Chapter 23

(Letter, August 17, 1820, _ibid_., p. 165) that "the time for the Dante would be good now ... as Italy is on the eve of great things," publication was deferred till the following year. _Marino Faliero, Doge of Venice_, and the _Prophecy of Dante_ were published in the same volume, April 21, 1821.

The _Prophecy of Dante_ was briefly but favourably noticed by Jeffrey in his review of _Marino Faliero_ (_Edinb. Rev._, July, 1821, vol. 35, p. 285). "It is a very grand, fervid, turbulent, and somewhat mystical composition, full of the highest sentiment and the highest poetry; ... but disfigured by many faults of precipitation, and overclouded with many obscurities. Its great fault with common readers will be that it is not sufficiently intelligible.... It is, however, beyond all question, a work of a man of great genius."

Other notices of _Marino Faliero_ and the _Prophecy of Dante_ appeared in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, April, 1821, vol. 9, pp. 93-103; in the _Monthly Review_, May, 1821, Enlarged Series, vol. 95, pp. 41-50; and in the _Eclectic Review_, June 21, New Series, vol. xv. pp. 518-527.

DEDICATION.

Lady! if for the cold and cloudy clime Where I was born, but where I would not die, Of the great Poet-Sire of Italy I dare to build[276] the imitative rhyme, Harsh Runic[277] copy of the South's sublime, Thou art the cause; and howsoever I Fall short of his immortal harmony, Thy gentle heart will pardon me the crime. Thou, in the pride of Beauty and of Youth, Spakest; and for thee to speak and be obeyed Are one; but only in the sunny South Such sounds are uttered, and such charms displayed, So sweet a language from so fair a mouth--[278] Ah! to what effort would it not persuade?

Ravenna, June 21, 1819.

PREFACE

In the course of a visit to the city of Ravenna in the summer of 1819, it was suggested to the author that having composed something on the subject of Tasso's confinement, he should do the same on Dante's exile,--the tomb of the poet forming one of the principal objects[279] of interest in that city, both to the native and to the stranger.

"On this hint I spake," and the result has been the following four cantos, in _terza rima_, now offered to the reader. If they are understood and approved, it is my purpose to continue the poem in various other cantos to its natural conclusion in the present age. The reader is requested to suppose that Dante addresses him in the interval between the conclusion of the _Divina Commedia_ and his death, and shortly before the latter event, foretelling the fortunes of Italy in general in the ensuing centuries. In adopting this plan I have had in my mind the Cassandra of Lycophron,[280] and the Prophecy of Nereus by Horace, as well as the Prophecies of Holy Writ. The measure adopted is the _terza rima_ of Dante, which I am not aware to have seen hitherto _tried in our language, except it may be by Mr. Hayley_,[281] of whose translation I never saw but one extract, quoted in the notes to _Caliph Vathek_; so that--if I do not err--this poem may be considered as a metrical experiment. The cantos are short, and about the same length of those of the poet, whose name I have borrowed and most likely taken in vain.

Amongst the inconveniences of authors in the present day, it is difficult for any who have a name, good or bad, to escape translation. I have had the fortune to see the fourth canto of _Childe Harold_[282] translated into Italian _versi sciolti_,--that is, a poem written in the _Spenserean stanza_ into _blank verse_, without regard to the natural divisions of the stanza or the sense. If the present poem, being on a national topic, should chance to undergo the same fate, I would request the Italian reader to remember that when I have failed in the imitation of his great "Padre Alighier,"[283] I have failed in imitating that which all study and few understand, since to this very day it is not yet settled what was the meaning of the allegory[284] in the first canto of the _Inferno_, unless Count Marchetti's ingenious and probable conjecture may be considered as having decided the question.

He may also pardon my failure the more, as I am not quite sure that he would be pleased with my success, since the Italians, with a pardonable nationality, are particularly jealous of all that is left them as a nation--their literature; and in the present bitterness of the classic and romantic war, are but ill disposed to permit a foreigner even to approve or imitate them, without finding some fault with his ultramontane presumption. I can easily enter into all this, knowing what would be thought in England of an Italian imitator of Milton, or if a translation of Monti, Pindemonte, or Arici,[285] should be held up to the rising generation as a model for their future poetical essays. But I perceive that I am deviating into an address to the Italian reader, where my business is with the English one; and be they few or many, I must take my leave of both.

THE PROPHECY OF DANTE.

CANTO THE FIRST.

