University of Virginia Library

Far from his much-loved home, from that sweet Isle
By nature favoured with her brightest smile;
Almost to hope, to friends, to country lost,
Young Tancred languish'd on a foreign coast:
Slave to a Moorish despot, he had borne
For two long years the tyranny and scorn
Of proud oppression, whose inventive pains
Lent deeper venom to his galling chains.

The sun had sunk, the toilsome day was o'er—
Stretch'd on the wild and solitary shore,
His thoughts flew homewards, and his sleepless eyes
With mournful gaze were fix'd upon the skies,
Whose starry lamps illum'd the happy strand,
The flower-deck'd vales which blest his native land;
In waking dreams by Fancy's magic aid,
Home, country, kindred, friends, were all pourtray'd;
His bonds were snapp'd, he cross'd the foaming main,
And saw his castle's battlements again;
A thousand welcomes burst upon his ear—
His cheek was moisten'd by a father's tear!
A fairy form of more than mortal charms,
With modest rapture clasp'd him in her arms,
And he was blest!—Yet was that vision sweet
A coinage of the brain, a fond deceit,
Which in the vivid colouring of youth
Was drawn so strongly, that he thought it truth.

Before the capture of his bark, which gave
The bitter lot—life as a fetter'd slave!
Heir to proud titles, by his sire's command,
Tho' his young heart was free, he pledg'd his hand;
So little reck'd he, in those careless years,
Of female charms, of love's fond hopes and fears,
That all in vain the fair Florinda tried,
From rural sports to win him to her side:
But by misfortunes weaken'd, and subdu'd,
To soothe his soul, and cheer his solitude,
Creative Fancy all her art employ'd,
To fill his aching bosom's dreary void.
Deck'd with each charm and attribute divine,
She rear'd an Image on the vacant shrine;
With lavish hand, and bounty unconfin'd,
Adorn'd her person, and enrich'd her mind,
With power to raise a fierce and quenchless flame,
And gave the lovely form Florinda's name.

The moon had risen, Tancred loved its beams,
And starting from his fond illusive dreams,
With a light step he paced the lonely strand,
(His thoughts still clinging to his native land);
Arriv'd at ocean's verge, with glad surprise,
A sight unhoped-for, met his eager eyes,
An empty boat!—with joy he seiz'd an oar,
Leap'd in, and push'd his vessel from the shore.
Abandoned to the faithless element,
Hope to his soul undaunted courage lent;
He gazed upon the wide and pathless sea,
And felt but one sensation—he was free!
With nervous arm throughout the live-long night,
He plied the oars, and morning's rosy light
Broke on his toil; the noon-tide sun had shed
Fierce scorching rays on his unshelter'd head,
E'er his firm spirit yielded to the pain
Which seiz'd his frame, and raged thro' every vein.
Subdued at length by agony intense,
A death-like stupor seized upon each sense;
He sunk exhausted, but he felt not less
His desolate and hopeless wretchedness:
Thirst on his lips, and fever in his blood,
His fragile vessel drifted through the flood,
The ocean desert, horribly sublime,
The only tenant of the burning clime.
Famine within, above, around, beneath,
No hope, no prospect, save a lingering death;
Yet Tancred's soul sustain'd him in that hour,
And evening brought a soft refreshing shower,
Which laved his brow, and cool'd his fever'd brain,
And gave his tortur'd limbs relief from pain.
Another night, another morning came,
His wearied mind, his unresisting frame
Could bear no more.—Oh, must the lonely wave,
So young, so lovely, prove his nameless grave?

Pale and subdued he lay, yet still his bright,
His dark, and flashing eyes retain'd their light;
His sable locks curl'd round his polish'd brow,
Which seemed indeed transform'd to marble now;
His sever'd lips had lost their crimson glow,
Yet showed his pearly teeth's untainted snow,
His graceful limbs, in fair proportion cast,
No sculptur'd Gods, or living form surpass'd;
And floating on that calm and desert sea,
He seemed of ocean's depths, the Deity.

And must he die?—Why is the human mind
So seldom to its mortal lot resign'd,
Even with those whose dreary life has been
Of bitter woe, one dark, unchanging scene?
Tancred was saved!—Death glared upon his prey,
Yet in his grasp the prize was snatch'd away,
His bark, abandoned to the swelling tide,
A wandering vessel's crew at length descried;
They bore him to their deck, nor tried in vain
To call his fleeting soul to life again.

To his dim eye, how grateful was the sight
Of human forms; how vivid the delight
Which thrill'd his senses, as his grief-dull'd ear
Caught the melodious sounds he long'd to hear,—
The accents of his country!—He was free,
'Mid christians, friends, and bound to Sicily,
His own loved island!—every care was o'er,
No grief could touch him on that happy shore.
In sweet forgetfulness of former woes,
His wearied frame enjoy'd a long repose.
He woke refresh'd, and as his strength return'd,
His ardent mind with strong impatience burn'd,
To learn some tidings of his friends.—He sought
The captain of the bark, and deeply fraught
With strong emotion, ask'd the question brief,
“Is Count Orsini still alive?” The chief
Replied, “Speak low, so justly dear to fame,
“That honor'd title now 'tis death to name:
“Hast thou not heard?”—“What?—Tell me all the worst,
“My brain's on fire, my throbbing heart will burst!
“Speak, good Andreas, ere my senses fail.”—
“Alas, alas! it is a dreadful tale,
“And thou art weak.”—“Oh! I am nerved to bear
“All, save suspense,—then quickly tell me where,
“And how he fell? Was it in battle?”—“No—
“I will be brief—six weary months ago
“Our King Fernando died, by poison,—fame
“Was busy with his kinsman Bertram's name,
“The self-created Regent, and 'twas fear'd
“His cousin's children would not long be spar'd.
“The Count Orsini, with a loyal band,
“(The firm supporters of their native land),
“Rallied around, and in an happy hour,
“Snatch'd young Fernando from the tyrant's power:
“They fled by sea—the fragile bark which bore
“The gallant hero from Sicilia's shore,
“Was wreck'd. Toil-spent, in mean disguise array'd,
“Orsini sought a friend—that friend betray'd,
“Basely betray'd for gold, his trusting guest”—
“In mercy hold!—I know, I know the rest—
“He perish'd on a scaffold! What became
“Of him, the treach'rous fiend thou didst not name?”
“The guerdon of his guilt, the forfeit lands
“Of Count Orsini, Altobrand commands:
“These were the price of honor; these the foul,
“The mean incentives of his abject soul.—
“But thou art pale—with horror I descry
“A gloomy wildness in thy flashing eye.
“Oh, if Orsini to thine heart was dear—
“That ghastly smile is dreadful!—let the tear
“Ease thy full breast—the dry and silent grief
“Which scorns the dewy treasures soft relief,
“Will fire thy blood, and sear thy madd'ning brain,
“And bind each tortur'd sense in frenzy's chain:
“Calm thy perturbed spirit; thou shalt find
“A better fortune, and a fate more kind.”

Tancred was silent, and his tearless eye
Alone betrayed the bitter agony
Which wrung his soul, in one short hour depriv'd
Of kindred and of name: he had surviv'd,
E'en in his greenest youth, all that could bless
His future life with hope and happiness,
All save revenge—the soul-inspiring thought
Fierce consolation to his spirit brought;
Quick from the ground he rais'd his kindling eyes,
And calling on the earth, the sea, the skies,
All things immutable and fix'd, to bear
Their witness to his oath, in stern despair
He breath'd the mental vow, of import fell.
His active mind, rous'd by the powerful spell,
Found, tho' ambition's early hopes were cross'd,
Tho' fortune, honors, lovers, friends, were lost,
Tho' the gay world, fraught with such power to bless,
To him was but a barren wilderness;
Still there remain'd one object to engage,
And cheer with hope his lonely pilgrimage,—
'Twas Vengeance! and his heart, by anguish riven,
Spurn'd earth's best joys, and ask'd but this from Heaven!

Now calmly floating on the summer sea,
The vessel nearer drew to Sicily,
And Tancred bade a grateful, warm adieu,
To good Andreas and his jocund crew,
And sought the shore—he landed near the tow'rs,
The much-lov'd shelter of his youthful hours,
And shuddering as he pass'd them, bent his way
Through paths impervious to the light of day:
Their steep and secret mazes led him on
To half the mountain's height, and pleasure shone
Unwonted in his eyes, as he beheld
The favourite spot a boyish whim conceal'd
With jealous fondness from each young compeer,
In all its sacred solitude—Oh, here,
In this wild hermitage, accessible
To him alone, securely he could dwell,
And brood o'er all his wrongs, and meditate
The means to gratify his quenchless hate.—
For other purpose form'd, a calm retreat,
A grateful shelter from the noontide heat,
Young Tancred clear'd the cave, and twin'd the bower—
The fond employment of an happier hour,
And deck'd his fairy palace with the spoils,
The shaggy trophies of his sylvan toils;
And here his bow, and here his javelin hung,
And here were all his much-priz'd treasures flung,
The broad-sword and the dagger; here was seen
The vest of pride, the hunter's simple green;
All that could pleasure to his heart afford
In early youth, profusely here was stor'd.

Doubly endear'd to Tancred was the cell,
Which, in his boyish days he lov'd so well;
In truth, 'twas beautiful! a narrow glade
In front, a smooth and natural platform made;
Bold and fantastic rocks of granite rear'd
Their points behind the cave! 'Mid them appear'd
Gay tufts of limes and almonds, flinging high
Their perfum'd blossoms to the cloudless sky;
Above, in all its icy horrors bleak,
Arose the giant mountain's snow-clad peak;
A crystal rill pour'd forth its fairy tide,
And, having first a tiny lake supplied,
Fell in a shower of spangles from the height,
Then through a pebbly channel urged its flight,
And gurgling, pour'd its pure and silv'ry floods
Thro' the deep masses of the mantling woods,
Which cloth'd the steep precipitous descent,
And to wild rocks their verdant honors lent.
Perch'd like the eagle's eirie in the air,
From Tancred's bower appear'd a prospect fair:
In front the ocean, far as eye could reach,
Roll'd its broad waters to the glittering beach,
And wash'd the outworks of a castle's wall,
Which rear'd its frowning turrets, dark and tall,
Upon the plain below, that far and wide
Spread its rich pastures from the mountain's side;
Whilst to the left a gloomy forest rose,
Meeting the giant cliff's untainted snows.
The desert spot, by nature kindly grac'd,
Deriv'd new beauties from the hand of taste,
Who bade the fig and olive intertwine
With clustering garlands of the rosy vine,
Which screen'd the entrance of the cave, and made
A simple, yet a lovely colonnade;
And all around in rich luxuriance bloom'd
The gayest flowrets, and the breeze perfum'd,
Breath'd nought but fragrance, as it gently play'd
Amid the vernal bower's delightful shade.
Such was the hermitage which smil'd serene,
Soothing the savage wildness of the scene.

Of castled halls, of wide domains bereft,
This narrow mountain-cave alone was left
To Tancred for a resting place: he view'd
With joy its unpolluted solitude;
He cast away his tatter'd weeds, to lave
His fever'd limbs in the sweet lake's cool wave;
And from the bath's delightful freshness, rose
Tranquil, to seek his mossy bed's repose:
His temperate appetite, the earth's plain roots,
The stream's pure bev'rage, and the mountain's fruits
Sufficed: he wore his hunter's garb, but ne'er
Pursued the sylvan game with bow or spear.
On other thoughts intent, his ardent mind
To hopes, and schemes of vengeance, he resign'd;
But vague and bootless all, he gazed for hours
O'er the rich park, and on the castle's towers,
And curs'd the powerless hand which could not rend
The fair dominions from the treach'rous fiend
Who now possess'd them. Weeks and months roll'd on,
And Tancred's harden'd heart seem'd turn'd to stone;
So long of human intercourse depriv'd,
All kindly feelings he had now surviv'd.
The eagle, and the wolf, companions meet,
Secure and fearless shar'd his wild retreat.
Not this the friendship we so often trace,
Between the savage and the social race,
When by domestic arts, to man allied,
The wood's stern monarch quells his native pride;
But here untam'd and fierce, the savage ran
In most unnatural union with man.
Yet 'mid their brutal manners, they betray'd
Their brutal virtues—patience they display'd,
And perseverance—couch'd within his lair,
Or fix'd immoveable in upper air,
The eagle and the wolf, the live-long day
Untiring followed their devoted prey,
With the keen glance which track'd the victim through
Each secret maze, and could each flight pursue,
Till in the fatal circle drawn, the prize
Within their pow'r, and at their mercy lies;
Or baffled, unsubdued by famine's pain,
Slowly withdrew, or tried the chase again.

Tancred's enquiring spirit soon discern'd
Their useful habits, and from them he learn'd
To quell his rage, and seek the happy hour
When chance should give his foeman to his power.
And now he left his secret haunt, and stood
Conceal'd amid the mantling underwood
That lent its friendly covert to the glade,
Where the wild boar, and where the roe-buck stray'd;
For here the chase Count Altobrand pursued,
A trial stern for Tancred's fortitude,
Who saw the gallant train come sweeping by,
Cheer'd by the deep-ton'd bugle's minstrelsy.
Within his narrow leafy citadel
For hours he stood a weary sentinel;
And oft his flashing, penetrating eye,
Glar'd full upon his hated enemy;
But unavailing were his hopes—the train
Kept its firm phalanx till it left the plain.
'Twas only in his dreams that he could meet
His foe alone—how oft his heart would beat
With high emotion, as the vision stole
In bright reality upon his soul!
Grappling upon the mountain precipice,
The struggling wretch amid the dark abyss
He hurl'd with horrid joy, or frowning gave
His corse, yet reeking, to the ocean's wave.
He woke in agony—the foe, secure,
Unharm'd remain'd—Oh, rather than endure
The gnawing anguish of his baffled hate,
He'd seek the castle, and his vengeance sate
Upon his sleeping enemy. He knew
A secret passage; faithful memory drew
The private staircase, and the path which wound
From the wide portal to the utmost bound
Of the vast edifice, and entrance gave,
By springs constructed in each architrave,
To ev'ry chamber—madd'ning at the thought
Of the wide ruin Altobrand had wrought,
But that his native nobleness of heart
Disdain'd to act the dark assassin's part,
He had assail'd him in his sleep, and sent
His guilty soul to endless punishment.

Revolving schemes of vengeance, in the shade
Of his vine-cluster'd bower, supine he laid.
On one eventful day, the scorching sun
But half his enervating course had run,
And the lone exile, tho' so joyless, still
Enjoy'd the cooling freshness of the rill
Which from the fissures of the cavern gush'd,
Making its soothing music—all was hush'd;
So still the air, that not the slightest breeze
Wafted the blossoms from the orange trees;
Sudden a sound unwonted struck his ear—
An human footstep, and so very near,
That ere he could arise to meet his guest,
The bold disturber of his noontide rest,
The invader, enter'd—'twas a thing of light,
A form so dazzling, exquisite, and bright,
That Tancred fancied, to his griefs were given
An Angel visitant from pitying Heaven.
Yet the blue eye, the locks of burnish'd gold,
Which the snow-tinctur'd, polish'd brows enroll'd;
The ruby lip, the panting breast's alarms,
Were mundane all—a lovely mortal's charms!

Wandering amid the mountain's mazy round,
The secret path the beauteous stranger found;
By eager curiosity beguil'd,
Fearless she trod the dark and unknown wild,
And her amazement equall'd Tancred's, when
She rous'd an human inmate of the den;
A form of kindred beauty, the dark eye,
The glossy silken curls of ebon dye,
The noble daring of the mind, which lent
Its lustre to each faultless lineament;
The well-turn'd limbs with manly strength endued,
Stretch'd in an easy, graceful attitude,
A moment's eager, rapid glance reveal'd,
And all her agitating terrors quell'd:
Yet still she turn'd to fly; but Tancred rose,
And strove by gentle greetings to oppose
The swift retreat she meditated—faint
And weary, welcome was the mild restraint
Which forc'd her to remain—the offer'd seat,
Mossy, and shelter'd from the burning heat,
The freshly-gather'd fruit, the cup, which gave
The crystal treasures of the fount's pure wave;
These she accepted with a frank and free,
Tho' modest, yet confiding courtesy.
Recover'd from her first surprize, she gaz'd
Around the cavern and the bower, amaz'd:
She saw the rude-form'd lamp, the humble bed
With shaggy skins of bears and wolves o'erspread;
The garments, and the arms; the winter store
Of figs and raisins, piled upon the floor,
Which gave their strong, tho' silent evidence,
That this must be the only residence
Her host could claim. The full conviction brought
A fresh alarm—she quickly quell'd the thought—
He could not be a robber—Honour sate
Upon his brow enthron'd in regal state:
His eye's undaunted glance, the open smile,
So free from aught like treachery or guile,
Forbade all fear—she would enquire his lot,
The cause which led him to the mountain grot:
Perchance her better fortune might enlarge
His comforts, and her grateful debt discharge.
She spoke; the silvery accents, soft and clear,
Fell like celestial music on his ear;
Raptur'd he listen'd to the melting voice
Which taught his wounded spirit to rejoice;
Sweetly assur'd him in the desert waste,
Of this unfeeling world he yet might taste
The charms of friendship—animating hope
Cheer'd the torn bosom of the misanthrope;
The heart from moody pride not unexempt,
Which deem'd all human pity keen contempt,
And sternly lock'd its secret, and its grief,
From the world's knowledge, and the world's relief,
Now melted, as the sound of kindness stole
With such sweet energy upon his soul.
With youth's unhesitating confidence,
And truth, and nature's powerful eloquence,
He told his story, and the blushing cheek,
The half-drawn sigh, the falling tears, bespeak
The list'ner's deep-felt interest in the tale:
His vessel's capture by a Moorish sail;
His long and toilsome slavery; the chance
Which wrought his wonderful deliverance,
Call'd forth these tender sympathies;—but when
The cause which drove him from the haunts of men,
He told with flaming cheek and flashing eye,
A shriek of wild and fearful agony
Burst from her lips,—she cried in strong despair,
“Oh, basely injur'd, Heaven has heard thy pray'r!
“Sate thy too just revenge—Here, Tancred, here,
“Within this bosom deeply plunge thy spear!
“Nay, start not, shrink not from the deed, for know,
“I am Rosalia, daughter to thy foe!
“A willing victim, if her death may save
“A guilty parent from a blood-stain'd grave.
“Oh let his misery on earth assuage
“Thy vengeance; do not, do not urge thy rage
“Beyond the world's dark confines; give him time,
“Forlorn and wretched, to repent his crime.
“He loves me, nay, adores me; then relent;
“My death will be an ample punishment.
“Oh! if sweet pity ever touch'd thy breast,
“Grant to my agony this last request;
“Give me my father's life, let me expire
“In ling'ring tortures, but, Oh! spare my sire!”

Long cherish'd hate, and ardent new-form'd love,
For mastery in Tancred's bosom strove;
Pale and subdued by flowing tears half-drown'd,
He rais'd the lovely pleader from the ground.
His oath, so deeply sworn, he could not break,
Nor spare the father for the daughter's sake;
Yet by a thousand soothing arts, applied
With eager warmth, to calm her fears he tried;
Nor tried in vain,—the arm around her thrown,
The eye's fond glance, the soft enchanting tone,
Which whisper'd consolation, could not fail,
When fraught with truth and passion, to prevail.
Touch'd by his mighty wrongs, the cruel fate
Which made his youth's sweet spring so desolate;
Struck by his godlike beauty, and the grace
That seem'd so wond'rous 'mid the savage race
With whom he dwelt, Rosalia's feeling heart
Throbb'd with an ardent longing to impart
A ray of hope, a kind consoling beam,
To gladden once again his life's dark dream.
In Tancred's gloomy breast a passion new,
Tho' strange, yet sweet, with rapid progress grew;
It was delightful, once again to feel
The warm sensations o'er his bosom steal;
To love a fellow-creature, and to find,
Oh precious boon! one human being kind.

The hour of parting gave them equal pain,
Yet the sweet promise to return again
Sooth'd Tancred's grief. With watchful fondness, down
The devious path, by tangled shrubs o'ergrown,
He led Rosalia; and when they had gain'd
The confines of the wood, he still remain'd,
Gazing with eyes enraptur'd, as she fled
With agile step along the painted mead.
Oh, never, since the bright-eyed goddess stray'd
To weave her vernal chaplets in the glade,
And climb'd vast Ætna's fearful steps, to cull
The flowers so lonely and so beautiful,
Which lavish'd all their bloom and sweetness there,
Had yet appear'd a form so soft, so fair,
To bless a wond'ring world—like she of old,
Who stole the bright liburnum's clustering gold:
And the rich tints the mountain plant possesses,
To burnish bright her waving silken tresses,
Rosalia's glittering hair, like sunny gleams,
In dazzling ringlets to the zephyr streams;
The violet had lent its dark blue dye,
To melt the lustre of her beaming eye,
Which, bath'd in liquid loveliness, appears
As softly radiant in its smiles or tears.
Tancred, as stern and gloomy as the God
Who bore enraptur'd to his dark abode
The heavenly wand'rer with her flow'ry load,
Now felt as strong a flame within his breast:
All fierce and stormy passions it represt,
And reign'd alone, a sweet unwonted guest.
Till the dear moment, which should give again
A meeting worth a thousand years of pain,
Tancred with fond delight employ'd each hour
In forming decorations for his bower—
He smooth'd the path which led to his retreat,
And mid-way rais'd a mossy shelter'd seat.

Rosalia kept her promise,—the arcade,
The sumptuous hall, where lavish art display'd
Its costly treasures, caus'd a bitter sigh,
They told a guilty tale of treachery,
And chill'd with gloomy sadness that pure mind,
Of late so tranquil,—she could only find
A soothing balm in the fond hope, that still
Her proffer'd friendship, and her guiltless skill,
Might cheer the lonely exile, and impart
Sweet consolation to his stricken heart.

The lovers met, for they were lovers now;
Each felt a vivid spark within them glow:
At first encourag'd under friendship's name,
But soon confess'd to be a warmer flame.
They lov'd with that pure passion, which below,
In this guilt-tainted world, so few can know,
No interest sway'd them, no cold prudence chain'd
The heart's fond impulse, or the tongue restrain'd:
Whatever destiny that Heaven might send,
Their love but with their lives alone could end:
They fear'd not poverty, and if it came,
It could not damp true love's resistless flame;—
The world to them was nothing—they would share
All it bestow'd of comfort or of care;
The pure inheritors of starry thrones,
The white-wing'd spirits of celestial zones,
Might have deserted those bright realms, to taste
A love so passionate, and yet so chaste.

Amid the crimes, the sorrows, and the vice,
Of this bad world, there blooms a paradise,
A bliss divine, most exquisitely sweet
For fond and faithful hearts—Oh, when those meet,
Let good or ill betide them, they can dare
Each change of fortune, and each earthly care
Deride; but ah, how seldom are they seen!
For proud and selfish passions intervene,
To blight the buds of love, and rend apart
Each warm pulsation of the bleeding heart.

All stormy passions hush'd within his breast,
Tancred was now indeed supremely blest!
He thought not of the future—all he sought
Of the world's happiness, Rosalia brought!
Confiding faith, the sweet communion
Which blends two souls in blissful union;
He liv'd but in her smiles; enraptur'd hung
Upon each silvery accent from that tongue
Which charm'd the fiery demons, who possess'd,
Of late, such strong dominion in his breast.
Love grew and flourish'd; ev'ry added hour
Gave strength and beauty to the smiling flow'r,
The rich and fadeless rose of heavenly birth,
Which, like the precious aloe of the earth,
But rarely opes its silken buds, to bless
A chilling climate with its loveliness.
Drawn by love's impulse from his lonely bower,
Tancred each evening sought Rosalia's tower,
To gaze upon her beaming lamp, a star
To his enchanted eyes, more brilliant far
Than those celestial planets flaming high
On Heaven's irradiated canopy.
Wrapt in his cloak, and heedless of the storm
Which gather'd round him, Tancred watch'd the form
Of the belov'd one, who, in pensive mood,
Before the widely-opening lattice stood,
Unconscious of his presence—the rude crash
Of warring elements, the lightning's flash,
Oblig'd her to retreat; but Tancred staid
To catch one parting glance of that dear shade,
Then turn'd to seek the cave—The pathway gain'd,
The sight of human forms his steps restrain'd—
The place, the hour, the strangers' doubtful guise,
Could justify suspicion—were they spies,
Or accidental wand'rers in the glen,
So seldom trodden by the feet of men?
Caution should sway his actions, for his fate
Might now be render'd still more desolate:
These hesitating doubts were chas'd away
By the bright, blazing lightning's mimic day,
Which shew'd in pilgrim's weeds, by famine wan,
A tender stripling, and an aged man,
Who, helpless and fatigued, for Tancred's aid,
In humble, supplicating accents pray'd.
Touch'd by their sorrows, he subdued his hate,
And offer'd to conduct them to the gate
Of Altobrand's proud castle, but in vain—
The elder Pilgrim, reckless of his pain,
Exclaim'd, “In this cold desert will I die,
“Rather than banquet with mine enemy!
“Upon my native land my life will end,
“And I am blest!”—“It is my father's friend,
“Valdarno!” in amazement, Tancred cried.
“Oh, let these agitating tears subside,
“And rally all thy strength—tho' poor my lot,
“Still the rude shelter of a mountain grot
“I yet can offer; food, and fire, and rest,
“And a warm welcome to my much-lov'd guest.”

His firm support and cheering words, endued
His toil-worn friend with strength and fortitude:
They reach'd the bower—Tancred spread the board
With the best cates his dwelling could afford.
The poor repast concluded, he address'd
Valdarno, with confusion in his breast
He could not stifle—“Where does she reside,
“The fair Florinda, late our valley's pride?
“Your daughter; is she married?”—“Sir, the maid
“Has sought the shelter of a cloister's shade,
“In these unhappy times.”—Replied the youth,
(The first time breaking silence), “And in truth,
“The best asylum which this world contains,
“For one whose nobleness of mind disdains
“Its scornful pity—free from earthly care,
“She spends her days in piety and prayer.”
Valdarno now related to his host,
The cause which brought him to his native coast;
The hope that young Fernando might attain
A strengthen'd army, and his crown regain.
To aid the meditated enterprise,
His exil'd friends, each clad in deep disguise,
Had sought the shores of Sicily—the cell
So wild, remote, and inaccessible,
Offer'd a safe retreat, until the hour
Appointed for the trial of their power,
When all conjoin'd should hurl the tyrant down,
And place the rightful sovereign on the throne.

Tancred assur'd him, that his dearest veins
Should drain, to free his country from its chains;
And, till the moment should arrive, which gave
Hope, vigour, and employment to the brave,
His dwelling was their own.—Valdarno's strength,
By toil and famine worn, return'd at length;
But his young kinsman, Julian's health declin'd;
The boy's too tender constitution pin'd
Beneath the meagre fare, the couch of stone
His slight and fragile limbs were pillow'd on.
Tancred, concern'd to see him droop and fade,
By ev'ry kind and feeling art, essay'd
To cheer his fleeting spirits, but in vain;
No fond attention could his life sustain,
Unless nutritious food, and generous wine,
Their strong and pow'rful forces could combine
To warm his flagging pulses, and impart
New strength and vigour to his fainting heart.
Touch'd by his sorrows, Tancred's feeling breast
The dearest secret of his soul confest—
His passion for Rosalia, whose pure mind,
Alike to pity and relieve inclin'd,
In fond compassion for his tender age,
Receiv'd the hapless Julian for her page.

The boy was handsome, tho' his swarthy skin
Seem'd to betray a Moorish origin;
And the coarse matted hair of raven hue,
Which low and thickly on his forehead grew,
Shading his eyebrows, to his aspect lent
A wild expression, slight and elegant:
His unbecoming garments could not hide
His tall and slender figure's graceful pride;
And when in silken livery array'd,
A meet attendant for the lovely maid,
He proudly shone superior to all
His fellow vassals of the crowded hall.
For Tancred's sake Rosalia lov'd her page,
And often sent him to the hermitage,
Where she had never ventur'd since the day
Its sacred solitude was chas'd away
By stranger guests. And now the time drew near,
When Prince Fernando promis'd to appear
And join his friends, who shunning day's broad light,
Veil'd by the friendly covert of the night,
In council met, to arm against the foe,
And plan the dark usurper's overthrow.
But soon confusion, anarchy, and dread,
Throughout the secret, midnight meeting spread:
A rumour reach'd them of Fernando's death!
It was too true, the Prince resign'd his breath,
E'en at the moment when he hop'd to find
The fortune that pursued him, less unkind.

This sad and fatal accident reveal'd
The selfish views his partizans conceal'd:
Beneath a show of patriotic zeal,
And warm attachment to the public weal,
They could not bear to lose the brilliant spoils,
The promis'd recompense of all their toils,
Their expectations from Fernando's reign,
And seek their hopeless banishment again.
By desperation, urged to remedy
The threaten'd evil of their destiny,
Valdarno, and the few to whom alone
The secret of Fernando's death was known,
Resolv'd to lock it in their breasts, and cheat
The fond Sicilians with a fair deceit:
A false Fernando, who should lead them on,
And, by their bounty plac'd upon the throne,
Must bend in all things to their will, and shower
His gifts on those who could uphold the power
Their hands had rais'd.—With one united voice,
The plotting chiefs on Tancred fix'd their choice.

By guileful sophistry, Valdarno strove
To make his fiery proselyte approve
The meditated plan,—he tried each art
To dazzle and delude his youthful heart;
But 'twas in vain; each selfish wish had flown,
Love in his bosom reign'd, and reign'd alone.
The dark cabal, the cold intrigue of state,
Only excited his contempt and hate.
Indignant, and disgusted at the view
Of human crimes, in horror he withdrew,
And, favour'd by the darkness of the hour,
Unseen retreated to Rosalia's tower.
Her lamp was burning; suddenly a thought
Came o'er his mind—the secret path he sought,
And stealing thro' obscurity and gloom,
Enter'd at midnight his paternal home.

Sad feelings wrought to agony, opprest
His riven soul, and struggled in his breast;
His dire and fatal oath, with horrid force
Struck on his memory, and strong remorse
Assail'd him for his disregarded vow:
The weak and feeble mind which could allow
A woman's smile to melt the stern resolve,
And the heart wedded to revenge, involve
In an unholy passion, which by Heaven
Could never ask, or hope to be forgiven.

But love, resistless, quenchless, unsubdued,
In Tancred's faithful breast was soon renew'd.
He gave his brief repentance to the wind,
And to Rosalia all his soul resign'd.
She was alone, and, mingled with surprize,
Pleasure unwonted sparkled in her eyes,
When, by a magic touch, the wall remov'd
To give admittance to the man she lov'd!

“Calm, thy perturbed spirit, sweet!” (he cried):
“I come to claim thee as my promis'd bride!
“Oh fly with me from this accursed land;
“We'll seek some island, whose untainted strand
“By human footsteps never has been trod,
“And on the sacred unpolluted sod
“I'll rear a fairy palace, that, sweet shade,
“No dark ambitious passions shall invade,
“But love alone gain entrance; and possess
“Supreme dominion in the wilderness,
“Where thou, of innocence the beauteous queen,
“Shall gild with radiant smiles the peaceful scene;
“Giving and tasting bliss as exquisite
“As the unvitiated pure delight
“Which Angels felt before their fall, ere sin
“Deriv'd from this bad world its origin.
“Thy pure heart will not barter joys so great,
“For the cold tinsel fopperies of state,
“Which woo thee here; then let us fly this clime,
“Least the too subtle fiends should tempt to crime
“The soul abhorrent, which they long to steep
“In kindred sins, as leperous and deep.”

Rosalia wept—“Forgive these tears,” she cried—
“My best, my only love, whate'er betide,
“Or weal or woe, to share thy fate with thee,
“Through life's uncertain and tempestuous sea,
“Is bliss divine, but not unmix'd with shame,
“Oh! were my duty and my love the same,
“I were indeed most blest!—Nay, do not frown,
“Believe me, Tancred, I am all thine own.
“Name but the hour, my life's supreme delight!
“And thy Rosalia will partake thy flight,
“Blest, if her true affection can assuage
“Thy grief, and soothe thee on thy pilgrimage.”

“Lur'd by the prospect of a fav'ring gale,
“To-morrow from the bay a bark will sail:
“Meet me at evening near the crystal fount,
“Which bubbling sparkles from the rocky mount,
“Crown'd by the bright acacia's rosy flowers,
“Where we have spent our purest, sweetest hours,
“By virtue blest—the blighting touch of vice
“Has tainted this enchanting Paradise,
“And we must fly—Oh then, remember, love,
“At eve, the fountain and the tufted grove.”

Rosalia promis'd—At the dawn of day,
Tancred reluctant tore himself away,
To join his subtle traitor-friends, and task
His pure unsullied mind, to wear a mask
Of friendship for a crew so deeply stain'd
With the foul sins his sickening soul disdain'd.
With lover's haste, before the destin'd hour,
Tancred, impatient left his sheltering bower,
To seek the fountain—Waiting near the wood,
For his approach, the page, young Julian, stood,
And wildly seiz'd him by the vest, and cried,
“Return! return! for ruin dark and wide
“Awaits thee here—by Heav'n thou art betray'd!
“An armed band are lurking in the glade,
“To drag thee to a dungeou, by command
“Of the apostate child of Altobrand.”
“Liar accurs'd! 'tis false, deceitful slave!”
Tancred exclaim'd—“Release me, or my glaive
“Shall pierce thy guilty heart.”—“Hear me, my Lord!”
Cried Julian, clinging round him—“plunge thy sword
“Within this bosom—in the pangs of death,
“In agonies intense, my quivering breath
“Shall urge thee to return—for well I know,
“Thy lov'd Rosalia is thy direst foe!
“Think'st thou that she would sacrifice each good,
“So dearly purchas'd by thy father's blood,
“To share thy poverty? Of conquest vain,
“Around thy fetter'd heart she bound the chain,
“To swell her pride.”—“Silence that lying tongue!”
Cried Tancred, as in madd'ning rage he flung
In horror from his grasp the trembling page,—
“And, young deceiver, thank thy tender age,
“Which screens thee from my justly-kindled wrath.”
Then in strong confidence pursued the path
Which led him to the sweet acacia's shade.
Within the bower appear'd the lovely maid,
Alone—entranc'd, enraptur'd at the view,
To meet her lover, fair Rosalia flew,
And clasp'd him in her arms—“Now thou art here,”
She fondly cried, “Farewell all doubt, all fear,
“We never part again!”—The gentle words
Were scarcely utter'd, when an hundred swords
Flam'd o'er their heads—she shriek'd in wild alarm,
And fell from Tancred's unsupporting arm,
Who, struck with horror, mute, and motionless,
In anxious fondness struggled to repress
The dark conviction of her guilt—in vain!—
The deep-laid treachery was all too plain.
No wish remain'd but death—his shackled hand
Broke from its bondage, and regain'd a brand!
With supernatural strength endued, the crowd
Before a single arm an instant bow'd:
But 'twas a bootless effort, rallying round,
Hemm'd in on all sides, quell'd, disarm'd, and bound,
Tancred was hurried to a dungeon's gloom,
To him alike, a palace or a tomb!
Reckless, regardless of external things,
His soul deep stricken, only felt the stings
Implanted there by falshood—stunn'd, confus'd,
He deem'd his shatter'd senses were abus'd,
And all was chaos!—Agony intense,
With strong dominion rul'd o'er ev'ry sense.
Hopeless he clung to hope, to feel again
The dark conviction madd'ning in his brain,
That she, his star! his life! his soul! his Heaven!
With an unshrinking hand and heart, had riven
The bosom that ador'd her!—then subdued,
Bereft of firmness, strength, and fortitude,
He wept, conjuring her to vindicate
Her soul from guilt, nor leave him desolate.
Then raving, shriek'd aloud in frenzy's pains,
And curs'd his fate, and madly shook his chains!
Hours roll'd away—in that drear solitude,
No warm and cheering sun-beams could intrude,
To tell its wretched inmate that the birth
Of welcome daylight had illumin'd earth.
Exhausted by contending passions—torn
By grief, and rage, enfeebled, and forlorn,
Upon the cold earth Tancred laid his head,
Perchance within this world, his latest bed;
Not the long slavery, the fate severe,
Which early check'd with woe his life's career;
His deep-felt anguish for his murder'd sire,
His lonely exile, and the hardships dire,
Which he had suffer'd in the world, had power
To shake his soul like this accursed hour!
Wasted and thin, his haggard brow of care,
His pallid cheek, his sunk eye's deep despair,
Had heap'd upon his wrinkled forehead, years,
The offsprings sad of misery and tears,
The shadow of his former self—his soul
Yielding to agony's supreme controul,
He laid him down, his fruitless struggles o'er,
In restless torture on the dungeon's floor.
Again his heart was sooth'd by hope's sweet dawn!
Sudden, his prison's fast'nings were withdrawn—
Was it Rosalia?—No; the lamp's strong light,
Which glar'd upon his dim, and grief-dull'd sight,
Shew'd Julian's form—“I come to set thee free!”
The page exclaim'd,—“thy bitter enemy
“Now sleeps,—to liberty and friends restor'd,
“Arm'd by thy wrongs, thy keen and vengeful sword
“Shall immolate thy foes, blot out thy shame,
“And lead thee on to fortune and to fame.
“Rouse thee, my Lord, this moment we command—
“The next may be the slave of Altobrand.”
“Leave me,” cried Tancred, “to my fate; my doom
“Is fix'd—the friendly darkness of the tomb
“Surrounds me here, 'tis soothing to my woes,
“And sun-beams would disturb my soul's repose;
“With bitter mockery, the little space
“Which now divides me from my resting place,
“A yawning sepulchre, I'll wear away,
“Deep shelter'd from the glaring light of day,
“And man's more hated presence; then begone!
“One word, one blissful, heavenly word alone,
“Could win me to thy will,—remove the foul
“Dark guilt which stains the idol of my soul:
“Say that she still is true, and I will kneel,
“And worship at thy feet; or plunge thy steel
“In mercy in my breast, and as I bleed,
“I'll bless, and thank thee for the gentle deed.”
“Oh fly, my Lord, nor sate the cruel rage
“Of human fiends,” exclaim'd the soul-struck page:
“They'll drag thee to a scaffold.”—“Can the wheel,
“The rack's keen pangs, e'er equal those I feel?”
Cried Tancred—“No!—I spurn my body's pains,
“Here, in my sou, 'tis here that anguish reigns!
“And death in any shape the boon I crave,—
“My sole, my dearest hope, an early grave.”
“Then we will die together,” Julian cried:
“From this too faithful heart, the crimson tide
“Of life shall flow, ere man or fiend shall tear
“My clinging arms from thee!—my deep despair,
“My tears, my agony!—Oh, should they fail
“To wake thy pity, nor my love prevail,
“Spite of thy scorn, thy anger, or thy hate,
“Whate'er the dreadful doom, I'll share thy fate.”
A horrid laugh, the mockery of mirth,
Distorted Tancred's features, as from earth
He fiercely sprang: he shriek'd,—“Deceiver, fly!
“Nor dare deride my bitter agony
“With cruel jests,—friendship and love! the sound
“Can only now inflict a deadly wound.
“Depart! thy sight is hateful to mine eyes,
“All human beings are mine enemies.”
“Revile me, hate me, curse me, if you will,
“Yet I will love thee, will adore thee still;
“My sufferings for thy sake I will not urge,
“Tho' they have borne me, even to the verge
“Of madness.—Tancred, is my form so chang'd,
“Thy cruel, fickle heart so much estrang'd,
“That this dark-tinted skin, this thin disguise,
“Can hide thy poor Florinda from thine eyes?—
“Yes, I am she! and by thy sever'd troth,
“Thy broken vows, thy disregarded oath,
“I solemnly adjure thee to depart
“From this dread spot, and rouse thy noble heart
“To deeds of vengeance!—crush the guilty slave,
“Whose hate denied thy father's bones a grave;
“Nor with a coward, craven spirit, bend
“Before the fury of the treach'rous fiend
“Who lords it o'er thy castle—Armed bands,
“With hearts as firm, and faithful as their brands,
“Await thee in the glen—then haste away!
“Long ere the first faint dawn of opening day
“Thou art aveng'd!”—“My father's sacred name,”
Tancred exclaim'd, “has nerv'd my sinking frame—
“Lead on! I'll chuse the noblest path to death,
“And soothe with sweet revenge my parting breath.”
He rush'd from out the castle to the glade,
Where Count Valdarno and his friends, array'd
In martial guise, awaited his command,
To storm the lofty tow'rs of Altobrand.

Short greetings pass'd—the mind so highly wrought,
So deeply wrung, condens'd in one dread thought,
Was mute and passive; but Florinda strove,
With all the assiduity of love,
To spare him aught that could increase the pain
Which thrill'd his nerves, and agoniz'd his brain:
She brought his arms, attended by his side;
With quick invention instantly replied,
For Tancred, to each question and request
The reckless crowd unthinkingly address'd.

“Forgive,” said Tancred, “this too honest heart,
“Which will not bend to falshood or to art;
“This stricken soul, oppress'd with endless woe,
“Love or affection ne'er again can know:
“I go to seek a grave, and yonder dome,
“My early shelter, my paternal home,
“Will be to-night my everlasting tomb!
“But should the will from which I dare not swerve,
“Spite of my toil, this wretched life preserve,
“'Tis thine—farewell! the tow'rs appear—I fly
“To meet my fate, revenge myself, and die!”

Impatient to begin the deadly feud,
The band with eager haste his steps pursued,
Tracking their path with blood, not long conceal'd,
Wild shrieks and groans their entrance dire reveal'd,
And rous'd the slumbering host—with deaf'ning clang,
Throughout the halls the horrid tumult rang—
A brief but mortal combat—heaps of dead
And dying, all the chamber floors o'erspread;
The few remaining vassals unsubdued,
Fled to their lord, and then the fight renew'd.
Cheering his band with eyes emitting flame,
Like the red fiend of vengeance, Tancred came:
The sabre's edge no mortal could withstand,
Cut its bright gleaming way to Altobrand.
What in one moment check'd his uprear'd hand,
And gave the hated wretch, his soul abhorr'd,
A death beneath Valdarno's eager sword!
Oh, 'twas an Angel! to her throbbing breast,
Her father's form in agony she prest—
Her radiant garments stain'd with blood, her hair
Wild and dishevell'd, fix'd in mute despair,
Rosalia stood!—Ere Tancred could regain
His scatter'd senses, and the fight sustain,
A foeman aim'd a desperate blow—the stroke
Rosalia saw, and, madly shrieking, broke
From the warm reeking corse—with one wild bound
She met the weapon, and receiv'd the wound!
“Tancred!” she faintly cried, “my death will prove
“My fervent truth, my everlasting love—
“Oh, thou art much deceiv'd—that faithless page,
“Rous'd by his artifice my father's rage—
“I—I am innocent—my falt'ring tongue,
“My breaking heart, by bitter anguish wrung,
“Attest my faith!—one last embrace!—again
“Thine own Rosalia to thy bosom strain.
“Oh, thou believ'st me true, and that pure hand,
“By my unhappy father's blood unstain'd,
“I, the blest cause that check'd the fatal strife,
“And with my own, preserv'd thy precious life—
“Oh, thus to die is happiness supreme!
“Our early love, fond youth's enchanting dream,
“Was bliss too great for earth!”—Her failing breath,
Her closing eyes, announc'd approaching death.
In strong, and wild delirium, Tancred cried
To Heaven, and man, for help, and vainly tried
To stanch the wound—the fleeting life sustain,
And call the parting soul to earth again—
The gentle spirit fled!—Aghast, amaz'd,
Upon the lifeless body Tancred gaz'd
In speechless agony!—The sword, which gave
The lovely victim to an early grave,
Had stay'd the deadly combat—grief profound,
And hate, and disappointment, reign'd around
In death-like silence—Struggling to retrieve
Her self-possession, and her plans achieve,
With quivering lips, oppress'd by conscious shame,
Florinda tried to vindicate her fame:
She spoke—the accents, faint, subdued, and low,
Rous'd Tancred fiercely from his trance of woe.

“Viper and fiend!” he cried, “thy work behold!
“Well has thy guilt-sear'd spirit toil'd for gold.
“Profane not love's pure name,—a marble breast
“One gentle thrill of pity had confess'd
“At grief like mine—revoke the poor pretence,
“And seize with joy thy sin's foul recompense.
“I give thee all—From Heaven's bright regions hurl'd,
“Riot and revel in this guilty world;
“In kindred bliss thy lep'rous soul immerse,
“And with my riches, take my bitter curse!
“Oh, treach'rous devil! Fiend! thou! thou! hast riven
“My happiness on earth, my hopes of Heaven:
“My struggling soul, by agony opprest,
“Will bear no more, yet death denies its rest:
“Hell is my portion here—in realms above,
“'Mid blessed Spirits dwells my angel love,
“Parted for ever!—Oh, this madd'ning brain,
“Thy gentle accents ne'er shall soothe again!
“Receive me, fiends! and equal, if you can,
“The ruthless, merciless, foul deeds of man!”
Plunging his gleaming dagger in his side,
The hapless Tancred call'd on Heaven, and died!