Art and Fashion :: :: University of Virginia Library

[Torquato Tasso, one of the most celebrated poets that Italy ever produced, was born at Sorrento in 1544. His works show him to have been a philosopher, an orator, a logician, a critic, and a poet, excelling in every kind of composition. While he was at the court of Alphonso, Duke of Ferrara, he incurred that prince's anger by his passion for the Princess Leonora of Este, his patron's sister; and being somewhat disordered in his intellect, he was ungenerously shut up in a madhouse for seven years, where he underwent the most illiberal treatment. Tasso himself says that every rigour and inhumanity it is possible to conceive were practised towards him. The remonstrances of several Italian princes at length procured his release; and when Cardinal Aldobrandini ascended the papal chair by the name of Clement VIII., he invited him to Rome, resolving to confer upon him the laureate crown in the Capitol. While, however, the preparations were going on for this ceremony with the greatest magnificence and pomp—promising to be the most splendid pageant beheld in Italy for centuries—Tasso was taken ill, and died in 1595.]

'Twas in the minstrel clime of Italy,
The hour which marries twilight to the stars;
When Memory speaks to Beauty, and the air
Seems languishing for silence; at that hour,

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Beside a classic fount, whose broken arch
Portray'd the poet's fortune, Tasso slept.
The dying day oft through the parted clouds
Shot sudden gleams, and o'er the slumberer's cheek
Now light, now shadow swept; and haply these
Might touch or influence the poet's dream;
For, as he said, two spirits sought his side,
And each, alternate, pictured to his mind
Visions immortal. Fame and Truth were they,
And thus address'd the poet's slumbering ear:—
SPIRIT OF FAME.

It is the voice of Fame
Which greets thee on her flight;
The star that shall illume thy name
Now trembles into light:
Around thee glories wait
In long triumphal line;
The classic throne, its crown and state,
Laurel and lyre, are thine.

Thrill, soul of song, with fire!
Pour, heart of love, thy lay!
Hopes that immortal minds inspire
Shed triumph on thy way.

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The eternal hours prolong
The music of thy name;
Wake, Tasso, wake! thou heir of song!
It is the voice of Fame.

SPIRIT OF TRUTH.

Avoid that syren voice,
Shun the betrayer's tongue;
When did the laurel e'er rejoice
One victim heart of song!
Soar thou the topmost height,
Attain the classic leaf,
But know the hours of loftiest flight
Are ever the most brief.

Go, waste thy bloom of years
To grace a monarch's state,
And nourish Fame's frail flowers with tears,
And learn repentance late!
Go, court the vain of earth,
Seek praise from Beauty's eyes;
Then learn how little is the worth
Of that thy soul did prize!

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SPIRIT OF FAME.

Oh, charm'd thy lyre shall be,
And fill'd with power to move
The loftiest minds to chivalry,
The noblest hearts to love;
And they on whose renown
A nation's shouts attend
Shall be the first thy lyre to crown,
The first to call thee friend.

The tournament and feast,
The banquet and the ball,
These of thine honours shall be least,
Thy fame transcend them all:
The proud and princely throng
Shall worship at thy shrine,
Assert the sovereignty of song,
And own its gifts divine.

SPIRIT OF TRUTH.

Oh, fickle is the breath
Of popular acclaim;
And purchased often but by death
Is an illustrious name!

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Fame, like the rainbow's glow,
Is but the type of tears;
And Glory's harvest, like the snow,
Dissolves and disappears.

The envy and the scorn,
The penury and pain—
Oh, better hadst thou ne'er been born
Than wake the poet's strain!
That voice doth but deceive:
Avoid ambition's goal,
Nor let the fire of fancy leave
Its ashes on thy soul.

SPIRIT OF FAME.

Great Rome shall hail thee son!
Link'd with the glorious twain,
With triumphs Ariosto won,
With Dante's matchless strain;
For unto thee are given
The thoughts that angels breathe;
And Tasso's song of heaven
The light of hosts shall wreathe.

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The loveliest of the land,
The high-born and the young,
Shall deem it fame to kiss the hand
That wrote Jerusalem's song.
Shake off this soulless thrall,
And arm for victory's field;
When beauty, love, and glory call,
Can Tasso's spirit yield?

SPIRIT OF TRUTH.

Hark! 'tis the captive's shriek,
A voice that loads the air
With wrongs too terrible to speak,
With madness and despair.
It tells of genius lost,
Of beauty unattain'd,
Of love pursued at reason's cost,
Of glory sunk and stain'd.

Dimm'd is that noble mind
That wing'd to heaven its flight;
The frenzied eyes, far worse than blind,
Blaze with delirious light:
That hand, the Muse inspired,
'Gainst phantom-horror strives;

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Now starts from hell's imagined fires,
Now flees the maniac's gyves.

SPIRIT OF FAME.

The imperial streets resound,
Rome's banners wave on high,
And garlands belt the classic ground,
As though a king swept by.
The hero-bard ascends
His coronation throne;
And hark! is that a shout which rends
Those oracles of stone?

The choral voices float
In hymns of joy and praise,
Cittern, and lyre, and clarion note,
Their lofty triumph raise;
The Capitolian throng
With music sound thy name;
Wake, Tasso, wake! thou heir of song!
It is the voice of Fame.

SPIRIT OF TRUTH.

By St. Onofrio's shrine
Dark sounds of grief arise;

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And weeping eyes in woe decline
Where a dying minstrel lies.
Ah, what are shows or state
To that pale drooping head?
The tardy triumph comes too late
Which comes to crown the dead.

Can Rome's proud chaplets now
One meed of grace impart?
Can Fame relieve the anguish'd brow,
Or bind the broken heart?
With misery rack'd and bow'd
Illustrious Tasso lies;
And what avail the applauding crowd,
Or shouts that rend the skies?

And is't for this reward
Thou'lt spend thy soul's rich power!
Alas, unhappy bard,
Thine is a fatal dower!
Yet when were hearts e'er found
By Fame's proud breath unstirr'd?
Woe that Delusion should be crown'd,
And Truth so little heard!