If thou would'st have me, Tasso, listen to thee,
Restrain this fervid glow, which frightens me.
Restrains the goblet's rim the bubbling wine
That sparkling foams, and overflows its bounds?
Thine ev'ry word doth elevate my bliss,
With ev'ry word more brightly gleams thine eye.
Over my spirit's depths there comes a change;
Reliev'd from dark perplexity, I feel
Free as a god, and all I owe to thee!
A charm unspeakable, which masters me,
Flows from thy lips. Thou makest me all thine.
Of mine own being nought belongs to me.
Mine eye grows dim in the excess of light,
My senses fail me; I can scarcely stand.
Thou draw'st me to thee with resistless might,
And my heart rushes self-impell'd to thee.
Thou'st won me now for all eternity,
Then take my whole of being to thyself.
[He throws himself into her arms, and clasps her to his bosom.]
(Throwing him from her and retiring in haste.)
(Who has for some time appeared in the back ground, hastening forward.) What then has happen'd? Tasso! Tasso!
[She follows the Princess.
TASSO (about to follow her).
(Who has for some time been approaching with Antonio.)
He is distracted, hold him fast.
If that a foeman,-as thou deem'st thyself
Environ'd by a multitude of foes
Beside thee stood, how would he triumph now?
Unhappy man? I am not yet myself!
When something quite unparallel'd occurs,
When something monstrous first arrests our sight,
The stagger'd spirit stands a moment still,
For we know nothing to compare it with.
TASSO (after a long pause).
Fulfil thine office, I perceive 'tis thou!
Ay, thou deserv'st the Prince's confidence.
Fulfil thine office, since my doom is seal'd,
With ling'ring tortures, torture me to death!
Draw! draw the shaft, that I may feel the barb,
That lacerates, with cruel pangs, my heart!
The tyrant's precious instrument art thou;
Ay, be his gaoler,-executioner,-
For these are offices become thee well!
Yes, tyrant, go! Tbou could's not to the last
Thy wonted mask retain; in triumph go!
Thy slave thou hast well pinion'd, and reserv'd
For pre-determin'd and protracted pangs.
Yes, go! I hate thee. In my heart I feel
The horror which despotic power excites,
When it is grasping, cruel, and unjust.
Thus, then, at last I see myself exil'd,
Turn'd off, and thrust forth, like a mendicant !
Thus they with garlands wreath'd me, but to lead
The victim to the shrine of sacrifice!
Thus, at the very last, with cunning words,
They drew from me my only property,
My poem,-ay, and they'll retain it, too!
Now is my one possession in their hands,
My bright credential wheresoe'er I went;
My sole resource 'gainst biting poverty!
Ay, now I see why I must take mine ease.
'Tis a conspiracy, and thou the head.
Thus that my song may not be perfected,
That my renown may ne'er be spread abroad,
That envy still may find a thousand faults,
Oh, precious friendship! Kind solicitude!
Odious appear'd the dark conspiracy
Which ceaseless round me wove its viewless web,
But still more odious does it now appear!
And, thou too, Siren! who so tenderly
Did'st lead me on with thy celestial mien,
Thee now I know! Wherefore, oh God, so late!
But we so willingly deceive ourselves,
Still hon'ring reprobates that honour us.
True men are never to each other known;
Such knowledge is reserv'd for galley-slaves
Chain'd to a narrow plank, who gasp for breath,
Where none hath aught to ask, nor aught to lose,
But for a rascal each avows himself,
And holds his neighbour for a rascal too,
Such men as these perchance may know each other.
But for the rest, we courteously misjudge them,
In hopes that they'll misjudge us in return.
How long thine hallow'd image from my gaze
Veil'd the coquette, working, with paltry arts!
The mask has fallen !-Now I see Armida
Denuded of her charms,-yes, thou art she,
Of whom my bodeful verse prophetic sang !
And then the little, cunning go-between !
With what profound contempt I view her now!
I hear the rustling of her stealthy step,
As round me still she spreads her artful toils.
Ay, now I know you! And let that suffice!
And misery, though it beggar me of all,
I'll honour still,—for it hath taught me truth.
I hear thee with amazement, though I know
How thy rash humour, Tasso, urges thee
To rush in haste to opposite extremes.
Collect thy spirit and command thy rage!
Thou speakest slander, dost indulge in words
Which to thine anguish though they be forgiven,
Thou never can'st forgive unto thyself.
Oh, speak not to me with a gentle lip,
Let me not hear one prudent word from thee!
Leave me my sullen happiness, that I
May not regain my senses, but to lose them.
My very bones are crush'd, yet do I live ;-
Ay live to feel the agonizing pain.
Despair enfolds me in its ruthless grasp,
And, in the hell-pang that annihilates,
These sland'rous words are but the feeble cry,
Wrung from the depth of my sore agony.
I will away! If honest, point the path,
And suffer me at once to fly from hence.
In thine extremity I will not leave thee;
And should'st thou wholly lose thy self control,
My patience shall not fail.
Yield myself up a prisoner to thee?
Resign'd I yield myself, and it is done.
I cease to struggle, and 'tis well with me.
Now let mine anguish'd heart recall how fair
What, as in sport, I've madly flung aside.
They go from hence.-Oh God! I there behold
The dust, ascending from their chariot wheels.
The riders in advance-ay, there they go
E'en to the very place from whence I came !
And now they're gone-estrang'd from me they're gone.
Oh that I once again had kiss'd his hand!
That I had still to take a last farewell!
That I could only falter out-“ forgive!"
That I could hear him say,-" go, thou'rt forgiven!"
Alas! I hear it not;-I ne'er shall hear it
To hear that gentle voice, that tender glance
Yet hear the voice of one,
Who, not without emotion, stands beside thee!
Thou'rt not so wretched, Tasso, as thou thinkest.
Collect thyself! too much thou art unmann'd.
And am I then as wretched as I seem?
Am I as weak as I do show myself?
Say, is all lost? Has sorrow's direful stroke,
As with an earthquake's sudden shock, transform'd
The stately pile into a ruin'd heap?
Is all the genius flown that did erewhile
So richly charm, and so exalt my soul?
Is all the power extinguish'd which of yore
Stirr'd in my bosom's depths? Am I become
A nothing? A mere nothing? No, all's here!
I have it still, and yet myself am nothing!
I from myself am sever'd, she from me!
Though to thyself thou seemest so forlorn,
Be calm, and bear in mind what still thou art!
Ay, in due season thou remindest me!
Hath history no example for mine aid?
Before me doth there rise no man of worth
Who hath borne more than I, that with his fate
Mine own comparing, I may gather strength.
No, all is gone! But one thing still remains;
Tears, balmy tears, kind nature has bestow'd.
The cry of anguish, when the man at length
Can bear no more-yea, and to me beside,
She leaveth melody and speech, that I
May utter forth the fulness of my woe.
Though in their mortal anguish men are dumb,
To me a God hath given to tell my grief.
[Antonio approaches him and takes his hand.
Oh, noble friend, thou standest firm and calm,
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