Once more in Man's frail world! which I had left So long that 'twas forgotten; and I feel The weight of clay again,--too soon bereft Of the Immortal Vision which could heal My earthly sorrows, and to God's own skies Lift me from that deep Gulf without repeal, Where late my ears rung with the damned cries Of Souls in hopeless bale; and from that place Of lesser torment, whence men may arise Pure from the fire to join the Angelic race; 10 Midst whom my own bright Beatricē[286] blessed My spirit with her light; and to the base Of the Eternal Triad! first, last, best,[287] Mysterious, three, sole, infinite, great God! Soul universal! led the mortal guest, Unblasted by the Glory, though he trod From star to star to reach the almighty throne.[bw] Oh Beatrice! whose sweet limbs the sod So long hath pressed, and the cold marble stone, Thou sole pure Seraph of my earliest love, 20 Love so ineffable, and so alone, That nought on earth could more my bosom move, And meeting thee in Heaven was but to meet That without which my Soul, like the arkless dove, Had wandered still in search of, nor her feet Relieved her wing till found; without thy light My Paradise had still been incomplete.[288] Since my tenth sun gave summer to my sight Thou wert my Life, the Essence of my thought, Loved ere I knew the name of Love,[289] and bright 30 Still in these dim old eyes, now overwrought With the World's war, and years, and banishment, And tears for thee, by other woes untaught; For mine is not a nature to be bent By tyrannous faction, and the brawling crowd, And though the long, long conflict hath been spent In vain,--and never more, save when the cloud Which overhangs the Apennine my mind's eye Pierces to fancy Florence, once so proud Of me, can I return, though but to die, 40 Unto my native soil,--they have not yet Quenched the old exile's spirit, stern and high. But the Sun, though not overcast, must set And the night cometh; I am old in days, And deeds, and contemplation, and have met Destruction face to face in all his ways. The World hath left me, what it found me, pure, And if I have not gathered yet its praise, I sought it not by any baser lure; Man wrongs, and Time avenges, and my name 50 May form a monument not all obscure, Though such was not my Ambition's end or aim, To add to the vain-glorious list of those Who dabble in the pettiness of fame, And make men's fickle breath the wind that blows Their sail, and deem it glory to be classed With conquerors, and Virtue's other foes, In bloody chronicles of ages past. I would have had my Florence great and free;[290] Oh Florence! Florence![291] unto me thou wast 60 Like that Jerusalem which the Almighty He Wept over, "but thou wouldst not;" as the bird Gathers its young, I would have gathered thee Beneath a parent pinion, hadst thou heard My voice; but as the adder, deaf and fierce, Against the breast that cherished thee was stirred Thy venom, and my state thou didst amerce, And doom this body forfeit to the fire.[292] Alas! how bitter is his country's curse To him who _for_ that country would expire, 70 But did not merit to expire _by_ her, And loves her, loves her even in her ire. The day may come when she will cease to err, The day may come she would be proud to have The dust she dooms to scatter, and transfer[bx] Of him, whom she denied a home, the grave. But this shall not be granted; let my dust Lie where it falls; nor shall the soil which gave Me breath, but in her sudden fury thrust Me forth to breathe elsewhere, so reassume 80 My indignant bones, because her angry gust Forsooth is over, and repealed her doom; No,--she denied me what was mine--my roof, And shall not have what is not hers--my tomb. Too long her arméd wrath hath kept aloof The breast which would have bled for her, the heart That beat, the mind that was temptation proof, The man who fought, toiled, travelled, and each part Of a true citizen fulfilled, and saw For his reward the Guelf's ascendant art 90 Pass his destruction even into a law. These things are not made for forgetfulness, Florence shall be forgotten first; too raw The wound, too deep the wrong, and the distress Of such endurance too prolonged to make My pardon greater, her injustice less, Though late repented; yet--yet for her sake I feel some fonder yearnings, and for thine, My own Beatricē, I would hardly take Vengeance upon the land which once was mine, 100 And still is hallowed by thy dust's return, Which would protect the murderess like a shrine, And save ten thousand foes by thy sole urn. Though, like old Marius from Minturnæ's marsh And Carthage ruins, my lone breast may burn At times with evil feelings hot and harsh,[293] And sometimes the last pangs of a vile foe Writhe in a dream before me, and o'erarch My brow with hopes of triumph,--let them go! Such are the last infirmities of those 110 Who long have suffered more than mortal woe, And yet being mortal still, have no repose But on the pillow of Revenge--Revenge, Who sleeps to dream of blood, and waking glows With the oft-baffled, slakeless thirst of change, When we shall mount again, and they that trod Be trampled on, while Death and Até range O'er humbled heads and severed necks----Great God! Take these thoughts from me--to thy hands I yield My many wrongs, and thine Almighty rod 120 Will fall on those who smote me,--be my Shield! As thou hast been in peril, and in pain, In turbulent cities, and the tented field-- In toil, and many troubles borne in vain For Florence,--I appeal from her to Thee! Thee, whom I late saw in thy loftiest reign, Even in that glorious Vision, which to see And live was never granted until now, And yet thou hast permitted this to me. Alas! with what a weight upon my brow 130 The sense of earth and earthly things come back, Corrosive passions, feelings dull and low, The heart's quick throb upon the mental rack, Long day, and dreary night; the retrospect Of half a century bloody and black, And the frail few years I may yet expect Hoary and hopeless, but less hard to bear, For I have been too long and deeply wrecked On the lone rock of desolate Despair, To lift my eyes more to the passing sail 140 Which shuns that reef so horrible and bare; Nor raise my voice--for who would heed my wail? I am not of this people, nor this age, And yet my harpings will unfold a tale Which shall preserve these times when not a page Of their perturbéd annals could attract An eye to gaze upon their civil rage,[by] Did not my verse embalm full many an act Worthless as they who wrought it: 'tis the doom Of spirits of my order to be racked 150 In life, to wear their hearts out, and consume Their days in endless strife, and die alone; Then future thousands crowd around their tomb, And pilgrims come from climes where they have known The name of him--who now is but a name, And wasting homage o'er the sullen stone, Spread his--by him unheard, unheeded--fame; And mine at least hath cost me dear: to die Is nothing; but to wither thus--to tame My mind down from its own infinity-- 160 To live in narrow ways with little men, A common sight to every common eye, A wanderer, while even wolves can find a den, Ripped from all kindred, from all home, all things That make communion sweet, and soften pain-- To feel me in the solitude of kings Without the power that makes them bear a crown-- To envy every dove his nest and wings Which waft him where the Apennine looks down On Arno, till he perches, it may be, 170 Within my all inexorable town, Where yet my boys are, and that fatal She,[294] Their mother, the cold partner who hath brought Destruction for a dowry--this to see And feel, and know without repair, hath taught A bitter lesson; but it leaves me free: I have not vilely found, nor basely sought, They made an Exile--not a Slave of me.

