Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert ... Excepting those on botany and natural history. With additions and corrections by the author |
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PIA DELLA PIETRA. |
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 | Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert |  |
3
PIA DELLA PIETRA.
1820.
Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia;
Sienna mi fè, disfecemi Maremma.
Salsi colui, che'nnanellata pria
Disposanda m'avea con la sua gemma.
Dante, Purgat. 5. 133.
Sienna mi fè, disfecemi Maremma.
Salsi colui, che'nnanellata pria
Disposanda m'avea con la sua gemma.
Dante, Purgat. 5. 133.
[_]
The four lines which are quoted from Dante, have furnished the ground-work of this tale. I believe that few of the particular circumstances of the real story have been transmitted to us. It is well known that Maremma is the maritime district of Italy subject to the malaria which is gradually extending into Rome itself.
Calm sea, whose beauteous waters gently lave
The shore of Italy with tideless wave,
How still and lovely on thine azure breast
The evening ray's unclouded splendors rest!
The purpled landscape blushes, like the bud
Of opening beauty, by thy glowing flood.
Unpruned here myrtles bloom; the orange there
Flings its rich fragrance on the tranquil air.
Fields of the luscious grape and golden lime!
Delightful valleys of a balmy clime!
Soft smiles your land! But why, mid scenes so fair,
Are man's heart-gladdening roofs so lone and rare?
Why bears the tremulous zephyr o'er the plain
No flute's clear sound, or woman's blither strain?
Mournful and mute, though Nature's peaceful glow
Seems to induce forgetfulness of wo!
Have busy cares, have vice and folly made
No habitation in the desert shade?
Have man's adventurous hands not yet displaced
The rank profusion of the fruitful waste,
Giving new voice and strains of other tone
To its rude echoes? On her solemn throne,
Wrapp'd in that loneliness, does nature hear
No voice, save the herd's lowing? or the deer
Rustling the coppice, and the nightbird's lay
From the thick jasmine's odoriferous spray?
Or the hoarse rush of waters, and the hoof
Of countless steeds, from human haunts aloof,
Spurning the virgin glebe, an untamed brood
That crop the flowery turf of solitude,
Where the bee murmurs, and the night-fly's light
Cheers with pure lamp the lovely brow of night?
The shore of Italy with tideless wave,
How still and lovely on thine azure breast
The evening ray's unclouded splendors rest!
The purpled landscape blushes, like the bud
Of opening beauty, by thy glowing flood.
Unpruned here myrtles bloom; the orange there
Flings its rich fragrance on the tranquil air.
Fields of the luscious grape and golden lime!
Delightful valleys of a balmy clime!
Soft smiles your land! But why, mid scenes so fair,
Are man's heart-gladdening roofs so lone and rare?
Why bears the tremulous zephyr o'er the plain
No flute's clear sound, or woman's blither strain?
4
Seems to induce forgetfulness of wo!
Have busy cares, have vice and folly made
No habitation in the desert shade?
Have man's adventurous hands not yet displaced
The rank profusion of the fruitful waste,
Giving new voice and strains of other tone
To its rude echoes? On her solemn throne,
Wrapp'd in that loneliness, does nature hear
No voice, save the herd's lowing? or the deer
Rustling the coppice, and the nightbird's lay
From the thick jasmine's odoriferous spray?
Or the hoarse rush of waters, and the hoof
Of countless steeds, from human haunts aloof,
Spurning the virgin glebe, an untamed brood
That crop the flowery turf of solitude,
Where the bee murmurs, and the night-fly's light
Cheers with pure lamp the lovely brow of night?
There is a breath of fragrance on the gale,
A voice of warbling in the beauteous vale;
The wild luxuriance of its native wealth,
But not to man the breath of life or health.
There is a soothing freshness; but the breeze
Wafts the slow poison of unseen disease.
Death's angel lurks beneath your flowery screen,
Maremma's groves and mountains evergreen!
The charm of stillness, which those waters wear,
The beauteous light of that transparent air,
Are Death's deceitful vizor; the fell bait,
Which but to taste, to breathe, to view, is fate.
A voice of warbling in the beauteous vale;
The wild luxuriance of its native wealth,
But not to man the breath of life or health.
There is a soothing freshness; but the breeze
Wafts the slow poison of unseen disease.
Death's angel lurks beneath your flowery screen,
Maremma's groves and mountains evergreen!
The charm of stillness, which those waters wear,
The beauteous light of that transparent air,
Are Death's deceitful vizor; the fell bait,
Which but to taste, to breathe, to view, is fate.
Faint traveller, wearied with the noontide's ray,
Who hailest with delight the close of day!
The cool refreshment of yon breezy plain,
The very charm that soothes thee, is thy bane!
Sure as the shaft that slayeth in the night,
The Pestilence glides onward, robed in light.
All-glorious Italy, o'er thy fair champaign
The smiling fiend extends her silent reign,
And desolation follows. Lo! she stands
On the proud Capitol, with noiseless hands
Showering the secret ruin on the dome
Of thy great temple, everlasting Rome!
Immortal city, beautiful and strong!
The queen of empire, and the boast of song!
Whose huge magnificence has still defied
Barbarian rage and Time's o'erwhelming tide!
Shall e'er thy dwellings, like Palmyra, stand
A lonely spectre in a desert land?
Shall the wolves howl in halls where Maro sung,
Shall forests darken, where thy trophies hung?
The deadly fiend creeps sure and unrestrain'd,
Where Power once fulmined, and where Wisdom reign'd,
Slowly exterminating wins her way,
And one wide wreck of glory marks her sway.
Who hailest with delight the close of day!
5
The very charm that soothes thee, is thy bane!
Sure as the shaft that slayeth in the night,
The Pestilence glides onward, robed in light.
All-glorious Italy, o'er thy fair champaign
The smiling fiend extends her silent reign,
And desolation follows. Lo! she stands
On the proud Capitol, with noiseless hands
Showering the secret ruin on the dome
Of thy great temple, everlasting Rome!
Immortal city, beautiful and strong!
The queen of empire, and the boast of song!
Whose huge magnificence has still defied
Barbarian rage and Time's o'erwhelming tide!
Shall e'er thy dwellings, like Palmyra, stand
A lonely spectre in a desert land?
Shall the wolves howl in halls where Maro sung,
Shall forests darken, where thy trophies hung?
The deadly fiend creeps sure and unrestrain'd,
Where Power once fulmined, and where Wisdom reign'd,
Slowly exterminating wins her way,
And one wide wreck of glory marks her sway.
The sun, all-cloudless, threw his parting gleam
Over thy gulf, Livorno! With slant beam
His western rays in liquid radiance steep
The gilded landscape and the azure deep,
And shew, far streaming thro' the woodland's shade,
A mansion bosom'd in the leafy glade.
Nature had wreathed its walks with every sweet;
It look'd like Love's own temple, a retreat
Fitting fond thoughts; yet a neglected air
Of mournful loneliness it seem'd to bear;
Grief dwelt within, and beauty's loveliest flower
Bloom'd unregarded in that silent bower.
Two female shapes, in gloomy raiment clad,
From its gilt portals issued, mute and sad.
One, whose dark lashes veil'd her downcast eyes,
Shew'd the high port of noble destinies;
Her comrade wore the print of elder years,
And wistful gazed on her with boding fears.
Over thy gulf, Livorno! With slant beam
His western rays in liquid radiance steep
The gilded landscape and the azure deep,
And shew, far streaming thro' the woodland's shade,
A mansion bosom'd in the leafy glade.
Nature had wreathed its walks with every sweet;
It look'd like Love's own temple, a retreat
Fitting fond thoughts; yet a neglected air
Of mournful loneliness it seem'd to bear;
6
Bloom'd unregarded in that silent bower.
Two female shapes, in gloomy raiment clad,
From its gilt portals issued, mute and sad.
One, whose dark lashes veil'd her downcast eyes,
Shew'd the high port of noble destinies;
Her comrade wore the print of elder years,
And wistful gazed on her with boding fears.
The younger lady was of beauty rare,
A form that seem'd to float upon the air.
She had a lip of love, which but to kiss
Might have been deem'd extremity of bliss.
Her dark eyes were all tenderness; their ray
Spoke the fond memory of a happier day;
A charm of witching mildness in their light
Told how they would have sparkled with delight,
A gentle aptness for sweet mirth and joy
Which not Despair's cold touch could quite destroy.
The beam of love was not extinguish'd, though
Shrouded and quell'd by some o'erpowering wo.
Pallid the hue of her transparent skin
Shew'd Death was mining his fell path within,
Languid decay: a fix'd and burning flush,
Not melting like soft Beauty's healthful blush,
Mid the surrounding ivory, betray'd
The baneful fire which on her vitals prey'd,
The deep oppression of some mastering ill
Slowly destroying life, but sure to kill.
A form that seem'd to float upon the air.
She had a lip of love, which but to kiss
Might have been deem'd extremity of bliss.
Her dark eyes were all tenderness; their ray
Spoke the fond memory of a happier day;
A charm of witching mildness in their light
Told how they would have sparkled with delight,
A gentle aptness for sweet mirth and joy
Which not Despair's cold touch could quite destroy.
The beam of love was not extinguish'd, though
Shrouded and quell'd by some o'erpowering wo.
Pallid the hue of her transparent skin
Shew'd Death was mining his fell path within,
Languid decay: a fix'd and burning flush,
Not melting like soft Beauty's healthful blush,
Mid the surrounding ivory, betray'd
The baneful fire which on her vitals prey'd,
The deep oppression of some mastering ill
Slowly destroying life, but sure to kill.
Silent, almost unconscious where they stray'd,
They seated them beneath a chestnut's shade:
Whose giant trunk once echoed to your praise,
Pan or Pomona, sang in Latin lays!
The strain of Romans, when the subject world
Saw their bright standards on each coast unfurl'd!
Majestic, strong, its stately ruin stood;
Still its scathed form o'er-brow'd the Tuscan flood;
And, like Rome's self, all-glorious in decay,
Stretch'd its broad arms with solitary sway.
Realm of past glory! still it seem'd to reign
In lonely pride o'er thy deserted plain!
They seated them beneath a chestnut's shade:
Whose giant trunk once echoed to your praise,
Pan or Pomona, sang in Latin lays!
7
Saw their bright standards on each coast unfurl'd!
Majestic, strong, its stately ruin stood;
Still its scathed form o'er-brow'd the Tuscan flood;
And, like Rome's self, all-glorious in decay,
Stretch'd its broad arms with solitary sway.
Realm of past glory! still it seem'd to reign
In lonely pride o'er thy deserted plain!
The youthful mourner on that lovely scene,
The beautiful expanse of blue serene,
(As the sun sank beneath that splendid ocean,
Which glow'd all tranquil without shade or motion)
Gazed in dejection; drops of pearly dew
Swell'd in her lids, but did not struggle thro',
Nor stain'd her beauteous cheek, nor brought relief
Unto the pang of that consuming grief.
Her look was utter hopelessness; it told
Affections warm, but joys destroy'd and cold;
Total prostration of that anxious strife,
Which is the energy and zest of life,
That charm which vibrates, till all hopes are dead,
Even in the thrilling agony of dread.
There was not in its beam one tremulous ray;
It did not one weak thought or fear betray:
No faint expression in that visage pale
Mark'd one last wish within this worldly vale.
The beautiful expanse of blue serene,
(As the sun sank beneath that splendid ocean,
Which glow'd all tranquil without shade or motion)
Gazed in dejection; drops of pearly dew
Swell'd in her lids, but did not struggle thro',
Nor stain'd her beauteous cheek, nor brought relief
Unto the pang of that consuming grief.
Her look was utter hopelessness; it told
Affections warm, but joys destroy'd and cold;
Total prostration of that anxious strife,
Which is the energy and zest of life,
That charm which vibrates, till all hopes are dead,
Even in the thrilling agony of dread.
There was not in its beam one tremulous ray;
It did not one weak thought or fear betray:
No faint expression in that visage pale
Mark'd one last wish within this worldly vale.
Long did her fond attendant kindly bend
Over the features of her silent friend;
She watch'd with look of love and pity blent
The face serene which on her bosom leant,
And seem'd in heart-felt contemplation lost
Of youthful visions so untimely cross'd.
Her joyless thoughts were roaming far away
To thy blithe streets, Sienna bright and gay;
To scenes of former happiness and pride
When the song waked to greet the envied bride;
Till a cold shiver stealing o'er her frame
Told of the evening's breath, which freshening came
From the far Apennine, whose chilly wind
To present cares recall'd her wandering mind.
There was a rustling of the aged trees,
A mournful sighing of that nightly breeze,
Which ever motionless and silent lay
Lull'd on earth's bosom by the spell of day.
Tighter upon her breast the shawl she drew,
And part around the mourner gently threw,
Then with kind warning sign'd her to beware
Of the cool night-dew and that baneful air.
The lovely sufferer spoke not; at the hest
She rose obedient to the fond request,
Not as if fearful of the nightly chills,
Or yielding any thought to present ills;
But calm, indifferent, careless of delay,
Because it was most easy to obey,
With an unconscious shudder as she went,
Homeward her melancholy steps she bent.
Over the features of her silent friend;
She watch'd with look of love and pity blent
The face serene which on her bosom leant,
And seem'd in heart-felt contemplation lost
Of youthful visions so untimely cross'd.
8
To thy blithe streets, Sienna bright and gay;
To scenes of former happiness and pride
When the song waked to greet the envied bride;
Till a cold shiver stealing o'er her frame
Told of the evening's breath, which freshening came
From the far Apennine, whose chilly wind
To present cares recall'd her wandering mind.
