The Works of Lord Byron, Volume 4

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[151] [The "revised version" makes no further mention of the "key and
casket;" but in the first draft (_vide infra_, p. 122) they were used by
Manfred in calling up Astaroth (_Selections from Byron_, New York, 1900,
p. 370).]

[152] {120}[Byron may have had in his mind a sentence in a letter of C.
Cassius to Cicero (_Epist.,_ xv. 19), in which he says, "It is difficult
to persuade men that goodness is desirable for its own sake ([Greek: to\
kalo\n di) au)to\ ai(reto\n]); and yet it is true, and may be proved,
that pleasure and calm are won by virtue, justice, in a word by goodness
([Greek: to~| kalo~|])."]

[153] St. Maurice is in the Rhone valley, some sixteen miles from
Villeneuve. The abbey (now occupied by Augustinian monks) was founded in
the fourth century, and endowed by Sigismund, King of Burgundy.

[154] {121}[Thus far the text stands as originally written. The rest of
the scene as given in the first MS. is as follows:--

_Abbot_. Then, hear and tremble! For the headstrong wretch
Who in the mail of innate hardihood
Would shield himself, and battle for his sins,
There is the stake on earth--and beyond earth
Eternal--

_Man_. Charity, most reverend father,
Becomes thy lips so much more than this menace,
That I would call thee back to it: but say,
What would'st thou with me?

_Abbot_. It may be there are
Things that would shake thee--but I keep them back,
And give thee till to-morrow to repent. 10
Then if thou dost not all devote thyself
To penance, and with gift of all thy lands
To the Monastery----

_Man_. I understand thee,--well!

_Abbot_. Expect no mercy; I have warned thee.

_Man_. (_opening the casket_). Stop--
There is a gift for thee within this casket.
[MANFRED _opens the casket, strikes a light, and
burns some incense._
Ho! Ashtaroth!

_The_ DEMON ASHTAROTH _appears, singing as follows:--_

The raven sits
On the Raven-stone,[*]
And his black wing flits
O'er the milk--white bone; 20
To and fro, as the night--winds blow,
The carcass of the assassin swings;
And there alone, on the Raven-stone,
The raven flaps his dusky wings.

The fetters creak--and his ebon beak
Croaks to the close of the hollow sound;
And this is the tune, by the light of the Moon,
To which the Witches dance their round--
Merrily--merrily--cheerily--cheerily--
Merrily--merrily--speeds the ball: 30
The dead in their shrouds, and the Demons in clouds,
Flock to the Witches' Carnival.

_Abbot_. I fear thee not--hence--hence--
Avaunt thee, evil One!--help, ho! without there!

_Man_. Convey this man to the Shreckhorn--to its peak--
To its extremest peak--watch with him there
From now till sunrise; let him gaze, and know
He ne'er again will be so near to Heaven.
But harm him not; and, when the morrow breaks,
Set him down safe in his cell--away with him! 40

_Ash_. Had I not better bring his brethren too,
Convent and all, to bear him company?

_Man_. No, this will serve for the present. Take him up.

_Ash_. Come, Friar! now an exorcism or two,
And we shall fly the lighter.

ASHTAROTH _disappears with the_ ABBOT, _singing as follows:_--

A prodigal son, and a maid undone,[Sec.]
And a widow re-wedded within the year;
And a worldly monk, and a pregnant nun,
Are things which every day appear.

MANFRED _alone._

_Man_. Why would this fool break in on me, and force 50
My art to pranks fantastical?--no matter,
It was not of my seeking. My heart sickens,
And weighs a fixed foreboding on my soul.
But it is calm--calm as a sullen sea
After the hurricane; the winds are still,
But the cold waves swell high and heavily,
And there is danger in them. Such a rest
Is no repose. My life hath been a combat,
And every thought a wound, till I am scarred
In the immortal part of me.--What now?] 60

[*] "Raven-stone (Rabenstein), a translation of the German word for the
gibbet, which in Germany and Switzerland is permanent, and made of
stone." [Compare _Werner,_ act ii. sc. 2. Compare, too, Anster's
_Faust,_ 1883, p. 306.]

[Sec.]
_A prodigal son--and a pregnant nun, nun,_
_And a widow re-wedded within the year--_
_And a calf at grass--and a priest at mass._
_Are things which every day appear_.--[MS. erased.]

[155] {122}[A supplementary MS. supplies the text for the remainder of
the scene.]

[156] {124}[For the death of Nero, "Rome's sixth Emperor," _vide_ _C.
Suet. Tranq_., lib. vi. cap. xlix.]

[bd]

/ _not loss of life, but_ \
_To shun_ < > _public death_--[MS. M]
\ _the torments of a_ /

[157] [A reminiscence of the clouds of spray from the Fall of the
Staubbach, which, in certain aspects, appear to be springing upwards
from the bed of the waterfall.]

[158] {125}[Compare _The Giaour,_ lines 282-284. Compare, too, _Don
Juan,_ Canto IV. stanza lvii. line 8.]

[159] [Here, as in so many other passages of _Manfred,_ Byron is
recording his own feelings and forebodings. The same note is struck in
the melancholy letters of the autumn of 1811. See, for example, the
letter to Dallas, October 11, "It seems as though I were to experience
in my youth the greatest misery of age," etc. (_Letters,_ 1898, ii.
52).]

[160] {126}["Pray, was Manfred's speech to _the Sun_ still retained in
Act third? I hope so: it was one of the best in the thing, and better
than the Colosseum."--Letter to Murray, July 9, 1817, _Letters_, 1900,
iv. 147. Compare Byron's early rendering of "Ossian's Address to the Sun
'in Carthon.'"--_Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 229.]

[161] {127} "And it came to pass, that the _Sons of God_ saw the
daughters of men, that they were fair," etc.--"There were giants in the
earth in those days; and also after that, when the _Sons of God_ came in
unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same
became mighty men which were of old, men of renown."--_Genesis_, ch. vi.
verses 2 and 4.

[162] [For the "Chaldeans" and "mountain-tops," see _Childe Harold_,
Canto III, stanza xiv. line i, and stanza xci. lines 1-3.]

[be] {129}_Some strange things in these far years_.--[MS. M.]

[163] [The Grosse Eiger is a few miles to the south of the Castle of
Unspunnen.]

[164] The remainder of the act in its original shape, ran thus--

_Her_. Look--look--the tower--
The tower's on fire. Oh, heavens and earth! what sound,
What dreadful sound is that? [_A crash like thunder_.

_Manuel_. Help, help, there!--to the rescue of the Count,--
The Count's in danger,--what ho! there! approach!
[_The Servants, Vassals, and Peasantry approach
stupifed with terror_.
If there be any of you who have heart
And love of human kind, and will to aid
Those in distress--pause not--but follow me--
The portal's open, follow. [MANUEL _goes in_.

_Her_. Come--who follows?
What, none of ye?--ye recreants! shiver then 10
Without. I will not see old Manuel risk
His few remaining years unaided. [HERMAN _goes in_.

_Vassal_. Hark!--
No--all is silent--not a breath--the flame
Which shot forth such a blaze is also gone:
What may this mean? Let's enter!

_Peasant_. Faith, not I,--
Not but, if one, or two, or more, will join,
I then will stay behind; but, for my part,
I do not see precisely to what end.
_Vassal_. Cease your vain prating--come.

_Manuel_ (_speaking within_). 'Tis all in vain--
He's dead.

_Her_. (_within_). Not so--even now methought he moved; 20
But it is dark--so bear him gently out--
Softly--how cold he is! take care of his temples
In winding down the staircase.

_Re-enter_ MANUEL _and_ HERMAN, _bearing_ MANFRED _in their arms_.

_Manuel_. Hie to the castle, some of ye, and bring
What aid you can. Saddle the barb, and speed
For the leech to the city--quick! some water there!

_Her_. His cheek is black--but there is a faint beat
Still lingering about the heart. Some water.
[_They sprinkle_ MANFRED _with water: after a pause,
he gives some signs of life_.

