larger recompence, than guilt could win!”
Thus as Lucilio spoke, angelic grace
Shed a new lustre o'er his manly face:
With looks, that shew'd the fondness of her soul,
Venusia yielded to her lord's controul;
And pressing his dear hand, with speechless pride,
Homeward she walk'd exulting by his side;
Yet hardly free from terrors anxious sway:
While, at his bidding, in their dusky way

Advancing, first along the sacred dome,
Their converts lead, and reach her rural home.

The brave Lucilio, anxious now alone
To guide his penitents to mercy's throne,
Treats them as humble friends; with kind concern
Deigns all the story of their lives to learn;
And, with just foresight of their future days,
Appoints their path of peace, and prayer, and praise.
From youth Lucilio cherish'd in his mind,
A bright ambition to befriend mankind;
His heart's prime joy to shield the virtuous poor!
Their wants to succour, and their faith secure!
Oft his alert benevolence supplied
Aid, that his fortune seem'd to have denied.
Heaven, who had tried with sorrow's sharp controul
The various virtues of his manly soul,
Now gave him, with new funds of love, and health,
Proportion'd to his bounteous temper, wealth.
A legacy unhop'd, a tide of gold
Had, since his nuptials, to his coffers roll'd;
And grateful, he the timely gift employs
To prove of affluence the noblest joys.

It chanc'd, when young, in Florence he had known
The friends of Lucio, who would now atone
For unaccomplish'd crimes; this hapless man,
Thro' whose cleans'd heart unfeign'd repentance ran,
Describ'd his parents by his wrongs undone,
And wasting life in weeping for their son.
“I know them—yes! they were a happy pair,
Ere vice had caught their offspring in her snare.
Dark snares of ill round many a man extend;
Burst by a few, who find in God a friend!
And be it ours,” (the just Lucilio cried)
“To praise the rescue, that Heaven deigns to guide!
Go, Lucio! bid thy parents grieve no more!
Their drooping age God sends thee to restore:
They will, in thy regenerated mind,
Hail his best gift, and every comfort find;
For while in thee a filial guard they bless,
My constant care shall shield them from distress.”
While grateful Lucio he to Florence sends,
Basil, not less reform'd, his host attends,
Till pleas'd Venusia, every fear above,
And hoping all things from Lucilio's love,

Prepares a packet, to her sire addrest,
In which their blended eloquence exprest
Every kind wish, that filial hearts can feel,
To soothe a father's pride with tender zeal:
To these the daughter adds, with duty warm,
Gifts of affection, in a graceful form,
A radiant purse, that may respect command;
Ingenious labour of her skilful hand!
A symbol, fondly fashion'd to impart
Her lover's temper to her father's heart!
Him she informs, her busy hours produce
A fellow-purse for her Lucilio's use,
Who, now enrich'd by fortune, would be proud,
If to his zeal such honours are allow'd,
To make his wealth an agent to fulfil
Each gracious purpose of Donado's will.

Charm'd with her husband's unresenting mind,
To her fell sire magnanimously kind!
Fondly she thinks, no anger can resist
Friendship so noble; and, all fear dismist,
She pants to see her messenger return,
While hope's gay meteors in her bosom burn.

Not so the cautious Theodore! aware
How foil'd revenge relays the deadly snare,
Conscious how potent, and how fierce their foe,
His anxious kindness would prevent the blow,
And place his friends, so cruelly pursued,
In scenes, where danger can no more intrude:
Now such a scene he seeks, while, blest in love,
And peaceful confidence in powers above,
The firm Lucilio cherishes, with joy,
The hopes, that gay Venusia's mind employ;
And for defence, so marvellously given,
Thus pours his warm melodious thanks to Heaven.

HYMN.

ANGELIC gratitude! whose voice
In triumph thro' creation ran;
Exciting nature to rejoice
In grace restor'd to rescued man!
Thou, whose notes, that Heaven endears,
Form the music of the spheres!
O grant me now thy tuneful power,
Duly to celebrate the gracious hour,
That made this house of God my tutelary tower!

Blest art! the seraph's prime employ!
Bestow'd on man as sorrow's balm!
Who canst of love enhance the joy,
And add a grace to glory's palm,
Music! aid me to display
Wonders of thy moral sway!
Thy searching sounds, thy strong controul
Made clouds of guilt, a stormy darkness! roll
From the assassin's heart, and harmoniz'd his soul.

Music dispell'd his murd'rous dream:
He 'woke, to truth no longer blind!
For, penitence! thy heavenly beam
Enlighten'd, and enlarg'd his mind.
Joy below, and joy above,
Spring from thy Redeemer's love:
When vice abjures the path he trod,
Delighted justice drops her vengeful rod;
And earth looks up to Heaven, with confidence in God.

While pleas'd the studies of her lord to share,
Venusia joins him in the tuneful prayer,
Or, by the fervour of her fond applause,
New bursts of genius from his fancy draws;
Her terrors in devout affection drown'd,
Her soul appears imparadis'd in sound.

But soon, too soon! new tidings of affright
Turn to keen anguish all her keen delight.
The good Marcella, vigilantly just,
To whom alone Venusia would entrust
Her touching letters, and her gifts, design'd
To soothe her sire's exasperated mind,
Had tried in vain, what friendship could inspire,
To melt in tenderness his stubborn ire.
She mourns the fruitless end of all her care;
And bids the deeply-threaten'd friends beware,
Frankly imparting, (what, she thought, might tend
To warn her fearless brother, and defend,)
The savage words, that horribly severe,
Ruthless Donado thunder'd in her ear:
“I have no daughter! and the thief, who stole,
Who stealing marr'd the jewel of my soul,
I deem a wretch too base for earth to bear!”
When these dire words first struck the filial fair,
Their baleful spirit, like a subtle pest,
Shot death-like chillness thro' Venusia's breast;
She sicken'd with a fear, that seized her brain;
A terror, such as life could scarce sustain!

Reason, that spurn'd it, still it rose above;
It was the fear to lose Lucilio's love;
His life she deem'd secure; for Heaven had shewn
Its care to shield a servant of its own:
But, tender as he was, Lucilio's frame
Inclos'd a heart, that outrage must enflame!
Against his will, that heart must soon acquire
Hate for the offspring of a barb'rous sire.
This dark delirium chain'd her to her bed;
There love the tears of tend'rest pity shed.
Two nights, two days, incessant guard he kept;
His trembling maniac watch'd, and never slept;
Lucilio's hand alone her strength renew'd
With frequent medicine, or less frequent food;
On the third morn, as, seated by her side,
He watch'd her waking, with mixt grief, and pride,
Heavens! how his heart exulted to descry
Health's milder radiance dawning from her eye!
Around his neck one sportive arm she flung;
And, as inspir'd, the sweet enthusiast sung.

SONG.

When reliev'd from anxious cares,
I confide in thy affection,
All the face of nature wears
Joyous beauty's bright complexion:

If beneath a wintry sky,
Blasted earth all ardour loses,
Thro' my breast Lucilio's eye
Summer's happy glow diffuses.

But, if looking cold disdain,
He no more our vows remember,
Then, tho' genial spring may reign,
In my heart tis dead December.

As they move, thine eyes to me
Swiftly form each change of season:
They my stars! on their decree
Rest my health, my peace, my reason.

In silent extacy love heard the lay,
That show'd his won'drous intellectual sway.
Lucilio's looks, with piercing search explore
The mental life, he labour'd to restore.
He saw the lustre of her rescued mind;
And, blest the light, so gracefully enshrin'd!
Thro' her fond heart his eye shot vital fire,
And thus he gloried in his soul's desire:

“On my affection rest thy health, thy peace?
Then are they safe from danger or decrease.
I bless our God, who made thee passing fair;
I bless him, that he gave thee to my care;
Trebly I bless him, that I justly prize
The purest blessing of the bounteous skies.
O that thy sire as truly understood
Thy matchless value, and his genuine good!
Hopes to win this from Heaven I still declare
By patient duty, and unwearied prayer.”

END OF THE SECOND CANTO.

CANTO III.

SONNET.

Of all ærial friends most sweetly kind,
Heaven's dearest gift to fall'n, and rescu'd man!
Tho' built in brilliant air, on fancy's plan,
Thy splendid castles we must often find
In ruins, still I feel my heart inclin'd
To love thy works, that look o'er life's low span,
And of bright visions sparkle in the van;
Hail to thee, Hope! thou darling of my mind!

If oft thy sublunary fabricks fall,
It is to teach us we should only call
That heavenly fortress of thy hand our own;
Where fraud can ne'er deceive, nor force appal;
Where faith and love to thee, sweet Hope! have shewn,
How thy firm power may rest on God's eternal throne!

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.”

Leonardo da Vinci.

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.

GREAT giver of good! ever pleas'd to bestow!
And life to thy creatures endear!
To thee, and to him may our gratitude flow,
Who acts as thy delegate here!

May peace, and content ever dwell on this green,
Where pity has hallow'd the ground!
May the favour of Heaven illumine the scene,
Where the purest of virtues are found!

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.

CONSTANT as light attends the birth of day,
Devotion waits upon my waking soul;
Giver, and guide of life! to thee I pray,
And bend obedient to thy blest controul.

So may thy favour fashion all my days,
That I may 'scape e'en unsuspected ill!
May, to my latest moment, speak thy praise,
And bless, with gratitude, thy gracious will!

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.

MILDEST of Heaven's etherial host
By human thought descried!
Favourite of God! creation's boast!
To earth her Saviour's guide!
O Pity! for thy aid
How oft has nature pray'd?
How oft does she that aid embrace?
Wherever evil may God's work deface,
That conquer'd demon feels thy renovating grace.

Tho' in our sublunary maze,
In this o'erclouded sphere,
Thou oft may'st seem, in stormy days,
To drop a fruitless tear;
Yet nobly hast thou sped;
Each tear, by pity shed,
A star in future Heavens shall shine;
When all the myriads of redemption join
To glorify their God, his glory will be thine.

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.

I feel the sinking tide of life run low;
The world's gay pageants from my heart recede:
The little all, that peace and virtue need,
Forms the just limit of my wish below.
But in my soul, where faith's clear waters flow,
Sublimer hopes a strong ambition feed
To change mortality's decaying weed
For that pure vest, in which the seraphs glow.

Let this bright aim my steady thoughts engage!
Whatever clouds of frailty intervene,
Let me attain on earth's tumultuous stage,
The decent quiet of sequester'd age!
Make, my good angel! thro' this twilight scene
My conduct sinless! and my death serene!

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!”

END OF THE THIRD CANTO.

CANTO IV.

“No! no!—It must not be—not yet! not yet!”
(The sad recluse replied, with fond regret:)
“I am not worthy, with paternal arms,
Yet to infold thy sweetly filial charms;
But hourly blessings, to a countless store,
Daily on thee I will not cease to pour,
Fervid, tho' absent! and my soul shall pray,
That lenient time may bring a blissful day,
When, my just vow accomplish'd, I may deem
My heart grown worthy of thy fond esteem;

When I my perfect peace with Heaven may see;
And forfeited delights restor'd in thee:
Thou lovely ward! whose welfare to secure
Ceaseless I supplicate the powers most pure.
Thou, whose defence my spirit, not remiss,
Embraces, as a pledge of future bliss.
O do not hate me! if I here disclose
Faults, that thy tender mind could ne'er suppose,
Faults of past time! for which new hopes I own,
A length of penance may at last atone!
Know then, that I a daughter once possest,
Whom had my heart, with nature's zeal, carest,
I might not now, in scenes of mental strife,
Feel the cold pangs of desolated life:
But let Venusia pity, if she can,
The pride, and the perversity of man!—
Madd'ning with loss of that heroic boy,
Whom Heaven, in anger, doom'd me to destroy,
His infant sister (O detested pride!
Offspring of folly! and to guilt allied!)
This little innocent (O base neglect!
Of one, who had no mother to protect!)

I in an hour, that I have cause to curse,
Sent to a distant mercenary nurse;
There, after lingering months of speechless breath,
With none to watch her life, or mourn her death,
My outcast daughter perish'd; while my mind,
Absorb'd in selfish sorrow, base, and blind!
Hardly lamented that young orphan's fate.
To just compunction I awak'd too late;
But O! if haply by contrition won,
A slighted daughter, and a slaughter'd son!
Heaven yet may pardon to my blinded soul;
If penance well-achiev'd, with soft controul,
May to domestic joys my heart restore;
If conscience tell me, expiation's o'er;
If I may foster, in this vale of tears,
Unseen, Venusia, two completed years;
If that blest period come, my rescued mind
In her, my sweet adopted child! may find
Its lost felicity.—To sorrow dear
This interim let sacred music cheer!
But O my tenderest of friends! beware!
The awful terrors of contrition spare!

Do not, by rash anticipation, seek
To conquer scruples, in a mind too weak!
Be thou in patience, as in charms, sublime!
And leave to Heaven its own appointed time!”
This, and much more, in letters, that proclaim
No trifling conflict in the writer's frame,
The kind Manfredi to Venusia said:
His wish was awful; and his words obey'd.
Lucilio, who had once, in grief intense,
That threaten'd life, and life's prime lustre, sense!
To his own mind, by constant prayer convey'd
Mild resignation's medicinal aid,
Now tried the spirit of his friend to heal
By tuneful orisons, and temp'rate zeal.
Venusia, whose pure mind, in sweet accord
With all the virtues of her generous lord,
As her chief study, the blest art pursued
Of less'ning evil, and promoting good,
Sustain'd her part, in every sacred rite.
She, kindly active as life-cheering light,
Drew from Manfredi, by her modest praise,
A soothing series of his mournful lays.

She, with his leave, a daily pleasure took
To form in Pity's Shrine devotion's book;
In which she treasur'd, and was glad to blend
The hallow'd rhymes of each poetic friend:
Manfredi, Theodore, Lucilio there
Her hand united in melodious prayer:
Nor did she shrink herself; but kindly deck'd
The social page that friendship may respect,
With verse, in which simplicity exprest
The feelings of her own angelic breast.
Mild youth, and tenderness! for whom I write,
Your praise my wish, my purpose your delight!
Ye will not murmur if my story pause,
While, justly zealous in devotion's cause,
I from the volume of Venusia steal
Some pages, which may wake your early zeal:
Blest, if her tender piety imparts
Its own pure spirit to congenial hearts!

THE VOLUME OF VENUSIA.

SONNET.

Almighty source of intellectual peace!
On whom all powers, all faculties depend,
Thou, meek affliction's never failing friend!
Command all conflicts in my heart to cease!
There charity preside! there faith encrease!
There hope, whose visions of delight attend
Youth's vivid morn, and age's virtuous end,
Sound thy sweet prelude to the soul's release!

Whether that blest enlargement shall arrive
Rapid, by fate's impenetrable plan,
Or slow, if nature must with anguish strive,
Still may my mind, to love and truth alive,
With the mild warmth, which suits departing man,
Fill with beneficence this mortal span!

Manfredi.

SONNET.

Departed angels in whose love I found
The sweetest antidote for every care,
Where now, in losing your mild lustre, where
Shall dreary age, declining to the ground,
Whom ills, and troubles, a deep host! surround,
Find aught to soothe, and teach the heart to bear
This rough impoverish'd earth, and life's cold air.
Whose orb of comfort is in darkness drown'd!

No! not to shadows, but to starry fire,
Guides of my spirit! your pure virtues turn;
I see their renovated radiance burn:
They brighten, in the breath of that blest quire,
Who, thro' the blaze of glory's vital urn,
Lead you to Heaven's remunerating sire.

Manfredi.

SONNET.

ANGEL of mercy! whose terrestrial task
Is to set free the clay-encumber'd soul,
O when firm faith is panting for the goal,
And longs in truth's unclouded sun to bask,
Tir'd of the world, a vain tumultuous mask!
Teach me with thee to soar, above the pole,
Safe from degrading terror's dark controul,
And glad to gain, what I devoutly ask!

With just intelligence of good, and ill,
With fond attachment to a Saviour's law,
Teach me the pangs of parting life to still!
Let me, with filial love and tender awe,
The solemn mandate of my God fulfill,
True to his word! and zealous for his will!

Manfredi.

SONNET.

ENLIV'NING truth, most luminously sweet!
“Within us is the kingdom of our God”
What! can this form of clay, the valley's clod!
In its dark bosom yield a mansion meet
For Heaven's blest lord?—When evil powers retreat,
Expell'd by discipline's celestial rod,
Pure, as the starry path by angels trod,
The rescued heart he owns his hallow'd seat

Protector of affliction! gracious sire!
Guide thou my social and my secret hour!
And let thy presence all my thoughts inspire,
To thee submitting every fond desire!
Make my clear mind, howe'er my lot may lower,
A temple worthy of thy guardian power!

Theodore.

SONNET.

THIS blooming world is but a thorny bower;
Where treacherous sweets, and latent stings abound,
Where ills in ambush, every path surround;
Health, beauty, opulence, and mental power
Shrink, in an instant, like a shrivell'd flower.
How sinks the heart, in sorrow's gulph profound,
When hope's gay visions are in vapours drown'd,
And friendship fails us in the trying hour!

Yet all the troubles, that on mortals wait,
Dark as they are, new scenes of light portend,
Teaching the soul to triumph over fate,
And rise, from deep depression more elate;
Our chasten'd thoughts, as they to Heaven ascend,
Find, but in God, the never-failing friend.

Theodore.

HYMN.

TO wand'ring man thou gracious guide!
Redeemer of his race!
Grant me the comfort to confide
In thy protecting grace!

In word, in act, with fondest awe
Thy herald may I be!
And O inspire my voice, to draw
New worshippers to thee!

Lucilio.

HYMN TO HARMONY.

DAUGHTER of Heaven! whose countless dower
Treasures, more rich than gold, endear;
Celestial Harmony! whose power
Exalts the soul to rapture's sphere!
If, from my youth attach'd to thee.
I pay thee homage fond, and free,
Thy cordial votary reward
With skill to touch, thy soul-commanding chord,
The conqueror of grief, and joy's creative lord!

Fair sovereign of sublimest sway!
I hail'd thee not with sordid aim,
To make thy gifts, for which I pray,
My servile guides to wealth, or fame;
Of those dear gifts a nobler use
May to thy glory more conduce;
For Heaven is pleas'd, when thy bright power
Dispels the cloud of earth, too apt to lower
On every human mind, in life's precarious hour!

In these sweet scenes, where lingering grief
From virtue's bosom tries to steal
Of her prerogatives the chief,
Her own beneficence to feel!
By Harmony's benignant charm,
May I the ruthless fiend disarm!
Avaunt! destroy thy shadowy snare,
While truth informs thy rescued prey, despair!
Humanity's firm friend is Heaven's immediate care.

Lucilio.

HYMN.

THOU, who dost to all assign
Blessings, rarely understood;
Let unenvied gifts be mine!
God of goodness! make me good!

Be my zeal not zeal severe!
Vain grimace in folly's hood!
But to all, within my sphere,
Love! thy minister of good!

Venusia.

SONNET.

YE powers, most kind to man's autumnal day!
When his frail form is like the yellow leaf,
When time on talents plays the subtle thief,
And fretful fancies make the mind their prey;
Devotion! and tranquility! display
Your heavenly right to give repose to grief!
To health enjoyment! to disease relief!
Safety to strength! and mildness to decay!

In this calm scene, for meditation plann'd,
Friends of all seasons! in the last be mine!
Here, while your marble forms, my Lares! stand
From moral sculpture's life-bestowing hand,
Here let your lustre, in my conduct, shine!
Grace my retreat! and soften my deline!

Manfredi

SONNET.

YE souls of those I lov'd! whose happier flight
Has reach'd, so early, scenes of bliss supreme,
Where virtue basks in bright perfection's beam,
Still look upon me from your realms of light!
And guide my desolated heart aright
Thro' all the darkness of this troubled dream,
Call'd human life! “perplex'd in the extreme,”
While hope's gay phantoms sink in sudden night.

Send me, sweet peace! thy olive and thy dove,
Now that descending to its kindred dust
My frame declines!—In earthly joys I trust
No longer; but implore the blest above
On that prime friend to fix my hallow'd love,
Whose word inspirits, and rewards the just!

Manfredi.

SONNET.

TO thee, Redeemer of a ruin'd race!
Grateful to thee, thou best of guides! I bend,
Infirmity's support! and sorrow's friend!
Still in these deep afflictions, that efface
Joy's vital beam, and hope's all-chearing trace,
I trust thy mercy will my mind defend
From the worst ills, that o'er weak age impend,
Distrust! and apathy the heart's disgrace!

Tho' long immers'd in grief's severest gloom,
Whose gather'd clouds o'er all my prospect roll,
I am requir'd, by Heaven's supreme controul,
To yield my darling to an early tomb,
Still let thy word, my darken'd life illume!
And quiet anguish sanctify my soul!

Manfredi.

SONNET.

SUBLIME serenity in mortal form!
From whose mild aspect fiercest demons fled!
Whose voice dispell'd disease, and wak'd the dead!
While round my heart, with rich affections warm,
The flying serpents of affliction swarm,
Teach me, meek power! with tranquil grace, to tread
My troubled path! and, tho' its darkness spread,
Smile unappall'd upon the rushing storm!

Whatever load the hand of fate may lay
Upon my feeling heart, the plaintive song
Of sinking nature may to grief convey
This comfort; “age has not to suffer long.”
So may it, lord! thy fortitude display!
Calm by thy counsel! in thy succour strong!

Manfredi.

SONNET.

IS there an art, to make our eve of life
Cheerful, and radiant as the rosy morn
When dewy diamonds decorate the thorn?
When every sound's a spirit-stirring fife,
That calls to joyous sport, or glorious strife;
When, from the rising beams of fancy born,
Enchanting colours every scene adorn,
And bliss seems granted in a blooming wife.

Yes! there's an art, not difficult, but sure,
To make our eve of life the morn excell:
Whence was the morn so rich? from hope's bright spell:
Let age on heavenly ground fix hope secure,
Ground given by God, that must like him endure!
Then, in sweet light, the hoary sage may dwell.

Theodore.

SONNET.

PEACE and content to his improving mind,
Whoe'er, assail'd by unexampled cares,
Indulges not complaint! but mildly bears
The Heaven-inflicted weight, consol'd to find
That providence, in stern correction kind,
Strikes like a parent!—He in contrite prayers,
Each dangerous lapse of thoughtless life repairs,
And lives unmurmuring, or dies resign'd.

Pleas'd o'er the world's now disenchanted wood
To cast reflection's undeluded eyes,
He warns the wanderer aright to prize
Its dazzling lures, so rarely understood!
And, rend'ring others from his wisdom wise,
Turns partial ill to universal good.

Theodore.

SONNET.

BLEST be the temper radiant and refined
Which soothes the rigour of an adverse lot,
When indignation, turbulently hot
Subsides to juster feelings, mild, and kind!
When perfect charity to all mankind
Dispels resentment, whose sharp stings forgot,
The lighten'd heart grows clear from every blot,
And heavenly peace irradiates all the mind.

Such be the tenor of my temperate age!
While from a spot sequester'd, and serene,
I see the elders of the world engage
In turmoils, that deform their final scene,
With selfish fear, and avaricious rage,
Preposterous desires, and fretful spleen.

Manfredi.

SONNET.

THE wond'rous chances of this earthly scene
Amaze, confound, and harrass tender thought;
The lot of man, with various misery fraught,
Wounds the soft bosom; and a proud chagrin,
Form'd of humane regret, and moral spleen,
Vexes the spirit; till, with meekness sought,
The peace of Heaven is found, where God has taught
The unmurm'ring soul to rest on him, serene.

Teacher divine! tis thine alone to show,
How mortal weakness into strength may turn:
Aid me, thy willing votary! to learn,
How in all strife to foil our evil foe!
And grant, however dim life's lamp may burn,
My heart with love, and gratitude to glow!

Lucilio.

SONNET.

BLEST sensibility! thou gift benign!
Infus'd by nature in the poet's frame!
Fair particle of rich Promethean flame!
The sacred fire! round whose soft light, the Nine
Move to sweet music, from their fav'rite shrine,
The heart of genius!—They, with vestal aim,
Feed thy pure blaze, and all its charms proclaim,
Its heavenly source, and destiny divine.

They, when presumptuous pity, rash, and blind,
Laments thy influence, with blame not slight,
As life's insidious foe, tho' seeming kind;
They vindicate thy empire o'er the mind,
Thou tender guardian in this vale of night!
Whose sighs are comfort, and whose tears delight!

Venusia.

HYMN.

WHEN human sufferings wound my eyes,
My soothing hope be this,
That pain may prove, howe'er it rise,
An harbinger of bliss

Else, in weak nature's wide domain,
Where misery is so rife,
Could mercy's God himself sustain
The sight of mortal life?

Lucilio.

HYMN.

HOW spirits act on human minds,
When free from earth they fly,
Is a research, that only blinds
The strongest mental eye:

But oft in fond devotion's hour,
I seem their aid to see;
Father of spirits! may their power
Be ever kind to me!

Venusia.

HYMN.

DELIGHTS there are, that suit with age,
And mine be such alone!
To keep, in duty firm and sage,
The mind upon her throne;

Tumultuous passions to subdue,
To banish worldly care,
And seem, while friends in Heaven we view,
Almost an inmate there.

Theodore.

HYMN.

GOD! who hast form'd the human heart,
Work of stupendous skill!
To which its friends, and foes impart
Extremes of good, and ill:

Safe in celestial aid alone
I deem the heart I bear;
And such imploring, to thy throne
Address my cordial prayer.

Venusia.

HYMN.

YE dear, and honour'd dead, with whom
I pass my visionary days;
Enamour'd of the sacred tomb,
Where bright the lamps of virtue blaze!

On me, ye gentle spirits, smile,
While I discharge affection's trust!
And all my pangs of grief beguile
With zealous duty to your dust.

Manfredi.

SONNET.

HENCE wordly passions! hence! for ever fly
The purer precincts of my mournful breast.
There quiet and devotion, doubly blest,
In union dwell! and each a dear ally
To sacred sorrow! she with influence high
In that clear shrine, its sovereign! shall rest;
And shelter'd, like an eagle on her nest,
Still look to Heaven, and meditate the sky.

Me, with thy truest votaries, enroll
Celestial sorrow; in a bright decoy
I might have strayed without thee, lost in joy,
Dup'd by the visions, time and chance destroy!
Wandering from God! who by thy just controul
Back to its native climate calls the soul.

Manfredi.

SONNET.

ALL-GUIDING Heaven! that on my aged head
Hast pour'd afflictions, of no common kind,
Still grant me such serenity of mind,
As most enables man, when hope is fled
To make calamity herself (his dread!)
Act as his useful friend: the spell unbin'd
Of bright delusion, that strikes reason blind!
And round the heart a purer radiance shed!

As steel, in the minute magnetic rod,
From the dark stone a wond'rous virtue drew;
And over dreariest wilds, by error trod,
Guides the tir'd wand'rer; so, my soul, may you
Touch'd by such grief as makes the spirit true,
Faithful, however shaken! point to God!

Manfredi.

SONNET.

FAREWELL to all the vanities of earth!
To turbulent desires a last farewell!
Henceforth, retir'd devotion! let me dwell
Far from the festive scenes of idle mirth!
Far from ambition's splendour, little worth!
Close in the precincts of thy peaceful cell!
Ye dear deceas'd! be you, who lov'd me well
The guardian Lares of my tranquil hearth!

The noise and pageantry of life can yield
Nothing to fill the mind, or touch the breast,
So medicinal to a heart opprest,
As, in the shadow of religion's shield,
To meditate on friends, in sainted rest,
And with their Manes rove round memory's field,

Manfredi.

HYMN.

THE weak and lonely, God! their guide!
Thy sure protection share;
The helpless, shunn'd by mortal pride,
Are thy peculiar care:

In grateful thoughts for all thy aid
The best of arms they wield;
And prove, in dangers undismay'd,
Thy providence their shield!

Venusia.

HYMN.

LORD! who hast call'd, with sovereign power,
The heart thy real throne
May I perceive thee every hour
Establish'd in my own!

Unstain'd, like glory's vital ray,
In scenes by seraphs trod,
Make thou the temple, day by day,
More worthy of the God!

Venusia.

HYMN.

LORD! whose beneficence divine
Joys to exalt, what sin deprav'd!
Beneath thy guard, in duty's line
Preserve my spirit unenslav'd!

Be it the glory of my heart.
To live by thy protection free!
And to the wandering mind impart
The best of knowledge, knowing thee!

Lucilio.

HYMN.

SOURCE of all kind, all potent thought!
Thou God of goodness, and of power!
In thee my soul, by trouble taught,
Shall trust, as in protection's tower.

The surest friend, the safest guard,
In thy sweet mercy may I see!
And solitude itself regard
As blessed intercourse with thee!

Manfredi.

HYMN.

LORD! in whose hand are life and death,
So let me live, so let me die,
That love may grace my vital breath
And faith and hope my final sigh!

Venusia.

HYMN.

WHATE'ER may prove my earthly date,
Be mine pure nature's simple part!
To live, with tender truth elate,
A blessing to a kindred heart!

Venusia.

SONNET.

UNSEEN associate! whose mild voice I seem,
In all my tender reveries, to hear,
Heard ever with delight! and ever dear!
That voice alone, in sorrow's waking dream,
Could soothe my anguish, in its fierce extreme,
Since, in thy loss, I lose the friend sincere
Whose social smile, and sympathetic tear
Form'd of my darken'd hours the vital beam.

Tho' now my life has lost the light of day,
However grief may desolate my mind,
Still on thy virtues let my spirit rest,
Tho' hope's gay towers are sunk in drear decay!
Still I perceive thee, in my heart enshrin'd,
Its guardian idol, and its favourite guest.

Manfredi.

SONNET.

ACKNOWLEDG'D Son of Heaven's approving sire!
Whose hallow'd triumph over evil powers
Restor'd the prospect of those blissful bowers,
That human frailty lost! to that blest quire,
Who, with sweet harmony of soul, aspire
In troubled life's probationary hours
From torture's thorn to pluck immortal flowers,
And purify the heart with heavenly fire!

Gentlest of guides! whose form, in nature's vest,
To man a model of perfection gave!
Whose word, an antidote to every pest!
Revives the sorrowful, and frees the slave!
O teach my spirit, howsoe'er distrest,
To walk unsinking on affliction's wave!

Manfredi.

SONNET.

OF the rich legacies the dying leave
Remembrance of their virtue is the best:
How opulent am I in this bequest,
Which I from you my buried friends receive!
Nor force, nor fraud, can e'er my heart bereave
Of this, my noblest wealth! the miser's chest
To this is poor: this, hoarded, and carest,
Irradiates life, forbidding grief to grieve.

God's kindest gift! I prize it as I ought;
And bless him, that I hold it justly dear;
Review'd in daily, and in nightly thought,
I find it still with endless value fraught;
Still inexhaustible, tho' lavish'd here,
And still to be enjoyed, in truth's eternal sphere.

Manfredi.

HYMN.

THE busy mind, in due devotion nurst,
By anxious forecast gains habitual power,
E'en at a wish, the bands of sleep to burst,
And rise to action at the stated hour.

Aid me my God! in this dark-world of pride,
To make my spirit bend to power above!
And thro' the remnant of my days to glide,
True to thy law! and glowing with thy love!

Lucilio.

HYMN.

THE hearts, that have not God within
Like restless quick-sands roll;
And feel of fluctuating sin
The turbulent controul.

In bosoms, where the Saviour reigns,
Peace forms her hallow'd shrine;
And, thro' the roughest hour, maintains
Serenity divine.

Theodore.

100

HYMN.

MY God! the wounded mind's relief!
Grief first attach'd my heart to thee;
But let not time, dispelling grief,
From thy dear service set me free!

To serve thee, with consummate truth,
Is grace divine to mortals given;
Tis to enjoy, in age, or youth,
An earnest of thy promis'd Heaven.

Lucilio.

SONNET.

WISELY from man his maker has witheld
Freedom of option, or to live, or die;
Else, quick to quarrel with a cloudy sky,
The human spirit, by caprice impell'd,
Or lur'd by fiends, who 'gainst their God rebell'd,
Would spurn existence, Heaven's rich gift belie,
And from the slander'd charms of nature fly,
Leagued with her foes, by virtue to be quell'd.

In changeful scenes, mortality's domain!
Let piety prepare the mind elate
Bliss to enjoy, or sorrow to sustain,
Firm as her sightless bard, whose heavenly strain
May reconcile the soul to lingering fate!
“They also serve, who only stand, and wait.”

Theodore.

101

SONNET.

DEVOUT composer of the stormy breast!
Heaven-gazing gratitude! I own thy power;
Friend of all seasons, and of every hour!
Thy active spirit, howsoe'er opprest,
Finds, in tempestuous woe, some point of rest,
Where, like a bird, within its guarded bower,
Thou hailst, with native harmony, (thy dower!)
The gleam of distant light, that gilds thy nest.

For all of good, that trouble may possess,
And for each gift, that yields the heart relief,
The great disposer of my lot I bless;
E'en for these lays, so simple, and so brief!
For they are soothing to my pangs of grief;
Oh might they soothe all similar distress!

Manfredi.

The End of Venusia's Volume.

102

In Buon-Retiro's sanctified retreat
(Such was the name of good Manfredi's seat)
Thus music, friendship and devotion strove
To chace all trouble from the tranquil grove:
Yet, in this scene, that bounteous nature blest,
Where peace and privacy delight to rest,
Love fails to shield his vot'ries, even here,
From vain inquietude, and anxious fear.
Tho' Theodore, in visitation kind,
Sometimes reliev'd his solitary mind,
Manfredi, shrouded in unsocial gloom,
Seems but the breathing tenant of a tomb;
And the dark clouds, that round his spirit roll,
Diffuse their shadow o'er Venusia's soul.
One evening, aided by Lucilio's arms,
She reach'd a vale of most romantic charms;
She paus'd, where, issuing from a mossy cell,
The gurgling waters sought a grassy dell:
There, of a graceful shape, and tender hue,
O'ershadowing a lake, a willow grew,
Whose pensile branches from the bank descend,
As thirsting for the stream, to which they bend:

103

And near it, flowers, half-clos'd, appear to shun
Even the heat of a declining sun.
Lucilio prais'd the scene, to rapture warm'd
By scenes, for love and contemplation form'd;
Sudden he heard his lovely partner sigh;
He saw quick anguish in her moisten'd eye:
Her tears gush'd forth:—“Forgive,” she said, “these tears!
Perchance they spring from visionary fears;
Forgive, my generous lord! the signs you see,
I want the firmness, I should learn from thee;
The death of that kind aunt, whose fost'ring praise
Was constant sunshine to my childish days,
Dread of my father, and Manfredi's grief
O'er-load my heart, tho' love is its relief,
Its duty, and its pride!”—Lucilio prest
The mournful beauty to his glowing breast
And chacing from her eyes the swelling tear,
O'er-power'd her self-reproach with praise sincere.
His praise was, to her mind, like heavenly streams
Of inspiration, in a prophet's dreams;
She sat, absorb'd, in tender thought awhile,
Then sung her feelings, with a plaintive smile.

104

SONG.

In blooming scenes, where fragrance lives,
How kind is nature! yet how coy!
To none, but tranquil hearts, she gives,
The garden's pure, ambrosial joy.

So her choice flowers their charms withold,
From the fierce eye of burning day;
But to still night their sweets unfold,
And with her peaceful zephyrs play.

Blest in her talents, in her love more blest,
Lucilio deem'd the jewel, he possest,
Above all price; and, in sequester'd life,
Soothing his mournful friend, and duteous wife,
He chiefly hop'd to shield their tender health,
From melancholy's dark, invasive stealth,
Since love and virtue (tho' a heavenly pair)
May vainly struggle, in her subtle snare.
That his fine art had wond'rous power he knew;
But from experience he perceiv'd it true,
That its delights, too eagerly pursued,
Strengthen the foe, he hop'd to have subdued.

105

His firm, and generous mind conceiv'd a thought,
By nature dictated, with kindness fraught,
That much avail'd him in his friendly hope.—
O lovely childhood! under Heaven's wide cope,
There is no sight, of such benignant grace
The gathering clouds of mental gloom to chace,
As thy sweet gambols, in a female form,
Radiant with innocence, with pleasure warm,
And rich in charms, that every moment rise
From speaking limbs, and heart-expressing eyes.
The sprightly Marcellina, soon convey'd
By watchful Theodore's continual aid,
At kind Lucilio's provident request,
Seem'd of the secret scene an angel-guest.
This playful child had influence so sweet,
In Buon-Retiro's unfrequented seat,
With pleasure might the sylvan muses tell,
How light she bounded thro' each lonely dell;
How she, enamour'd of the sculptur'd fawn,
Soon gain'd a living favourite of the lawn,
Fed from her hand, and, in a silken string,
Taught, by her pipe, to kneel, to dance, to spring!

106

How cheer'd Venusia doted on the child;
How sad Manfredi, thro' his lattice, smil'd,
And view'd, unseen, the sportive girl below,
Day after day, forgetful of his woe;
This, and much more of Marcellina's power
With mirth to chequer the sequester'd hour,
The poet, fond of childhood, might rehearse;
But Venice calls, and claims his moral verse.

END OF THE FOURTH CANTO.

107

CANTO V.

Now wild with passions, in the wane of life,
Shaken by every gust of mental strife,
Donado's spirit flames with noxious fires;
The restless dupe of his perverse desires!
Ambition, avarice, revenge, his heart
Had sacrific'd to all, with abject art;
By all deluded in their turns to reign,
None of their joys he felt, but all their pain,
O'er Italy he sent more harden'd spies,
Who search'd thro' every city, in disguise,

108

To see Venusia's signal charms appear,
Or lost Lucilio's far-fam'd voice to hear:
Vain search!—Donado, by suspicion led
To scorn the rumour, Theodore had spread,
At last believed it; and in western climes
Tried to ensnare his son, by deeper crimes.

Revenge not satisfied, new passions rose,
For this rash elder never sought repose.
Blest is the man, (of high or low degree)
Whose mind, from snares of youthful folly free,
Maintains, with steady truth, maturely sage,
The moral dignity of decent age.
Far different Donado's latter days,
His vices strengthen, as his frame decays.
The cruel passions, with contagious sway,
Successive, make his restless mind their prey.
In vengeance foil'd, and striving to dispell
All thoughts of filial charms, he could not sell:
He yields himself a slave to coarse desire,
His age rekindling with untimely fire,
A vulgar wanton in those scenes has plac'd,
That once Venusia's modest beauty grac'd.

109

Ah kind Venusia! what keen pangs had prest
On every fibre of thy feeling breast,
Could thy pure eyes, in vision, have survey'd
Him, all whose just commands thy youth obey'd,
Him, self-reduc'd, to lowest bondage stoop!
Derision's jest! a haughty harlot's dupe!
The young Bianca, a rude boatman's child!
And, like her father, boisterously wild;
Ungrac'd with talents, beaming from the mind,
And only in licentious wiles refin'd;
But deeply skill'd in cunning's basest aims,
To waste a dotard in disgraceful flames,
And, while his mind, and health, and fortune sink,
Steal from him man's prerogative, to think.
Such were her arts to weaken, and cajole,
She drove Venusia from Donado's soul;
No more remember'd! save, in some loose hour,
He gave her gross reviling, as her dower;
Then turn'd his malediction to a prayer,
An impious vow, that Heaven her life would spare,
Not for her merits, but his wealth to save;
Wealth, that would vanish in his daughter's grave!

110

Hence now his wish her being to extend;
His prime possessions on her life depend.
He priz'd her now, not for her lovely self,
But as the pillar, that upheld his pelf.
Transferr'd from her, the kindness of a sire
He lavish'd, at Bianca's proud desire,
On two stout boys, the produce of her charms!
Which to the care of his paternal arms,
His guileful mistress had so fondly thrown,
He credulously clasp'd them, as his own;
Tho' truth to tell, a truth to others clear,
Their real father was a gondolier.
Uberto, whom Bianca's sov'reign sway
Had subtly station'd in Donado's pay,
A man of mighty muscles, with a mind,
Where savage passions with the gentle join'd;
To love and lucre he obedience gave;
But higher masters held him more a slave:
For these he spurn'd, when touch'd with sudden fire
From jealous fury, or vindictive ire.
It chanc'd Donado had once gall'd his pride;
Hence all his thoughts to dark revenge applied;

111

And signal was the punishment prepar'd:
The deed, his malice wish'd, his courage dar'd.
The wicked on each other, and with ease,
Inflict such penances, as Heaven decrees.

And now of danger the dread hour arrives,
When, if Donado had a hundred lives,
All might seem lost, in fear, his guilt prolongs
For expiation of Venusia's wrongs.

A little isle, not far from Venice, lies;
Illumin'd once by more propitious skies!
Donado's ancestors had grac'd the rock
With structures, that might stand a wat'ry shock;
But time, and the encroaching sea, conspir'd
To mar the slighted castle, once admir'd!
Now but a ruin of the spot remain'd;
Fragments of mould'ring stone, with sea weed stain'd!
Pleas'd with whate'er his island could produce,
Here still Donado, for his casual use,
Preserv'd a boat-house; and at early day,
When his rock glisten'd in the rising ray,
The old man lov'd to trace the shallows round,
And, homeward sail with all his search had found.

112

Bianca's father was his usual guide;
An antient fisher, vers'd in wind and tide!
It chanc'd he gave, an injur'd limb to spare,
His boat and tackle to Uberto's care;
Who on this incident most subtly built
A deep-laid project of vindictive guilt.
Proud of his strength, and pliancy of limb,
And sure his master had no power to swim,
It was his purpose, when the boat drew nigh
The lonely rock, unwatch'd by mortal eye,
To start a plank, prepar'd with secret guile,
To let Donado sink, and swimming reach his isle

Such the base plot, his brooding malice nurst;
Now into action eager vengeance burst.
He sees the rock; yet, with a stormy mind,
Approaches nearer, than he first design'd,
To make his own escape the more secure:
Now murderous revenge seems doubly sure.
No neighb'ring boat appears; nor aught to save
His destin'd victim from a wat'ry grave.
He starts the plank, the rushing currents rise;
Donado sits, astounded with surprize:

113

On the boat's edge the wretch, with savage joy,
Leaps, thus insulting him, he would destroy:
“Here cool thyself old villain!—Thus a slave
Pays thee for blows, thy fretful fury gave,
Here cool thy pride, so arrogantly hot!
And boast no more of boys, whom I begot!”
These scornful taunts yet quivering on his tongue,
Far from the boat, with all his force, he sprung;
To do what oft he did, in sportive pride,
Dart like an arrow thro' the rolling tide;
Pleas'd to descend where deepest waters flow,
And diving, search the rocky cells below.
But Providence, the lord of chance and time!
Form'd of his sport the penance of his crime.
In rage, he failed to see, or to suspect,
Fragments of rock, whose broken points erect
Near to the surface of that water rose,
Where headlong, with blind force, his frame he throws;
Precipitating down with all its weight,
The massive body met immediate fate:
The shatter'd skull distain'd the tide with gore;
And soon the russian sunk, to rise no more.

114

Amazement, awful gratitude, and hope,
That with calamity he yet may cope,
Now rose united, in Donado's mind,
Where native courage was to quickness join'd.
The rock, with doubly providential aid,
Had crush'd his foe, and to himself display'd
A chance of 'scaping from the gulph beneath,
If, on the friendly stone, he yet may breathe.
Haply borne nearer by the sinking boat,
He grasps an oar, undaunted, tho' afloat!
And, thus supported, as the current drives,
With gentle movement at the rock arrives.
With what emotions did his bosom beat,
When first he found the crags support his feet!
He wept with joy, with penitence he wept;
For crimes yet unreveal'd his conscience kept:
Yet hopes to live, and plans of better life,
Gave him fresh ardour in his watery strife,
Tho' rising currents now around him roll'd,
Threat'ning to sweep him from his doubtful hold.
E'en on that rock, exhausted he must die,
If long unseen by charitable eye.

115

But 'twas the gracious will of Heaven to save
His age, endanger'd by the ruthless wave.
While, in his thoughts collected, he began
For signals of distress to form a plan,
He sees, transported with a rapid glance,
A vessel from behind his isle advance:
He shouts; and tho' unheard, he shouts yet more;
He brandishes aloft his rescued oar.
The boat a single sailor seems to guide,
Who marks the signal oar, and hurries thro' the tide:
But cautious in approach, wide-circling steers,
Before he turns to end Donado's fears.

Heavens! how the hand of God his conscience smote,
When first he knew the seaman in the boat!
It was that Lucio, whom Venusia's grasp
Had fetter'd, like an adamantine clasp,
When he was thought by that heroic wife,
Arm'd, by her father, 'gainst her husband's life,
Lucio reform'd was fill'd with joyous fire,
Thus sent by Heaven to save Venusia's sire:
His feeling heart, to honesty restor'd,
And true to mercy's God, whom he ador'd,

116

Glow'd with a hope, that every care beguil'd,
To reunite the father, and his child.
This prospect gives him promptitude, and art,
While now he plays the cautious seaman's part,
Safely contriving, with a friendly grace,
The ship-wreck'd noble in his skiff to place.
This duly finished, his full heart begins,
Craving Heaven's pardon for their mutual sins,
To tell the signor, how that wond'rous power
Produc'd their meeting, in so blest an hour.

It chanc'd Venusia, on her father's isle,
Had play'd in childhood; in a ruin'd pile
Heap'd a few stones, and tenderly exclaim'd:
“Venusia's chapel let this spot be nam'd!
For here I pray to every saint above,
That I may never lose my father's love.
The childish incident she chanc'd to tell,
When to this penitent she bade farewell;
Adding, “good Lucio! grant me one request!
If e'er at Venice 'tis thy lot to rest,
At such a season, (and she named this day)
Do thou, in young Venusia's chapel, pay

117

Thy pure devotions, at the early dawn,
And kneeling there, from all the world withdrawn,
Breathe from thy contrite soul a fervent prayer,
That mercy's God, who made thy life his care,
May turn her father's heart, as thine he turn'd,
That peace may reign, where guilty anger burn'd!”

This and much more, with eager kindness bold,
The happy Lucio to Donado told,
And blest himself, that he this morn obey'd
Her, whom e'en princes might be proud to aid;
Since his obedience thus, by Heaven's high will,
Seem'd likely all her wishes to fulfill;
For surely nature, in a father's heart,
Will fail no more to take a daughter's part,
When he perceives, that next to Heaven above,
He owes his safety to his daughter's love.

Thus Lucio kindly thought, and bravely said;
But what was his amazement, and his dread,
When, after all he utter'd, with a view
The fondness of a father to renew,
The stern Donado, with a look austere,
Shewing no outward sign of love, or fear,

118

Seeming not shaken in a single nerve,
With sullen dignity, and proud reserve,
Thus slowly spoke:—“Good Lucio! it is well
That to thy lot this morn's adventure fell;
To thee, well-pleased, my rescued life I owe;
Gold thou deserv'st, and gold I will bestow:
Still persevere in thy amended days!
Thou shalt not want my succour, or my praise.
But mark my order! whatsoe'er thy aim,
Mention to me no more a daughter's name!”

In silent wonder, that a father's soul
Could seem so deaf to nature's strong controul,
Lucio, tho' troubled to the heart, obey'd:
Safe to his home the signor he convey'd;
And instantly received a rich reward,
Which to his bounteous, but relentless lord,
He would have yielded gladly, with increase,
Could he have purchased so Venusia's peace.
Her peace had been the passion of his heart,
Since the affecting day, that saw them part:
This had impell'd him, with a grateful mind,
To the long task, her filial love assign'd;

119

And this now led him, by sure means, to send
To Theodore, that ever watchful friend!
A full description of the fateful day,
When for her sake, who taught his lips to pray,
Heaven had employ'd him, to his heart's desire,
From hideous peril to preserve her sire.
He told, whatever memory supplied,
With full simplicity, and honest pride;
And how he labour'd, by vain hope beguil'd,
To reunite the father and his child:
Then how that father fixt resolves had shewn
His angel daughter never more to own.

When Theodore first heard how Heaven display'd
Its signal mercy, in this old man's aid,
His feeling spirit deem'd it now his part,
To waken nature in a parent's heart:
He thought the sternest bosom must relent,
By mercy touch'd, so marvellously sent!
If friendship, by surprize, in joy's excess,
Brought the fond child, her rescued sire to bless.
Once he had so resolv'd:—Maturer thought
To this kind friend a cautious lesson taught

120

Still to conceal, with tutelary care,
The tranquil refuge of the tender pair.
But Lucio, in whose truth he can confide,
Whom with Lucilio's bounty he supplied,
He stations still at Venice, with a charge,
To send him tidings, frequent, and at large,
Of all that passes in Donado's life,
His public busines, or domestic strife!
Severely tutor'd, of one folly cur'd,
From household discord he his days secur'd,
Discarding rapidly his home's disgrace,
The false Bianca! and her infant race!
To these a settled maintenance he gave,
As misery's guardian, not as vice's slave.
Tho' self-improv'd, not free from vengeful rage,
He found not peace, the gem of virtuous age!
His every word inquietude exprest;
And dark resolves seem brooding in his breast.

Grown sick of Venice, he to Milan flies;
Secluded there, yet watch'd by friendly spies,
He fills the cautious Theodore with fear,
Lest of Manfredi's secret guests he hear,

121

And thirsting for Lucilio's blood, attain
The dire revenge, so long pursued in vain!
Lucilio's privacy yet unbetray'd,
Donado, by his restless humour sway'd,
Beyond th'Atlantic deem'd the long-sought pair,
And form'd wild projects of appearing there.

By various agents Theodore pursues,
The wary plan, to learn his secret views;
All who attempt to sound him, only find
A restless body, and a troubled mind,
Lab'ring, that none may penetrate the cloud,
That wraps his purpose, like a sable shroud.

But haste, my song, from guilt-distemper'd age,
In fluctuations of remorse, and rage!
Haste to that scene, where tender virtue tries
To chace the mist from melancholy's eyes!

More than a year has past, since we survey'd
The friendly valley of sequester'd shade;
And safe Venusia, in her kind employ,
To lure the lov'd recluse to social joy;
Safe, as if guarded by angelic plumes,
There still, in all her loveliness, she blooms.

122

Nature and love, exulting in her sight,
Have fill'd her bosom there with new delight.
An infant Venusina decks her arms,
So perfectly an image of her charms,
That, smiling in her face, the fairy-elf
Seems, by its smile, to say “I am yourself.”
And proud Lucilio having both in view,
Proclaims her infantine assertion true.

Heaven form'd Venusia, both in mind and heart
Nobly to fill a mother's arduous part,
To feel its anxious cares, its joyous rights,
And of its duties make her prime delights:
When first in this dear character array'd,
Thus to the father of the world she pray'd:

HYMN.

ALMIGHTY sire; to whom I owe
A parent's honour'd name!
Incessant care may I bestow
On childhood's sacred claim;

Grant me thro' life, whate'er its length,
To show maternal love,
An eagle in its watchful strength!
In tenderness a dove!

123

Good Heaven! must life, to purest hearts, remain
A quick vicissitude of joy and pain?
Must every fount of bliss be ting'd with grief?
Her infant, solitude's most sweet relief!
This baby-beauty, to Venusia grows
A source of pain, beyond a mother's throes.
The parent deem'd her child of sov'reign use,
To aid her to restore the lov'd recluse.
To him an invitation she addrest,
To visit Venusina on her breast;
The resolute recluse still urg'd his vow,
That could not such sweet intercourse allow;
Yet begg'd her nurse, (a servant of his own,
Whose long-tried sense and secrecy were known,)
Might to his chamber bring his little guest,
Some peaceful night, before he sunk to rest,
That he might, from society apart,
So bless the child, and fold it to his heart.
The tender parent, pleas'd with his desire,
Complied.—In all Manfredi could require,
Her grateful spirit was most quick to show
The fondest zeal to mitigate his woe.

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The darling infant he devoutly kist;
With blessings then, scarce audible, dismist.
The nurse obedient, as she closed the door,
Hearing him kneel, in anguish, on the floor,
Sent instant aid; a good old priest serene,
The sole physician of this secret scene!
Who found his heart convuls'd, in nature's strife,
And throbbing with such pangs, as threaten'd life.
The child had raised, within his feeling brain,
Too keen remembrance of past grief, and pain,
That agoniz'd his soul.—Devotion's balm
Restor'd, by slow degrees, a patient calm;
Tho' all the powers of life appear'd deprest
By the convulsive torture of his breast,
And melancholy built her baleful sway
On stronger signs of premature decay.
Hence the good priest, with a benignant care,
Gently implores Venusia, to beware,
Lest her kind zeal may, unawares, inflame,
Grief, unextinguish'd in Manfredi's frame.
The tender fair, whose heart is pity's throne,
With ease forgives all errors, but her own,

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Severe in self-reproach! she ponders still
How to compensate unintended ill,
And with the priest, good old Anselmo's, leave
To teach their mournful guardian less to grieve,
Within the spacious ante-room, that leads
To the dark chamber, where his grief he feeds,
The kind musicians breathe melodious prayers,
To soothe his troubled mind with pious airs.
Friendship and faith inspir'd the notes sublime,
With which Lucilio grac'd his monitory rhyme.

HYMN.

YE tender! shake off all the mists of the mind,
That duty's bright channel disguise!
The station, to you by your Maker assign'd,
Never view with ingratitude's eyes!

By the purpose of Heaven your wishes controul,
Tho' your prospect of pleasure may fail!
Let no scorn of existence encroach on your soul,
In philosophy's dignified veil!

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Remember this earth, so productive of pain!
Is a scene, where you strive for a prize!
They who shrink from the conflict, a Saviour ordains,
May forfeit his palm in the skies.

Our evening of life, as its lustre descends,
May be dim from a bountiful cause:
The worth of the being, God gives us, depends
On our wish to be true to his laws.

Our virtue may spread, tho' declining we live,
Tho' we walk in a shadow of death,
Benevolent zeal can bright influence give
To infirmity's faultering breath.

Even grief's thorny path may be gratefully trod,
With a trust in truth's merciful plan,
To revere, and obey every order of God,
Is the bliss, and the glory of man.

Often they mix'd, their friendly wish to gain,
A note more sprightly with a solemn strain:
Venusia, with his dark despair to cope,
Thus sung the tender praise of virtuous hope.

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SONG.

HOPE! thou sweet, and certain treasure!
Thou art not a vain deceit;
Thou alone art perfect pleasure;
Others only charm to cheat.

Thus to man say truth, and reason:
“Trust not joy, a dangerous flame!
Hope, the bliss of every season!
Only suits thy fragile frame.”

The verse, and melody, her heart inspir'd,
Partly produc'd the blessing, she desir'd:
Her friend no longer draws reluctant breath,
In deep despondency, that covets death;
“He owns a wish to see his penance end;
But to that period can his life extend?
Too weak, and too unworthy to behold
Times, by Venusia, cheerfully foretold!”
That lovely prophetess, in billets kind,
Tried all her power, to re-exalt his mind;

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And ventur'd to predict, “a day will shine,
When good Manfredi may, in Pity's Shrine,
Embrace his wards, as children of his heart,
And take, in all their joys, a father's part.”—
Yet oft the prophetess herself appears
Exchanging all her sanguine hopes for fears.

Tyrannic melancholy! none can tell
The dread dominion of thy darkest spell:
Man, as thy dupe, thou direst imp of earth!
O'er-rates his weakness, and denies his worth.
How blest is friendship, when from thy controul
Her bold attempts can free the virtuous soul!
But neither art, nor science, can declare,
How best she may succeed, to burst thy snare;
Sometimes to thwart thee, in thy gloomy will,
Seems, yet is not, a triumph over ill:
Sometimes, to humour all thy dark caprice,
Gives to thy slave a salutary peace.

Manfredi's anxious friends resolv'd to try
All charms, that in the sphere of music lie.
And hence Venusia, when they next attend,
To soothe, with melody, their unseen friend,

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Sings to indulge, with tenderness sedate,
His shadowy fancy of approaching fate.

SONG.

LOSS, like thine, of all endearing,
Clouds the mind, however brave!
Nature, no sweet aid appearing,
Guides our fancy to the grave.

Well may'st thou thy life surrender,
Gentle hermit! sternly tried!
That thy heart was truly tender,
This, in death, shall be thy pride.

Pity knows thy wish of dying,
True to love, from terror free;
Yet to Heaven when thou art flying,
Let thy blessing rest on me!

Wheresoe'er thy dust reposes,
I will often linger near;
Pleas'd to deck thy tomb with roses,
And to praise thee, with a tear.

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Stretch'd on depression's voluntary bed,
Manfredi heard, and to himself he said.
“Venusia! blest Venusia! come the time
To clasp thee, as my child, without a crime!
For even thus, tho' bound on torture's wheel,
The prey of many fears! e'en thus I feel,
Thou hast the power, by thy melodious breath,
Power to irradiate life, or sweeten death.

END OF THE FIFTH CANTO.

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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!

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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.

LIFE is a conflict, and with evil powers,
Against whose forceful, and insidious sway,
Our faculties, tho' rang'd in firm array,
Avail but little, in those trying hours,
When apt occasion, with a screen of flowers,
Darkens, in reason's eye, the visual ray:
Then resolution drops, in quick decay,
A giant, buried in his falling towers!

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Thy aid alone, to man thou friend divine!
Can lead his mind, as restless as the deep,
Best to resolve, and best resolves to keep:
Gracious Redeemer! let thy law benign
Fixt in my heart, with guardian lustre, shine!
And guide me, till I sink to sacred sleep!

SONNET.

YE heaven-sent objects of my ceaseless care!
For you, before the throne of truth, I bend,
Constant as days arise, and nights descend,
Imploring God, who seems my life to spare,
To give you only good; and if to share
That good my worn existence may extend,
Be it in forming, as your firmest friend,
Part of your bliss, the subject of my prayer!

Angels of light! who, tender as the dove,
On viewless wings o'er earth's dark confines range
Forbidding wordly demons to estrange
Hearts, form'd to harmonize by powers above,
In us for ever guard the sweet exchange
Of perfect filial, and parental love!

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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.

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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:

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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.

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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,

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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:

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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.

PARENT of all, whose voice may rise,
In joy, or sorrow, to thy throne!
May I unblam'd address the skies,
In supplication's tender tone!
And ask, O God! thy tutelary care!
May'st thou both morn, and eve,
Propitiously receive
A daughter's dutiful, and anxious prayer,

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Nor dazzling pomp, nor golden store,
That raise the world's too eager vow,
My suppliant heart, and soul, implore,
When to my heavenly sire I bow:
Humbly I crave, from sovereign power above,
To see my father's face
Glow with paternal grace,
And, as the face of God, with guardian love.

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,

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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;

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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.

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“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;

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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.

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SONNET.

FORGIVE! forgive! forgive! it is the word,
The heart should ever to itself repeat;
A serious duty, in performance sweet!
Forgive! forgive! forgive! so should the bird,
Where birds are taught to speak, be hourly heard,
Giving a lesson, altho' brief, compleat,
To earth's proud lord, who, in imperious heat,
Forgets the bounties by his God conferr'd.

Of all his bounties none that law exceed,
Which his kind love to guide our blindness gave,
To merit, and ensure, what oft we crave,
His pardon for ourselves, which all must need
By pardoning others, so frail man is freed,
And mercy joys in passion's rescued slave.

HYMN.

HONOUR'D seraph! here art thou,
Near th'Almighty known to stand!
Tender beauty on thy brow!
Grace in thy extended hand!

Morning's ray is not so clear,
As thine eye's more cheering flame;
Words of thine wake rapture's tear,
And Forgiveness is thy name.

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Kindest of the quire above!
When the contrite dead arise,
All thy charms of christian love
Burst upon their blissful eyes.

Honour'd seraph! brave and free
Thou abjur'st resentment's rod;
Man must yield his heart to thee,
If he would be true to God.

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.

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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.

WITH heartfelt aid from God,
Infirmity, and age, may still
Successful toil pursue;
And many a glorious task fulfil,
To Heaven's high service true:
The steepest path is safely trod
With heartfelt aid from God.

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With heartfelt aid from God
The wither'd mind new life assumes;
A phenix from the flame,
Rising with renovated plumes,
Another, and the same.
Ætherial fire exalts the clod,
With heartfelt aid from God.

With heartfelt aid from God
Childless, and desolate despair,
And sorrow's cold abyss,
Turn to a scene, as nature fair,
Of new-born love and bliss.
E'en age's crutch is empire's rod,
With heartfelt aid from God.