There was a rustling of the aged trees,
A mournful sighing of that nightly breeze,
Which ever motionless and silent lay
Lull'd on earth's bosom by the spell of day.
Tighter upon her breast the shawl she drew,
And part around the mourner gently threw,
Then with kind warning sign'd her to beware
Of the cool night-dew and that baneful air.
The lovely sufferer spoke not; at the hest
She rose obedient to the fond request,
Not as if fearful of the nightly chills,
Or yielding any thought to present ills;
But calm, indifferent, careless of delay,
Because it was most easy to obey,
With an unconscious shudder as she went,
Homeward her melancholy steps she bent.
O strange reverse of every youthful joy!
All-powerful fates, which every bliss destroy!
Why moves that airy form so meek and slow,
A shape of loveliness enshrined in wo?
What doth she there? with beauty made to bless
Man's ardent wishes, not to know distress!
So lorn, so cast away, tho' born to win
All that the heart can give, and pure of sin!
All-powerful fates, which every bliss destroy!
Why moves that airy form so meek and slow,
A shape of loveliness enshrined in wo?
What doth she there? with beauty made to bless
Man's ardent wishes, not to know distress!
So lorn, so cast away, tho' born to win
All that the heart can give, and pure of sin!
9
Gay are thy fields, Sienna, gay the site
Of the rich mansions on thine airy height!
Health crowns thy fruitful vineyards, and the slope
Of thy green hills, where Joy with young-eyed Hope
Frames his blithe visions; the light dance is there,
The harp, the viol, and the willing fair;
The spirit of youth and love is in thy walls,
And hearts of gladness bound within thy halls.
Thy goodliest shapes were trimm'd in rich array,
When Della Pietra hail'd his bridal day:
Of all thy maids, that wreathed their flowing hair,
There was no form so graceful and so fair,
No face so glowing, as the timid bride
Crown'd in her hopes and blooming by his side.
No bridegroom with high bliss so proudly flush'd,
As he who kiss'd that cheek where beauty blush'd,
Those eyes with coy reluctance fondly bent
On him whose wishes woo'd her to consent.
Her bridemaids of that city were the flower,
Rich in youth's charms, and conscious of their power:
But which, though seeming kindly to rejoice,
Pined not at glorious Della Pietra's choice?
And is not Pia blessed of the blest,
Envied by beauty, and by pride carest!
Her lord, of Tuscany the strength and boast,
In council eloquent, in war a host!
Quick in conception, powerful in need,
Ardent and irresistible in deed!
Her spell has charm'd that spirit; she alone
Has won that soul, and made its strength her throne.
On him her hopes, her joys, her wishes rest;
Her very life is center'd in that breast.
Whate'er of kindness in his nature glows
Seems on her pure affection to repose;
And she has breathed into that heart of stone
A gentler pulse, a spirit like her own.
To soothe his thoughts, to mitigate the fire
Of aspirations strong and proud desire,
To draw him from their trouble to the calm
Of milder passions, the mind's quiet balm,
Was her heart's joy and glory; thus entwined,
Their thoughts were wedded, and their pleasures join'd;
And she on Della Pietra's bosom lay
As the sweet blossom of his happier day.
Of the rich mansions on thine airy height!
Health crowns thy fruitful vineyards, and the slope
Of thy green hills, where Joy with young-eyed Hope
Frames his blithe visions; the light dance is there,
The harp, the viol, and the willing fair;
The spirit of youth and love is in thy walls,
And hearts of gladness bound within thy halls.
Thy goodliest shapes were trimm'd in rich array,
When Della Pietra hail'd his bridal day:
Of all thy maids, that wreathed their flowing hair,
There was no form so graceful and so fair,
No face so glowing, as the timid bride
Crown'd in her hopes and blooming by his side.
No bridegroom with high bliss so proudly flush'd,
As he who kiss'd that cheek where beauty blush'd,
Those eyes with coy reluctance fondly bent
On him whose wishes woo'd her to consent.
Her bridemaids of that city were the flower,
Rich in youth's charms, and conscious of their power:
But which, though seeming kindly to rejoice,
Pined not at glorious Della Pietra's choice?
And is not Pia blessed of the blest,
Envied by beauty, and by pride carest!
Her lord, of Tuscany the strength and boast,
In council eloquent, in war a host!
Quick in conception, powerful in need,
Ardent and irresistible in deed!
Her spell has charm'd that spirit; she alone
Has won that soul, and made its strength her throne.
On him her hopes, her joys, her wishes rest;
Her very life is center'd in that breast.
10
Seems on her pure affection to repose;
And she has breathed into that heart of stone
A gentler pulse, a spirit like her own.
To soothe his thoughts, to mitigate the fire
Of aspirations strong and proud desire,
To draw him from their trouble to the calm
Of milder passions, the mind's quiet balm,
Was her heart's joy and glory; thus entwined,
Their thoughts were wedded, and their pleasures join'd;
And she on Della Pietra's bosom lay
As the sweet blossom of his happier day.
An orphan, long had she lost bliss deplored;
None shared her chaste affections; her high lord
(Like him of old who mourn'd Troy's boded fall)
Was to his partner father, brother, all.
Her parents, of Sienna's purest blood,
Sojourn'd ere while where Venice woos the flood,
And perish'd there untimely. One blithe boy
With his dear Pia shared each early joy,
Her brother, partner of each young delight,
With active form, and keen eyes black as night;
She had no friend, save him, who long before
In a frail barque had sail'd for Smyrna's shore,
And the hoarse waters whelm'd him; from that hour
Silent and lonely was her cheerless bow'r;
Till the black Plague assail'd her father's hall,
And, quite forlorn, she saw her parents fall.
Return'd to Tuscan halls in beauty's prime,
She mourn'd, a stranger in her native clime.
Sienna's mansions to her thoughts were strange,
For hard it seems for childhood to exchange
The home of hearts, which in dear union blend,
For the cold welcome of a distant friend.
Her years pass'd joyless, till love's thrilling beam
Stirr'd the bright fancies of a happier dream.
The bridal dawn'd auspicious, and she found
In blest reality youth's visions crown'd.
None shared her chaste affections; her high lord
(Like him of old who mourn'd Troy's boded fall)
Was to his partner father, brother, all.
Her parents, of Sienna's purest blood,
Sojourn'd ere while where Venice woos the flood,
And perish'd there untimely. One blithe boy
With his dear Pia shared each early joy,
Her brother, partner of each young delight,
With active form, and keen eyes black as night;
She had no friend, save him, who long before
In a frail barque had sail'd for Smyrna's shore,
And the hoarse waters whelm'd him; from that hour
Silent and lonely was her cheerless bow'r;
Till the black Plague assail'd her father's hall,
And, quite forlorn, she saw her parents fall.
