The poems (1969) :: :: University of Virginia Library

From his dire food the grisly felon raised
His gore-dyed lips, which on the clottered locks
Of the half-devoured head he wiped, and thus
Began: ‘Would'st thou revive the deep despair,
The anguish, that, unuttered, natheless wrings
My inmost heart? Yet if the telling may
Beget the traitor's infamy, whom thus
I ceaseless gnaw insatiate, thou shalt see me
At once give loose to utterance and to tears.

‘I know not who thou art nor on what errand
Sent hither; but a Florentine my ear,
Won by thy tongue, declares thee. Know, thou see'st
In me Count Ugolino, and Ruggieri,
Pisa's perfidious prelate, this: now hear
My wrongs and from them judge of my revenge.

‘That I did trust him, that I was betrayed
By trusting, and by treachery slain, it recks not
That I advise thee; that which yet remains
To thee and all unknown (a horrid tale),
The bitterness of death, I shall unfold.
Attend, and say if he have injured me.

‘Through a small crevice opening, what scant light
That grim and antique tower admitted (since
Of me the Tower of Famine hight, and known
To many a wretch) already 'gan the dawn
To send. The whilst I slumbering lay, a sleep
Prophetic of my woes with direful hand
Oped the dark veil of fate. I saw methought
Toward Pisa's mount, that intercepts the view
Of Lucca, chased by hell-hounds gaunt and bloody
A wolf full-grown; with fleet and equal speed
His young ones ran beside him. Lanfranc there
And Sigismundo and Gualandi rode
Amain, my deadly foes, headed by this
The deadliest: he their chief, the foremost he
Flashed to pursue and cheer the eager cry.
Nor long endured the chase: the panting sire,
Of strength bereft, his helpless offspring soon
O'erta'en beheld, and in their trembling flanks
The hungry pack their sharp-set fangs embrued.

‘The morn had scarce commenced when I awoke:
My children (they were with me) sleep as yet
Gave not to know their sum of misery,
But yet in low and uncompleted sounds
I heard 'em wail for bread. Oh! thou art cruel,
Or thou dost mourn to think what my poor heart

Foresaw, foreknew; oh! if thou weep not now,
Where are thy tears? Too soon they had aroused them,
Sad with the fears of sleep, and now the hour
Of timely food approached; when, at the gate
Below, I heard the dreadful clank of bars
And fastening bolts. Then on my children's eyes
Speechless my sight I fixed, nor wept, for all
Within was stone. They wept, unhappy boys,
They wept; and first my little dear Anselmo
Cried, ‘Father, why do you gaze so sternly?
What would you have?’ Yet wept I not or answered
All that whole day or the succeeding night,
Till a new sun arose with weakly gleam
And wan, such as mought entrance find within
That house of woe. But oh! when I beheld
My sons, and in four faces saw my own
Despair reflected, either hand I gnawed
For anguish, which they construed hunger. Straight
Arising all they cried, ‘Far less shall be
Our sufferings, sir, if you resume your gift;
These miserable limbs with flesh you clothed;
Take back what once was yours.’ I swallowed down
My struggling sorrow, nor to heighten theirs.
That day and yet another, mute we sat
And motionless. O earth, could'st thou not gape
Quick to devour me? Yet a fourth day came,
When Gaddo, at my feet outstretched, imploring
In vain my help, expired; ere the sixth morn
Had dawned, my other three before my eyes
Died one by one. I saw 'em fall; I heard
Their doleful cries. For three days more I groped
About among their cold remains (for then
Hunger had reft my eyesight), often calling
On their dear names, that heard me now no more;
The fourth, what sorrow could not, famine did.’

He finished; then with unrelenting eye
Askance he turned him, hasty to renew
The hellish feast, and rent his trembling prey.