_Manuel_. He seems to strive to speak--come--cheerly, Count!
He moves his lips--canst hear him! I am old, 30
And cannot catch faint sounds.
[HERMAN _inclining his head and listening_.

_Her_. I hear a word
Or two--but indistinctly--what is next?
What's to be done? let's bear him to the castle.
[MANFRED _motions with his hand not to remove him_.

_Manuel_. He disapproves--and 'twere of no avail--
He changes rapidly.

_Her_. 'Twill soon be over.

_Manuel_. Oh! what a death is this! that I should live
To shake my gray hairs over the last chief
Of the house of Sigismund.--And such a death!
Alone--we know not how--unshrived--untended--
With strange accompaniments and fearful signs-- 40
I shudder at the sight--but must not leave him.

_Manfred_ (_speaking faintly and slowly_).
Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die.
[MANFRED, _having said this, expires_.

_Her_. His eyes are fixed and lifeless.--He is gone.--

_Manuel_. Close them.--My old hand quivers.--He departs--
Whither? I dread to think--but he is gone!

End of Act Third, and of the poem."]

[bf] {131}_Sirrah! I command thee_.--[MS.]

[165] [Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto III. stanza lxxxvi. line 1; stanza
lxxxix. lines 1, 2; and stanza xc. lines 1, 2.]

[166] ["Drove at midnight to see the Coliseum by moonlight: but what can
I say of the Coliseum? It must be _seen_; to describe it I should have
thought impossible, if I had not read _Manfred_.... His [Byron's]
description is the very thing itself; but what cannot he do on such a
subject, when his pen is like the wand of Moses, whose touch can produce
waters even from the barren rock?"--Matthews's _Diary of an Invalid_,
1820, pp. 158, 159. (Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanzas
cxxviii.-cxxxi.)]

[167] {132}[Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanzas cvi.-cix.]

[168] [For "begun," compare _Don Juan_, Canto II. stanza clxvii. line
1.]

[169] {133}[Compare--

" ... but his face
Deep scars of thunder had intrenched."

_Paradise Lost_, i. 600.]

[bg] _Summons_----.-[MS. M.]

[170] {135}

["The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."

_Paradise Lost_, i. 254, 255.]

[171] {136}[In the first edition (p. 75), this line was left out at
Gifford's suggestion (_Memoirs, etc.,_ 1891, i. 387). Byron was
indignant, and wrote to Murray, August 12, 1817 (_Letters,_ 1900, iv.
157), "You have destroyed the whole effect and moral of the poem, by
omitting the last line of Manfred's speaking."]

[172] [For Goethes translation of the following passages in
_Manfred_, viz (i) Manfred's soliloquy, act 1. sc. 1, line 1 _seq._; (ii)
"The Incantation." act i. sc. 1, lines 192-261; (iii)Manfred's
soliloquy, act ii, sc. 2 lines 164-204; (iv.) the duologue between
Manfred and Astarte, act ii. sc. 4, lines 116-155; (v) a couplet, "For
the night hath been to me," etc., act iii. sc. 4, lines 3, 4;--see
Professor A. Brandl's _Goethe-Jahrbuch._ 1899, and Goethe's _Werke,_
1874, iii. 201, as quoted in Appendix II., _Letters,_ 1901. v. 503-514.]

THE LAMENT OF TASSO.

INTRODUCTION TO _THE LAMENT OF TASSO_.

The MS. of the _Lament of Tasso_ is dated April 20, 1817. It was
despatched from Florence April 23, and reached England May 12 (see
_Memoir of John Murray_, 1891, i. 384). Proofs reached Byron June 7, and
the poem was published July 17, 1817.

"It was," he writes (April 26), "written in consequence of my having
been lately in Ferrara." Again, writing from Rome (May 5, 1817), he asks
if the MS. has arrived, and adds, "I look upon it as a 'These be good
rhymes,' as Pope's papa said to him when he was a boy" (_Letters_, 1900,
iv. 112-115). Two months later he reverted to the theme of Tasso's
ill-treatment at the hands of Duke Alphonso, in the memorable stanzas
xxxv.-xxxix. of the Fourth Canto of _Childe Harold_ (_Poetical Works_,
1899, ii. 354-359; and for examination of the circumstances of Tasso's
imprisonment in the Hospital of Sant' Anna, _vide ibid._, pp. 355, 356,
note 1).

Notices of the _Lament of Tasso_ appeared in the _Gentleman's Magazine_,
August, 1817, vol. 87, pp. 150, 151; in _The Scot's Magazine_, August,
1817, N.S., vol. i. pp. 48, 49; and a eulogistic but uncritical review
in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, November, 1817, vol. ii. pp.
142-144.

ADVERTISEMENT

At Ferrara, in the Library, are preserved the original MSS. of Tasso's
Gierusalemme[173] 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 hospital 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.[174]

THE LAMENT OF TASSO.[175]

I.

Long years!--It tries the thrilling frame to bear
And eagle-spirit of a Child of Song--
Long years of outrage--calumny--and wrong;
Imputed madness, prisoned solitude,[176]
And the Mind's canker in its savage mood,
When the impatient thirst of light and air
Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate,
Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade,
Works through the throbbing eyeball to the brain,
With a hot sense of heaviness and pain; 10
And bare, at once, Captivity displayed
Stands scoffing through the never-opened 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,
Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave
Which is my lair, and--it may be--my grave.
All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear,
But must be borne. I stoop not to despair; 20
For I have battled with mine agony,
And made me wings wherewith to overfly
The narrow circus of my dungeon wall,
And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall;
And revelled among men and things divine,
And poured my spirit over Palestine,[177]
In honour of the sacred war for Him,
The God who was on earth and is in Heaven,
For He has strengthened me in heart and limb.
That through this sufferance I might be forgiven, 30
I have employed my penance to record
How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored.

II.

But this is o'er--my pleasant task is done:--[178]
My long-sustaining Friend of many years!
If I do blot thy final page with tears,[179]
Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none.
But Thou, my young creation! my Soul's child!
Which ever playing round me came and smiled,
And wooed me from myself with thy sweet sight,
Thou too art gone--and so is my delight: 40
And therefore do I weep and inly bleed
With this last bruise upon a broken reed.
Thou too art ended--what is left me now?
For I have anguish yet to bear--and how?
I know not that--but in the innate force
Of my own spirit shall be found resource.
I have not sunk, for I had no remorse,
Nor cause for such: they called me mad--and why?
Oh Leonora! wilt not thou reply?[180]
I was indeed delirious in my heart 50
To lift my love so lofty as thou art;
But still my frenzy was not of the mind:
I knew my fault, and feel my punishment
Not less because I suffer it unbent.
That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind,
Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind;
But let them go, or torture as they will,
My heart can multiply thine image still;
Successful Love may sate itself away;
The wretched are the faithful; 't is their fate 60
To have all feeling, save the one, decay,
And every passion into one dilate,
As rapid rivers into Ocean pour;
But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.

III.

Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry
Of minds and bodies in captivity.
And hark! the lash and the increasing howl,
And the half-inarticulate blasphemy!
There be some here with worse than frenzy foul,
Some who do still goad on the o'er-laboured mind, 70
And dim the little light that's left behind
With needless torture, as their tyrant Will
Is wound up to the lust of doing ill:[181]
With these and with their victims am I classed,
'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have passed;
'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close:
So let it be--for then I shall repose.

IV.

I have been patient, let me be so yet;
I had forgotten half I would forget,
But it revives--Oh! would it were my lot 80
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,
Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankind;
Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows,
And each is tortured in his separate hell--
For we are crowded in our solitudes--
Many, but each divided by the wall,
Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods; 90
While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's call--
None! save that One, the veriest wretch of all,
Who was not made to be the mate of these,
Nor bound between Distraction and Disease.
Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here?
Who have debased me in the minds of men,
Debarring me the usage of my own,
Blighting my life in best of its career,
Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear?
Would I not pay them back these pangs again, 100
And teach them inward Sorrow's stifled groan?
The struggle to be calm, and cold distress,
Which undermines our Stoical success?
No!--still too proud to be vindictive--I
Have pardoned Princes' insults, and would die.
Yes, Sister of my Sovereign! for thy sake
I weed all bitterness from out my breast,
It hath no business where _thou_ art a guest:
Thy brother hates--but I can not detest;
Thou pitiest not--but I can not forsake. 110

V.

Look on a love which knows not to despair,
But all unquenched is still my better part,
Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart,
As dwells the gathered lightning in its cloud,
Encompassed with its dark and rolling shroud,
Till struck,--forth flies the all-ethereal dart!
And thus at the collision of thy name
The vivid thought still flashes through my frame,
And for a moment all things as they were
Flit by me;--they are gone--I am the same. 120
And yet my love without ambition grew;
I knew thy state--my station--and I knew
A Princess was no love-mate for a bard;[182]
I told it not--I breathed it not[183]--it was
Sufficient to itself, its own reward;
And if my eyes revealed it, they, alas!
Were punished by the silentness of thine,
And yet I did not venture to repine.
Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine,
Worshipped at holy distance, and around 130
Hallowed and meekly kissed the saintly ground;
Not for thou wert a Princess, but that Love
Had robed thee with a glory, and arrayed
Thy lineaments in beauty that dismayed--
Oh! not dismayed--but awed, like One above!
And in that sweet severity[184] there was
A something which all softness did surpass--
I know not how--thy Genius mastered mine--
My Star stood still before thee:--if it were
Presumptuous thus to love without design, 140
That sad fatality hath cost me dear;
But thou art dearest still, and I should be
Fit for this cell, which wrongs me--but for _thee_.
The very love which locked me to my chain
Hath lightened half its weight; and for the rest,
Though heavy, lent me vigour to sustain,
And look to thee with undivided breast,
And foil the ingenuity of Pain.

VI.

It is no marvel--from my very birth
My soul was drunk with Love,--which did pervade 150
And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth:
Of objects all inanimate I made
Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers,
And rocks, whereby they grew, a Paradise,
Where I did lay me down within the shade
Of waving trees, and dreamed uncounted hours,
Though I was chid for wandering; and the Wise
Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said
Of such materials wretched men were made,
And such a truant boy would end in woe, 160
And that the only lesson was a blow;[185]--
And then they smote me, and I did not weep,
But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt
Returned and wept alone, and dreamed again
The visions which arise without a sleep.
And with my years my soul began to pant
With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain;
And the whole heart exhaled into One Want,
But undefined and wandering, till the day
I found the thing I sought--and that was thee; 170
And then I lost my being, all to be
Absorbed in thine;--the world was past away;--
_Thou_ didst annihilate the earth to me!

VII.

I loved all Solitude--but little thought
To spend I know not what of life, remote
From all communion with existence, save
The maniac and his tyrant;--had I been
Their fellow, many years ere this had seen
My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave.[bh]
But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave? 180
Perchance in such a cell we suffer more
Than the wrecked sailor on his desert shore;
The world is all before him--_mine_ is _here_,
Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier.
What though _he_ perish, he may lift his eye,
And with a dying glance upbraid the sky;
I will not raise my own in such reproof,
Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof.

VIII.

Yet do I feel at times my mind decline,[186]
But with a sense of its decay: I see 190
Unwonted lights along my prison shine,
And a strange Demon,[187] who is vexing me
With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below
The feeling of the healthful and the free;
But much to One, who long hath suffered so,
Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place,
And all that may be borne, or can debase.
I thought mine enemies had been but Man,
But Spirits may be leagued with them--all Earth
Abandons--Heaven forgets me;--in the dearth 200
Of such defence the Powers of Evil can--
It may be--tempt me further,--and prevail
Against the outworn creature they assail.
Why in this furnace is my spirit proved,
Like steel in tempering fire? because I loved?
Because I loved what not to love, and see,
Was more or less than mortal, and than me.