Return'd to Tuscan halls in beauty's prime,
She mourn'd, a stranger in her native clime.
Sienna's mansions to her thoughts were strange,
For hard it seems for childhood to exchange
11
For the cold welcome of a distant friend.
Her years pass'd joyless, till love's thrilling beam
Stirr'd the bright fancies of a happier dream.
The bridal dawn'd auspicious, and she found
In blest reality youth's visions crown'd.
It chanced one eve, the merry wilds were ringing
With birds unto the sun their farewell singing;
All nature's face was beautiful and still,
Though clouds were gathering on each distant hill;
And Pia, joyous in that balmy hour,
Through the lone groves had sought her favorite bow'r.
With birds unto the sun their farewell singing;
All nature's face was beautiful and still,
Though clouds were gathering on each distant hill;
And Pia, joyous in that balmy hour,
Through the lone groves had sought her favorite bow'r.
Shrouded by sweets, a stranger blithe as May
There sate, reposing from his toilsome way.
She started; on her mind tumultuous rush'd
The memory of griefs long past and hush'd.
Her brother's image dawn'd upon her sight,
As she had often view'd it in the night,
When all life's scenes were mute, and on the thought
Came other forms by witching memory brought.
For there had e'en been moments, when her mind
Had cast the certainty of fate behind,
And she had gazed upon the crowded quay
Of Venice, striving his loved shape to see;
And oft upon the marge of Adria's flood
With burning thoughts and wistful eyes had stood,
Straining the sight in anguish, to descry
His gleaming sail upon the distant sky,
And stretch'd her look across the waters blue,
Till she had fancied the illusion true:
And now it flash'd upon her, like the blaze
Of morn on one just startled by its rays.
He rose before her like a waking dream;
Seven years the sun had cast its burning gleam
On his toil'd brow; enslaved by Mahound's clan,
His slender form had ripen'd into man.
She could not err; the features stamp'd by time
On her mind's tablet had defied the clime.
Her brother's soul was sparkling in his eye,
The frolic thoughts of their past infancy.
She knew him, felt him on her bosom prest,
With scarcely credulous emotion blest.
She had no voice; but link'd in that embrace
She lean'd her cheek against her brother's face;
Full with the memory of early days
Her heart was breathing thankfulness and praise.
Murmuring their transport, clasp'd in chaste delight,
And beaming joy as innocent as bright,
They had no sense for other sound or sight.
There sate, reposing from his toilsome way.
She started; on her mind tumultuous rush'd
The memory of griefs long past and hush'd.
Her brother's image dawn'd upon her sight,
As she had often view'd it in the night,
When all life's scenes were mute, and on the thought
Came other forms by witching memory brought.
For there had e'en been moments, when her mind
Had cast the certainty of fate behind,
And she had gazed upon the crowded quay
Of Venice, striving his loved shape to see;
And oft upon the marge of Adria's flood
With burning thoughts and wistful eyes had stood,
Straining the sight in anguish, to descry
His gleaming sail upon the distant sky,
And stretch'd her look across the waters blue,
Till she had fancied the illusion true:
And now it flash'd upon her, like the blaze
Of morn on one just startled by its rays.
12
Seven years the sun had cast its burning gleam
On his toil'd brow; enslaved by Mahound's clan,
His slender form had ripen'd into man.
She could not err; the features stamp'd by time
On her mind's tablet had defied the clime.
Her brother's soul was sparkling in his eye,
The frolic thoughts of their past infancy.
She knew him, felt him on her bosom prest,
With scarcely credulous emotion blest.
She had no voice; but link'd in that embrace
She lean'd her cheek against her brother's face;
Full with the memory of early days
Her heart was breathing thankfulness and praise.
Murmuring their transport, clasp'd in chaste delight,
And beaming joy as innocent as bright,
They had no sense for other sound or sight.
But Della Pietra mark'd the rising storm,
And wistful watch'd for Pia's cherish'd form:
The distant voice of thunder was abroad,
And big drops patter'd on the dusty road.
With kind solicitude of tenderest love,
And quickening step, he hurried through the grove.
Twice had he call'd; she heard not. Through the side
Of her loved bower in anxious haste he spied.
The thunder did not smite him, but his cheek
Turn'd ashy pale; he did not breathe, or speak;
But ghastly, stark, as if the levin-brand
Had blazing burst upon him, did he stand.
He saw, what ages could never undo,
What fiends in triumph could have scarce deem'd true!
He saw his Pia in the daring grasp
Of man! He choked; he had no breath to gasp.
By heaven! she kiss'd him, and her slender waist
With rapturous joy a stranger's arm embraced;
Another's pulse was throbbing on the breast
Of her by whom his whole of life was blest;
Those eyes, which were to him his only heaven,
Beam'd with new transport, ne'er to be forgiven:
And yet the rapture of that fatal kiss
Seem'd all too radiant for unholy bliss.
He stood, like one, that instant reft of hope,
On the precipitous and fiery slope
Of the rent earth, which had engulf'd the whole
Of his life's joy, the treasure of his soul.
It was an eye's glance, rapid as the gleam
Of the red thunderbolt—a thought—a dream—
A stroke of vengeance, swifter than the speed
Of agonized love in beauty's need.
He knew not (ne'er could tell) how the fell brand
Flaming and naked came into his hand;
But it was done; in a convulsive sob
The murder'd youth had breathed life's latest throb;
His heart's blood spouted on the thin white veil,
A brother's blood on Pia, as he fell.
She moved not, spoke not, did not understand
That bleeding brother or that naked brand;
But the world reel'd around her, as her lord
Stood like Fate's angel with his blood-stain'd sword.
She shrinks; she shudders; on that corse she falls,
(Like those sad victims in Pompeia's halls,
Fate-stricken in the hour of thoughtless youth)
The kiss of joy still trembling on her mouth.
And wistful watch'd for Pia's cherish'd form:
The distant voice of thunder was abroad,
And big drops patter'd on the dusty road.
With kind solicitude of tenderest love,
And quickening step, he hurried through the grove.
Twice had he call'd; she heard not. Through the side
Of her loved bower in anxious haste he spied.
The thunder did not smite him, but his cheek
Turn'd ashy pale; he did not breathe, or speak;
But ghastly, stark, as if the levin-brand
Had blazing burst upon him, did he stand.
He saw, what ages could never undo,
What fiends in triumph could have scarce deem'd true!
13
Of man! He choked; he had no breath to gasp.
By heaven! she kiss'd him, and her slender waist
With rapturous joy a stranger's arm embraced;
Another's pulse was throbbing on the breast
Of her by whom his whole of life was blest;
Those eyes, which were to him his only heaven,
Beam'd with new transport, ne'er to be forgiven:
And yet the rapture of that fatal kiss
Seem'd all too radiant for unholy bliss.
He stood, like one, that instant reft of hope,
On the precipitous and fiery slope
Of the rent earth, which had engulf'd the whole
Of his life's joy, the treasure of his soul.
It was an eye's glance, rapid as the gleam
Of the red thunderbolt—a thought—a dream—
A stroke of vengeance, swifter than the speed
Of agonized love in beauty's need.
He knew not (ne'er could tell) how the fell brand
Flaming and naked came into his hand;
But it was done; in a convulsive sob
The murder'd youth had breathed life's latest throb;
His heart's blood spouted on the thin white veil,
A brother's blood on Pia, as he fell.
She moved not, spoke not, did not understand
That bleeding brother or that naked brand;
But the world reel'd around her, as her lord
Stood like Fate's angel with his blood-stain'd sword.
She shrinks; she shudders; on that corse she falls,
(Like those sad victims in Pompeia's halls,
Fate-stricken in the hour of thoughtless youth)
The kiss of joy still trembling on her mouth.
14
The sword was raised to slay her, but the hand
Yet linger'd, though it held the vengeful brand.
What were his feelings? Was there whom to smite?
The powerless foe lay bleeding in his sight.
To curse? but her, whose loveliness to save
From breath of harm he would have hail'd his grave!
Her, whom to gaze on was his soul's delight!
Whom but to screen from the rude blast of night,
He would have hewn his flesh! yet there she lay
Deluged with murder, cold as lifeless clay,
And his fierce weapon was outstretch'd and bare
To hurl her unrepenting to despair.
The thoughts of hours and days and months and years,
The memory of hopes and bliss and fears,
Were crowded, hurried, in the rapid stream
Of that one instant's musing; a swift dream
Of mingled joys and anguish. That strong mind,
Which was but now to all but vengeance blind,
Is a wild field, wherein the varied thought
Is maddening into agony of doubt:
A shrine, where helpless beauty pleads for life,
Where fiends and dove-like mercy are at strife.
He could not, dared not slay her, as she lay
So pale, so beautiful; yet that delay
Was but the lingering of ruthless pride
Striving with love, and to stern deeds allied
He had sent one before the throne of heaven
Boiling in sin, unhousel'd, and unshriven:
A settled gloom o'erspread his mournful eye;
Murmuring he spoke, “she shall repent and die.”
Yet linger'd, though it held the vengeful brand.
What were his feelings? Was there whom to smite?
The powerless foe lay bleeding in his sight.
To curse? but her, whose loveliness to save
From breath of harm he would have hail'd his grave!
Her, whom to gaze on was his soul's delight!
Whom but to screen from the rude blast of night,
He would have hewn his flesh! yet there she lay
Deluged with murder, cold as lifeless clay,
And his fierce weapon was outstretch'd and bare
To hurl her unrepenting to despair.
The thoughts of hours and days and months and years,
The memory of hopes and bliss and fears,
Were crowded, hurried, in the rapid stream
Of that one instant's musing; a swift dream
Of mingled joys and anguish. That strong mind,
Which was but now to all but vengeance blind,
Is a wild field, wherein the varied thought
Is maddening into agony of doubt:
A shrine, where helpless beauty pleads for life,
Where fiends and dove-like mercy are at strife.
He could not, dared not slay her, as she lay
So pale, so beautiful; yet that delay
Was but the lingering of ruthless pride
Striving with love, and to stern deeds allied
He had sent one before the throne of heaven
Boiling in sin, unhousel'd, and unshriven:
A settled gloom o'erspread his mournful eye;
Murmuring he spoke, “she shall repent and die.”
Eight days unseen he fasted, nor renew'd
His stain'd apparel, by dread thoughts pursued.
Dark were those feelings, once so proud and hot;
Despair and loneliness became his lot,
And the deep frown of silence: ne'er again
Was his voice heard amid the buzz of men.
Revenge held fatal sway: but with that sun
His hopes had set, and his youth's race was run;
His days of bliss were number'd and foredone.
His stain'd apparel, by dread thoughts pursued.
15
Despair and loneliness became his lot,
And the deep frown of silence: ne'er again
Was his voice heard amid the buzz of men.
Revenge held fatal sway: but with that sun
His hopes had set, and his youth's race was run;
His days of bliss were number'd and foredone.
But lovely Pia from that bloody deed
They bore, where her lord's mandate had decreed;
Senseless they bore the death-devoted bride,
One faithful maiden weeping by her side.
When life revisited her pulse again,
A burning fever throbb'd in every vein.
The seat of reason swam; the mind was hot
With some strange sense of ill, but knew not what.
She shriek'd, as one whom outrage was pursuing,
Struggling with force, and striving against ruin.
She call'd with wildness on her brother's name,
Screaming for mercy, trembling her whole frame;
Then shrunk, and hush'd each sound, and veil'd her head,
As if for safety, in her fever'd bed.
Somewhile in that still guise she would abide
With deathlike silence, fearing to be spied;
Then creeping forth, as if with cautious dread,
Talk'd in strange tone, with who had long been dead;
And sobb'd and laugh'd alternately, or smiled
With frightful mirth, unnatural, and wild.
At length the pulse wax'd feebler; and the glare
Of her bright eyes had a less ghastly stare;
She held less converse with things long gone by,
With viewless forms of those she ne'er might spy;
And the sad dawn of reason slowly rose
On that long night of her distracted woes:
Exhausted nature sank in short repose.
That awful pause of phrensy seem'd to steep
Her burning temples in refreshing sleep.
She oped her lids: the beauteous eyes were mild;
The accent of her voice was nothing wild;
But all around the chamber with amaze
And wonder-breathing look she seem'd to gaze,
Seeking some form familiar to her view,
Which might of memory the web renew:
But nought that she had ever known or seen
Could the mind trace in that sequester'd scene,
Save one kind mourner faithful to the last,
The only link that could recall the past,
Her sad attendant; her, with anxious eye,
Of that strange place she question'd: the reply
Was meekly given with low half-stifled breath,
“Maremma;” but in that brief word was death.
Then dawn'd upon her mind the blackest morn
Of horror, that e'er burst on wretch forlorn;
The frightful vision of the past was there,
The dread futurity of black despair;
She saw, she understood, both what had past,
What was for ever gone, and what must last.
A brother murder'd in the hour of bliss,
His death-shriek mingling with a sister's kiss:
Her fame for ever blighted; and the curse
Of her loved lord e'en clinging to her hearse:
Herself cast off, a thing for every maid
To point with scorn's proud finger, and upbraid:
Her wrathful husband blasted by the guilt
Of blood so innocent, so madly spilt.
Absent she views (and shudders with affright)
Him raised by fancy at the dead of night.
Her terrors lend strange horror to his shape;
He seems a fiend, forbidding her escape,
And his stern countenance gigantic grown,
Livid, and cold, and stiffen'd into stone.
It was a vision, that might well renew
The burning shapes of phrensy to her view;
But the slow certainty of death behind,
Maremma's baneful prospect, soothed her mind.
Irrevocable vengeance was achieved;
Her doom was stamp'd, and could not be relieved:
There was no issue, but the narrow gate
That leads from wo to everlasting fate;
And through that darkness gleam'd a ray from heaven,
Where innocence might plead and be forgiven.
They bore, where her lord's mandate had decreed;
Senseless they bore the death-devoted bride,
One faithful maiden weeping by her side.
When life revisited her pulse again,
A burning fever throbb'd in every vein.
The seat of reason swam; the mind was hot
With some strange sense of ill, but knew not what.
She shriek'd, as one whom outrage was pursuing,
Struggling with force, and striving against ruin.
She call'd with wildness on her brother's name,
Screaming for mercy, trembling her whole frame;
Then shrunk, and hush'd each sound, and veil'd her head,
As if for safety, in her fever'd bed.
Somewhile in that still guise she would abide
With deathlike silence, fearing to be spied;
Then creeping forth, as if with cautious dread,
Talk'd in strange tone, with who had long been dead;
And sobb'd and laugh'd alternately, or smiled
With frightful mirth, unnatural, and wild.
At length the pulse wax'd feebler; and the glare
Of her bright eyes had a less ghastly stare;
She held less converse with things long gone by,
With viewless forms of those she ne'er might spy;
16
On that long night of her distracted woes:
Exhausted nature sank in short repose.
That awful pause of phrensy seem'd to steep
Her burning temples in refreshing sleep.
She oped her lids: the beauteous eyes were mild;
The accent of her voice was nothing wild;
But all around the chamber with amaze
And wonder-breathing look she seem'd to gaze,
Seeking some form familiar to her view,
Which might of memory the web renew:
But nought that she had ever known or seen
Could the mind trace in that sequester'd scene,
Save one kind mourner faithful to the last,
The only link that could recall the past,
Her sad attendant; her, with anxious eye,
Of that strange place she question'd: the reply
Was meekly given with low half-stifled breath,
“Maremma;” but in that brief word was death.
Then dawn'd upon her mind the blackest morn
Of horror, that e'er burst on wretch forlorn;
The frightful vision of the past was there,
The dread futurity of black despair;
She saw, she understood, both what had past,
What was for ever gone, and what must last.
A brother murder'd in the hour of bliss,
His death-shriek mingling with a sister's kiss:
Her fame for ever blighted; and the curse
Of her loved lord e'en clinging to her hearse:
Herself cast off, a thing for every maid
To point with scorn's proud finger, and upbraid:
17
Of blood so innocent, so madly spilt.
Absent she views (and shudders with affright)
Him raised by fancy at the dead of night.
Her terrors lend strange horror to his shape;
He seems a fiend, forbidding her escape,
And his stern countenance gigantic grown,
Livid, and cold, and stiffen'd into stone.
It was a vision, that might well renew
The burning shapes of phrensy to her view;
But the slow certainty of death behind,
Maremma's baneful prospect, soothed her mind.
Irrevocable vengeance was achieved;
Her doom was stamp'd, and could not be relieved:
There was no issue, but the narrow gate
That leads from wo to everlasting fate;
And through that darkness gleam'd a ray from heaven,
Where innocence might plead and be forgiven.
She knelt, and raised unto the God of life
A heart where feelings were no more at strife;
A heart so pure, that angels might have wept
To see how meekly every passion slept.
A heart where feelings were no more at strife;
A heart so pure, that angels might have wept
To see how meekly every passion slept.
But there was one, a stern man, by her side,
Array'd in garb of holiness, who cried,
“Daughter of sin, thy worldly dreams are past;
“Wake to repentance, while life's mercies last.
“Thy cup of guilt is measured; and the bowl,
“Mantling with passion, has o'erwhelm'd thy soul.
“Kneel for no earthly blessing! let the mind,
“Chasten'd mid sin's foul revel, be resign'd!”
Array'd in garb of holiness, who cried,
“Daughter of sin, thy worldly dreams are past;
“Wake to repentance, while life's mercies last.
“Thy cup of guilt is measured; and the bowl,
“Mantling with passion, has o'erwhelm'd thy soul.
“Kneel for no earthly blessing! let the mind,
“Chasten'd mid sin's foul revel, be resign'd!”
He ceased; a blush dyed deep her pallid cheek,
The last that ever tinged that visage meek;
But the high thoughts of innocence and pride
Swell'd for one moment, and her heart was tried:
Fluttering they pass'd, as Pia with a sigh,
Her hands on her breast folding, made reply.
The last that ever tinged that visage meek;
18
Swell'd for one moment, and her heart was tried:
Fluttering they pass'd, as Pia with a sigh,
Her hands on her breast folding, made reply.
“Father, it is not for a child of earth
“To plead before the God that gave her birth,
“As if chaste innocence from deadly sin
“Were real worth, or should give peace within:
“Helpless I bend before the throne of grace,
“And here, a weak frail being, bow my face.
“My prayer is not for happiness below:
“With hopeless heart I kiss the rod of wo.
“But by the burning blush upon my cheek,
“By my soul's anguish, and my bending meek,
“I am reproachless of that hateful guilt,
“For which my brother's stainless blood was spilt.
“I never named that brother; seven years dead,
“I thought the wild waves beat upon his head,
“And, heart-pain'd, spoke not of that vision dear,
“Whose slightest memory drew forth a tear.
“That was my wrong: perchance if he had heard
“I had a brother, he might not have err'd.
“I know there is in life no hope of good;
“My husband's judgment has been seal'd in blood.
“The limbs of him who died are in the tomb,
“Stript of life's semblance, moulder'd in their bloom.
“E'en were he living, there is no one near
“Save me, to whom his form was known and dear.
“'Tis not in human skill to wipe the stain
“Which, fix'd on Pia, must till death remain.
“I have no wish surviving, no desire,
“But to appease my God, and to expire.”
“To plead before the God that gave her birth,
“As if chaste innocence from deadly sin
“Were real worth, or should give peace within:
“Helpless I bend before the throne of grace,
“And here, a weak frail being, bow my face.
“My prayer is not for happiness below:
“With hopeless heart I kiss the rod of wo.
“But by the burning blush upon my cheek,
“By my soul's anguish, and my bending meek,
“I am reproachless of that hateful guilt,
“For which my brother's stainless blood was spilt.
“I never named that brother; seven years dead,
“I thought the wild waves beat upon his head,
“And, heart-pain'd, spoke not of that vision dear,
“Whose slightest memory drew forth a tear.
“That was my wrong: perchance if he had heard
“I had a brother, he might not have err'd.
“I know there is in life no hope of good;
“My husband's judgment has been seal'd in blood.
“The limbs of him who died are in the tomb,
“Stript of life's semblance, moulder'd in their bloom.
“E'en were he living, there is no one near
“Save me, to whom his form was known and dear.
“'Tis not in human skill to wipe the stain
“Which, fix'd on Pia, must till death remain.
“I have no wish surviving, no desire,
“But to appease my God, and to expire.”
19
'Tis said that he was stern, that holy man,
And so he seem'd, when his harsh words began;
But there is that in innocence, which bids
Soft pity's dew suffuse the sternest lids.
His look grew mild; a strong emotion made
His voice one instant falter, as he said;
And so he seem'd, when his harsh words began;
But there is that in innocence, which bids
Soft pity's dew suffuse the sternest lids.
His look grew mild; a strong emotion made
His voice one instant falter, as he said;
“Life's charms are fleeting, daughter; I believe
“Thy thoughts are chaste: nor is it thine to grieve.
“The flattering dreams of earthly joys are past,
“And in short suffering thy lot is cast.
“The storm has borne thee trembling to the view
“Of that blest haven, where all hopes are true.
“Thine heart has pass'd through pleasures, which allure
“By joy's frail path to sin, and thou art pure.
“The port of bliss is won; and shall the mind
“Reluctant stretch one longing look behind,
“Through shoals and billows to those flowery isles
“Whose treacherous sunshine flatters and beguiles?
“Repine not, gentle sufferer! but raise
“Thy thoughts to heaven with tenderness and praise!”
“Thy thoughts are chaste: nor is it thine to grieve.
“The flattering dreams of earthly joys are past,
“And in short suffering thy lot is cast.
“The storm has borne thee trembling to the view
“Of that blest haven, where all hopes are true.
“Thine heart has pass'd through pleasures, which allure
“By joy's frail path to sin, and thou art pure.
“The port of bliss is won; and shall the mind
“Reluctant stretch one longing look behind,
“Through shoals and billows to those flowery isles
“Whose treacherous sunshine flatters and beguiles?
“Repine not, gentle sufferer! but raise
“Thy thoughts to heaven with tenderness and praise!”
And Pia did not murmur; from that hour
Her bosom felt religion's healing power.
One boon she mildly ask'd, and on her cheek
The full tear trembled, and her voice was weak.
Her bosom felt religion's healing power.
One boon she mildly ask'd, and on her cheek
The full tear trembled, and her voice was weak.
“'Tis not a proud desire to leave the name,
“Which I received, untouch'd by evil fame;
“Nor sickly yearning to be mourn'd when dead
“By the dear partner of my stainless bed,
“(Though haply that fond thought might be forgiven)
“That swells my fluttering breast: except in heaven
“We may not meet; and from the eye of love
“Immortal light will there all doubts remove.
“Be it not deem'd that the last boon I crave
“Savours of wishes on this side the grave!
“But O, when Pia's form is cold and still,
“When this heart's anguish shall no longer thrill,
“Bear one sad blessing from his hapless bride
“To my loved lord, and tell him how I died.
“That mournful tale may win him to repent,
“Mercy may dawn, and vengeance may relent!”
“Which I received, untouch'd by evil fame;
“Nor sickly yearning to be mourn'd when dead
“By the dear partner of my stainless bed,
“(Though haply that fond thought might be forgiven)
“That swells my fluttering breast: except in heaven
“We may not meet; and from the eye of love
“Immortal light will there all doubts remove.
20
“Savours of wishes on this side the grave!
“But O, when Pia's form is cold and still,
“When this heart's anguish shall no longer thrill,
“Bear one sad blessing from his hapless bride
“To my loved lord, and tell him how I died.
“That mournful tale may win him to repent,
“Mercy may dawn, and vengeance may relent!”
It was a wish so sacred and so pure,
That its attainment might have seem'd secure;
But the meek spirit trembled in her breast,
As if it were to some dread judge addrest.
The boon was granted; and one care remain'd
To trace the letter, with dim tears distain'd;
But, ere the wax was cold, in saintlike mood
Her soul was settled, and weak thoughts subdued.
The world was calm around her; in thy vale,
Maremma, there was neither mirth nor wail:
But e'en that fatal stillness had a charm
For one both dead to hope and to alarm
That its attainment might have seem'd secure;
But the meek spirit trembled in her breast,
As if it were to some dread judge addrest.
The boon was granted; and one care remain'd
To trace the letter, with dim tears distain'd;
But, ere the wax was cold, in saintlike mood
Her soul was settled, and weak thoughts subdued.
The world was calm around her; in thy vale,
Maremma, there was neither mirth nor wail:
But e'en that fatal stillness had a charm
For one both dead to hope and to alarm
Disease prey'd slowly on her wasting frame;
The climate's poison mined it, and became
With the mind's suffering leagued; that tainted air
Would have defied man's skill and nicest care;
But she, without reluctancy or fear,
Imbibed the poison of the waning year.
Life faintly ebb'd; and e'en her friend inhaled
That languor, which o'er youth and health prevail'd;
For link'd in willing service to her doom
She trod the same slow journey to the tomb;
And scarce by love was strength enough supplied
To close the eyes of Pia when she died.
The climate's poison mined it, and became
With the mind's suffering leagued; that tainted air
Would have defied man's skill and nicest care;
But she, without reluctancy or fear,
Imbibed the poison of the waning year.
Life faintly ebb'd; and e'en her friend inhaled
That languor, which o'er youth and health prevail'd;
For link'd in willing service to her doom
She trod the same slow journey to the tomb;
And scarce by love was strength enough supplied
To close the eyes of Pia when she died.
21
It was upon a still and breathless eve
Her spirit seem'd about to take its leave.
The church's rites were ended; and, resign'd,
She felt sweet comfort beaming on her mind,
All that religion can of peace bestow,
To calm the heart, and soothe the throb of wo.
The holy man had spoke his latest pray'r,
Foul spirits from the bed of death to scare;
And, like grief's image, that desponding maid
Was bent in pity o'er her dying head.
Her limbs wax'd cold, though sultry was the night,
And darkness dimly grew upon her sight.
She ask'd for light, the taper's cheering ray;
But 'twas her light within that did decay:
Four tapers gleam'd, and on her features wan
Their pallid blaze, as in a death-wake, shone.
With melancholy mien and smother'd breath
Mournful they watch'd the sure approach of death;
When dark, and dimly by that light reveal'd,
A stately form half enter'd, half conceal'd:
And Pia raised her look, and (as her eye
Turn'd on that shape majestic) with a cry
So piercing, that it seem'd to rend her heart,
Uprose erect with stiff and sudden start.
In that dread agony on her bosom prest
She held the mournful scroll, love's last request;
And fell, death-smitten in that fearful throe,
Pale, cold, and lifeless, on her couch of wo.
Her spirit seem'd about to take its leave.
The church's rites were ended; and, resign'd,
She felt sweet comfort beaming on her mind,
All that religion can of peace bestow,
To calm the heart, and soothe the throb of wo.
The holy man had spoke his latest pray'r,
Foul spirits from the bed of death to scare;
And, like grief's image, that desponding maid
Was bent in pity o'er her dying head.
Her limbs wax'd cold, though sultry was the night,
And darkness dimly grew upon her sight.
She ask'd for light, the taper's cheering ray;
But 'twas her light within that did decay:
Four tapers gleam'd, and on her features wan
Their pallid blaze, as in a death-wake, shone.
With melancholy mien and smother'd breath
Mournful they watch'd the sure approach of death;
When dark, and dimly by that light reveal'd,
A stately form half enter'd, half conceal'd:
And Pia raised her look, and (as her eye
Turn'd on that shape majestic) with a cry
So piercing, that it seem'd to rend her heart,
Uprose erect with stiff and sudden start.
In that dread agony on her bosom prest
She held the mournful scroll, love's last request;
And fell, death-smitten in that fearful throe,
Pale, cold, and lifeless, on her couch of wo.
It was himself, that wretched man of blood;
Like a dumb spectre Della Pietra stood
At his wife's feet: the beautiful, the meek,
Lay lapt in death, no more to move or speak.
Came he with deadly views? The work was done,
The race of innocence was past and won.
Came he repentant, doubtful of his end?
Too fond for murder, and too proud to bend?
It matters little, whether thoughts he bore
Darkling with hate, or whether he forbore.
His face was muffled; and they could not spy
The feelings which there strove for mastery;
The scathed, the desolate, and ghastly look:
But they could see how fierce the passion shook
His limbs, (as if the fever's shivering fit
Convulsed them) and the strange wild gleam that lit
His fixt eye gazing on that lovely shape,
Whose spirit from his wrath had made escape.
The scroll was by her hand; with doubtful dread,
Trembling he tore its covering, and read.
Like a dumb spectre Della Pietra stood
At his wife's feet: the beautiful, the meek,
Lay lapt in death, no more to move or speak.
22
The race of innocence was past and won.
Came he repentant, doubtful of his end?
Too fond for murder, and too proud to bend?
It matters little, whether thoughts he bore
Darkling with hate, or whether he forbore.
His face was muffled; and they could not spy
The feelings which there strove for mastery;
The scathed, the desolate, and ghastly look:
But they could see how fierce the passion shook
His limbs, (as if the fever's shivering fit
Convulsed them) and the strange wild gleam that lit
His fixt eye gazing on that lovely shape,
Whose spirit from his wrath had made escape.
The scroll was by her hand; with doubtful dread,
Trembling he tore its covering, and read.
“Fate is fulfill'd: thy Pia's soul is gone
“To yield account before its Maker's throne.
“Her life is past, a tale of sorrow told;
“The breast, that pillow'd once thine head, is cold.
“All, that blind anger will'd, has been achieved;
“Now, only now, may Pia be believed:
“Without suspicion the proud heart may hear
“The voice that whispers from the lowly bier.
“Loved husband, start not; let the beam of truth
“With mild conviction win thy soul to ruth!
“Let thy strong mind from passion's cloud be freed!
“Thy Pia lives not for herself to plead.
“But, by the cross of Him who meekly died
“To bear our sins and humble human pride!
“By that dread throne, unto whose radiant light
“Thy spirit soon must wing its trembling flight,
“At life's still close, when passion's storm is o'er!
“By the pure vows which to thy love I swore!
“It is a brother's blood that stains thy blade;
“Upon a guiltless wife thy curse is laid.
“Chaste, uncorrupted, innocent of aught
“That touch'd thine honour even by a thought,
“Thy Pia died; of all life's charms bereft,
“But the dear memory of the bliss she left.
“Her joys but bloom'd and flourish'd in thy sight:
“Absent, they mourn'd from very lack of light.
“But, O! loved husband, in the tenderest hour
“When our hearts throbb'd and fondest thoughts had power,
“Was e'er my love so free, my wish so wild,
“That thou shouldst deem me passion's lawless child?
“Could Pia's breast have woo'd man's rude approach?
“I write to bless thee,—and will not reproach.
“The scene of life is closed: and now thy heart
“Will yield me justice, and in love we part.
“We part, O grant it heav'n! to meet in joy,
“Where no false doubts confiding faith destroy.
“To yield account before its Maker's throne.
“Her life is past, a tale of sorrow told;
“The breast, that pillow'd once thine head, is cold.
“All, that blind anger will'd, has been achieved;
“Now, only now, may Pia be believed:
“Without suspicion the proud heart may hear
“The voice that whispers from the lowly bier.
“Loved husband, start not; let the beam of truth
“With mild conviction win thy soul to ruth!
“Let thy strong mind from passion's cloud be freed!
“Thy Pia lives not for herself to plead.
“But, by the cross of Him who meekly died
“To bear our sins and humble human pride!
“By that dread throne, unto whose radiant light
“Thy spirit soon must wing its trembling flight,
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“By the pure vows which to thy love I swore!
“It is a brother's blood that stains thy blade;
“Upon a guiltless wife thy curse is laid.
“Chaste, uncorrupted, innocent of aught
“That touch'd thine honour even by a thought,
“Thy Pia died; of all life's charms bereft,
“But the dear memory of the bliss she left.
“Her joys but bloom'd and flourish'd in thy sight:
“Absent, they mourn'd from very lack of light.
“But, O! loved husband, in the tenderest hour
“When our hearts throbb'd and fondest thoughts had power,
“Was e'er my love so free, my wish so wild,
“That thou shouldst deem me passion's lawless child?
“Could Pia's breast have woo'd man's rude approach?
“I write to bless thee,—and will not reproach.
“The scene of life is closed: and now thy heart
“Will yield me justice, and in love we part.
“We part, O grant it heav'n! to meet in joy,
“Where no false doubts confiding faith destroy.
“Lorn heart, despair not, nor for me repine!
“My pangs are past, and they were light to thine.
“But thou, though reft of bliss, thy course pursue,
“Through life's sad vale to faith and virtue true!
“Raise the deep anguish of thy struggling grief
“To heaven's blest mercy, and there find relief.
“My pangs are past, and they were light to thine.
“But thou, though reft of bliss, thy course pursue,
“Through life's sad vale to faith and virtue true!
“Raise the deep anguish of thy struggling grief
“To heaven's blest mercy, and there find relief.
“One boon, one trembling prayer! before I close
“Grief's latest scroll, and sink in death's repose.
“O best beloved, the glory of thy bride,
“In life my hope, my blessing, and my pride!
“Whene'er strife wakes, and angry passions stir,
“Remember Pia! let the thoughts of her,
“Whom wrath, too hasty, to the tomb has sent,
“Win thy stern heart to mercy!—and relent!”
“Grief's latest scroll, and sink in death's repose.
“O best beloved, the glory of thy bride,
“In life my hope, my blessing, and my pride!
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“Remember Pia! let the thoughts of her,
“Whom wrath, too hasty, to the tomb has sent,
“Win thy stern heart to mercy!—and relent!”
| Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert | |