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AT Ferrara (in the library) are preserved the original MSS. of Tasso's Gierusalemme and of Guarini's Pastor Fido, with letters of Tasso, one from Titian to Ariosto; and the inkstand and chair, the tomb and the house of the latter. But as misfortune has a greater interest for posterity, and little or none for the cotemporary, the cell where Tasso was confined in the hos pital of St. Anna attracts a more fixed attention than the residence or the monument of Ariosto-at least it had this effect on me. There are two inscriptions, one on the outer gate, the second over the cell itself, inviting, unnecessarily, the wonder and the indignation of the spectator. Ferrara is much decayed, and depopulated; the castle still exists entire; and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were beheaded, according to the annal of Gibbon.
LAMENT OF TASSO.
LONG years!-It tries the thrilling frame to bear
Long years of outrage, calumny, and wrong;
And the mind's canker in its savage mood,
And bare, at once, Captivity display'd
Stands scoffing through the never-open'd gate,
Which nothing through its bars admits, save day
And tasteless food, which I have eat alone
Till its unsocial bitterness is gone;
And I can banquet like a beast of prey,
Which is my lair, and—it may be-my grave.
All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear,
The God who was on earth and is in heaven,
How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored.
But this is o'er-my pleasant task is done :-
Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none.
Nor cause for such: they call'd me mad-and why?
Oh Leonora! wilt not thou reply?
I was indeed delirious in my heart
To lift my love so lofty as thou art;
I knew my fault, and feel my punishment
That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind,
The wretched are the faithful; 'tis their fate
As rapid rivers into ocean pour;
But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.
Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry
And hark! the lash and the increasing howl,
There be some here with worse than frenzy foul,
Some who do still goad on the o'er-labour'd mind,
With needless torture, as their tyrant will
Is wound up to the lust of doing ill:
With these and with their victims am I class'd,
'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have
my life may close :
'Mid sights and sounds like these So let it be for then I shall repose.
I have been patient, let me be so yet;
I had forgotten half I would forget,
To be forgetful as I am forgot!
Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell
In this vast lazar-house of many woes ?
Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind,
Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods ;-
Blighting my life in best of its career,
Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear?