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النشر الإلكتروني

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! Thou could'st 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,
And my unhonour'd name forgotten die,

I must consent forsooth to idleness,
Husband my faculties and spare myself.
Oh, precious friendship! Kind solicitude!

Odious appear'd the dark conspiracy

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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,

[After a pause.

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.

ANTONIO.

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.

TASSO.

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.

ANTONIO.

In thine extremity I will not leave thee;
And should'st thou wholly lose thy self-control,
My patience shall not fail.

TASSO.

And must I then

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!"

Yes, I will go!

That I could hear him say,-"go, thou'rt forgiven!"
Alas! I hear it not;-I ne'er shall hear it-
Let me but say farewell,
Only farewell! Give me, oh give me back
Their long'd for presence for a single moment!
Perchance I might recover! Never more!

I am rejected, doom'd to banishment!
Alas! I am self-banished, never more

To hear that gentle voice, that tender glance

To meet no more

ANTONIO.

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.

TASSO.

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!

ANTONIO.

Though to thyself thou seemest so forlorn,

Be calm, and bear in mind what still thou art!

TASSO.

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.

TASSO.

Oh, noble friend, thou standest firm and calm,
While I am like the tempest-driven wave.
But be not boastful of thy strength. Reflect!
Nature, whose mighty power hath fix'd the rock,
Gives to the wave its instability.

She sends her storm, the passive wave is driven,
And rolls, and swells, and falls in billowy foam.
Yet in this very wave the glorious sun
Mirrors his splendours, and the quiet stars

Upon its heaving bosom gently rest.

Dimm'd is the splendour, vanish'd is the calm!-
In danger's hour I know myself no longer.

Nor am I now ashamed of the confession.

The helm is broken, and on ev'ry side

The reeling vessel splits. The riven planks,

Bursting asunder, yawn beneath my feet!

Thus with my outstretch'd arms I cling to thee!

So doth the shipwreck'd mariner at last,

Cling to the rock whereon his vessel struck.

Even in this inadequate analysis the reader will perceive the ground there is for Madame de Stael's remark that "les couleurs du Midi ne sont pas assez prononcées." The piece is indeed thoroughly German; and whatever the amount of historical detail woven into it, the spirit is throughout unlike that of Italy in the days of Tasso. The Princess is a purely German figure, analysing her feelings more than she indulges in them; and Tasso, with his vacillations and reflections, would have astonished no one more than the real Torquato, whose wayward, passionate, impetuous nature would have despised the reflective, selfinterrogating German. Nor would he have at all understood the German's conception of poetry as the urn wherein are contained the ashes of past sufferings, the confidant of secret thoughts. Obliged to employ a thin disguise in the expression of his sentiments for the Princess, Tasso employed a disguise as transparent as possible; and in other matters employed no disguise at all.

LEWES, VOL. II.

7

CHAPTER X.

THE POET AS A MAN OF SCIENCE.

TASSO was completed shortly after the rupture with the Frau von Stein. He then began the study of Kant. The Kritik der reinen Vernunft is written in an esoteric language he was quite unable to follow; and could he have followed it, the matter was more metaphysical than suited his tendencies; but he read in it, as he read in Spinoza; and the Kritik der Urtheilskraft, especially in its æsthetical sections, greatly interested him. Kant was a means of bringing him nearer to Schiller, who still felt the difference between them to be profound; as we see in what he wrote to Körner: "His philosophy draws too much of its material from the world of the senses, where I only draw from the soul. His mode of presentation is altogether too sensuous for me. But his spirit works and seeks in every direction, striving to create a whole, and that makes him in my eyes a great man."

Remarkable indeed is the variety of his strivings. After completing Tasso, we find him writing on the Roman Carnival, and on Imitation of Nature, and studying with strange ardour the mysteries of botany and optics. In poetry it is only necessary to name the Roman Elegies, to show what productivity in that direction he was capable of; although, in truth, his poetical activity was then in subordination to his activity in science. He was, socially, in an unpleasant condition; and, as he subsequently confessed, would never have been able to hold out, had it not been for his studies of Art and Nature. In all times these were his refuge and consolation.

On Art, the world listened to him attentively. On Science,

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