CANTO THE SECOND.

The Spirit of the fervent days of Old, When words were things that came to pass, and Thought Flashed o'er the future, bidding men behold Their children's children's doom already brought Forth from the abyss of Time which is to be, The Chaos of events, where lie half-wrought Shapes that must undergo mortality; What the great Seers of Israel wore within, That Spirit was on them, and is on me, And if, Cassandra-like, amidst the din 10 Of conflict none will hear, or hearing heed This voice from out the Wilderness, the sin Be theirs, and my own feelings be my meed, The only guerdon I have ever known. Hast thou not bled? and hast thou still to bleed, Italia? Ah! to me such things, foreshown With dim sepulchral light, bid me forget In thine irreparable wrongs my own; We can have but one Country, and even yet Thou'rt mine--my bones shall be within thy breast, 20 My Soul within thy language, which once set With our old Roman sway in the wide West; But I will make another tongue arise As lofty and more sweet, in which expressed The hero's ardour, or the lover's sighs, Shall find alike such sounds for every theme That every word, as brilliant as thy skies, Shall realise a Poet's proudest dream, And make thee Europe's Nightingale of Song;[295] So that all present speech to thine shall seem 30 The note of meaner birds, and every tongue Confess its barbarism when compared with thine.[bz] This shalt thou owe to him thou didst so wrong, Thy Tuscan bard, the banished Ghibelline. Woe! woe! the veil of coming centuries Is rent,--a thousand years which yet supine Lie like the ocean waves ere winds arise, Heaving in dark and sullen undulation, Float from Eternity into these eyes; The storms yet sleep, the clouds still keep their station, 40 The unborn Earthquake yet is in the womb, The bloody Chaos yet expects Creation, But all things are disposing for thy doom; The Elements await but for the Word, "Let there be darkness!" and thou grow'st a tomb! Yes! thou, so beautiful, shalt feel the sword,[296] Thou, Italy! so fair that Paradise, Revived in thee, blooms forth to man restored: Ah! must the sons of Adam lose it twice? Thou, Italy! whose ever golden fields, 50 Ploughed by the sunbeams solely, would suffice For the world's granary; thou, whose sky Heaven gilds[ca] With brighter stars, and robes with deeper blue; Thou, in whose pleasant places Summer builds Her palace, in whose cradle Empire grew, And formed the Eternal City's ornaments From spoils of Kings whom freemen overthrew; Birthplace of heroes, sanctuary of Saints, Where earthly first, then heavenly glory made[cb] Her home; thou, all which fondest Fancy paints, 60 And finds her prior vision but portrayed In feeble colours, when the eye--from the Alp Of horrid snow, and rock, and shaggy shade Of desert-loving pine, whose emerald scalp Nods to the storm--dilates and dotes o'er thee, And wistfully implores, as 'twere, for help To see thy sunny fields, my Italy, Nearer and nearer yet, and dearer still The more approached, and dearest were they free, Thou--Thou must wither to each tyrant's will: 70 The Goth hath been,--the German, Frank, and Hun[297] Are yet to come,--and on the imperial hill Ruin, already proud of the deeds done By the old barbarians, there awaits the new, Throned on the Palatine, while lost and won Rome at her feet lies bleeding; and the hue Of human sacrifice and Roman slaughter Troubles the clotted air, of late so blue, And deepens into red the saffron water Of Tiber, thick with dead; the helpless priest, 80 And still more helpless nor less holy daughter, Vowed to their God, have shrieking fled, and ceased Their ministry: the nations take their prey, Iberian, Almain, Lombard, and the beast And bird, wolf, vulture, more humane than they Are; these but gorge the flesh, and lap the gore Of the departed, and then go their way; But those, the human savages, explore All paths of torture, and insatiate yet, With Ugolino hunger prowl for more. 90 Nine moons shall rise o'er scenes like this and set;[298] The chiefless army of the dead, which late Beneath the traitor Prince's banner met, Hath left its leader's ashes at the gate; Had but the royal Rebel lived, perchance Thou hadst been spared, but his involved thy fate. Oh! Rome, the Spoiler or the spoil of France, From Brennus to the Bourbon, never, never Shall foreign standard to thy walls advance, But Tiber shall become a mournful river. 100 Oh! when the strangers pass the Alps and Po, Crush them, ye Rocks! Floods whelm them, and for ever! Why sleep the idle Avalanches so, To topple on the lonely pilgrim's head? Why doth Eridanus but overflow The peasant's harvest from his turbid bed? Were not each barbarous horde a nobler prey? Over Cambyses' host[299] the desert spread Her sandy ocean, and the Sea-waves' sway Rolled over Pharaoh and his thousands,--why,[cc] 110 Mountains and waters, do ye not as they? And you, ye Men! Romans, who dare not die, Sons of the conquerors who overthrew Those who overthrew proud Xerxes, where yet lie The dead whose tomb Oblivion never knew, Are the Alps weaker than Thermopylæ? Their passes more alluring to the view Of an invader? is it they, or ye, That to each host the mountain-gate unbar, And leave the march in peace, the passage free? 120 Why, Nature's self detains the Victor's car, And makes your land impregnable, if earth Could be so; but alone she will not war, Yet aids the warrior worthy of his birth In a soil where the mothers bring forth men: Not so with those whose souls are little worth; For them no fortress can avail,--the den Of the poor reptile which preserves its sting Is more secure than walls of adamant, when The hearts of those within are quivering. 130 Are ye not brave? Yes, yet the Ausonian soil Hath hearts, and hands, and arms, and hosts to bring Against Oppression; but how vain the toil, While still Division sows the seeds of woe And weakness, till the Stranger reaps the spoil.[300] Oh! my own beauteous land! so long laid low, So long the grave of thy own children's hopes, When there is but required a single blow To break the chain, yet--yet the Avenger stops, And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee, 140 And join their strength to that which with thee copes; What is there wanting then to set thee free, And show thy beauty in its fullest light? To make the Alps impassable; and we, Her Sons, may do this with one deed--Unite.

CANTO THE THIRD.

From out the mass of never-dying ill,[cd] The Plague, the Prince, the Stranger, and the Sword, Vials of wrath but emptied to refill And flow again, I cannot all record That crowds on my prophetic eye: the Earth And Ocean written o'er would not afford Space for the annal, yet it shall go forth; Yes, all, though not by human pen, is graven, There where the farthest suns and stars have birth, Spread like a banner at the gate of Heaven, 10 The bloody scroll of our millennial wrongs Waves, and the echo of our groans is driven Athwart the sound of archangelic songs, And Italy, the martyred nation's gore, Will not in vain arise to where belongs[ce] Omnipotence and Mercy evermore: Like to a harpstring stricken by the wind, The sound of her lament shall, rising o'er The Seraph voices, touch the Almighty Mind. Meantime I, humblest of thy sons, and of 20 Earth's dust by immortality refined To Sense and Suffering, though the vain may scoff, And tyrants threat, and meeker victims bow Before the storm because its breath is rough, To thee, my Country! whom before, as now, I loved and love, devote the mournful lyre And melancholy gift high Powers allow To read the future: and if now my fire Is not as once it shone o'er thee, forgive! I but foretell thy fortunes--then expire; 30 Think not that I would look on them and live. A Spirit forces me to see and speak, And for my guerdon grants _not_ to survive; My Heart shall be poured over thee and break: Yet for a moment, ere I must resume Thy sable web of Sorrow, let me take Over the gleams that flash athwart thy gloom A softer glimpse; some stars shine through thy night, And many meteors, and above thy tomb Leans sculptured Beauty, which Death cannot blight: 40 And from thine ashes boundless Spirits rise To give thee honour, and the earth delight; Thy soil shall still be pregnant with the wise, The gay, the learned, the generous, and the brave, Native to thee as Summer to thy skies, Conquerors on foreign shores, and the far wave,[301] Discoverers of new worlds, which take their name;[302] For _thee_ alone they have no arm to save, And all thy recompense is in their fame, A noble one to them, but not to thee-- 50 Shall they be glorious, and thou still the same? Oh! more than these illustrious far shall be The Being--and even yet he may be born-- The mortal Saviour who shall set thee free, And see thy diadem, so changed and worn By fresh barbarians, on thy brow replaced; And the sweet Sun replenishing thy morn, Thy moral morn, too long with clouds defaced, And noxious vapours from Avernus risen, Such as all they must breathe who are debased 60 By Servitude, and have the mind in prison.[303] Yet through this centuried eclipse of woe[cf] Some voices shall be heard, and Earth shall listen; Poets shall follow in the path I show, And make it broader: the same brilliant sky Which cheers the birds to song shall bid them glow,[cg] And raise their notes as natural and high; Tuneful shall be their numbers; they shall sing Many of Love, and some of Liberty, But few shall soar upon that Eagle's wing, 70 And look in the Sun's face, with Eagle's gaze, All free and fearless as the feathered King, But fly more near the earth; how many a phrase Sublime shall lavished be on some small prince In all the prodigality of Praise! And language, eloquently false, evince[ch] The harlotry of Genius, which, like Beauty,[ci] Too oft forgets its own self-reverence, And looks on prostitution as a duty.[304] He who once enters in a Tyrant's hall[cj][305] 80 As guest is slave--his thoughts become a booty, And the first day which sees the chain enthral A captive, sees his half of Manhood gone[306]-- The Soul's emasculation saddens all His spirit; thus the Bard too near the throne Quails from his inspiration, bound to _please_,-- How servile is the task to please alone! To smooth the verse to suit his Sovereign's ease And royal leisure, nor too much prolong Aught save his eulogy, and find, and seize, 90 Or force, or forge fit argument of Song! Thus trammelled, thus condemned to Flattery's trebles, He toils through all, still trembling to be wrong: For fear some noble thoughts, like heavenly rebels, Should rise up in high treason to his brain, He sings, as the Athenian spoke, with pebbles In's mouth, lest Truth should stammer through his strain. But out of the long file of sonneteers There shall be some who will not sing in vain, And he, their Prince, shall rank among my peers,[307] And Love shall be his torment; but his grief Shall make an immortality of tears, And Italy shall hail him as the Chief Of Poet-lovers, and his higher song Of Freedom wreathe him with as green a leaf. But in a farther age shall rise along The banks of Po two greater still than he; The World which smiled on him shall do them wrong Till they are ashes, and repose with me. The first will make an epoch with his lyre, 110 And fill the earth with feats of Chivalry:[308] His Fancy like a rainbow, and his Fire, Like that of Heaven, immortal, and his Thought Borne onward with a wing that cannot tire; Pleasure shall, like a butterfly new caught, Flutter her lovely pinions o'er his theme, And Art itself seem into Nature wrought By the transparency of his bright dream.-- The second, of a tenderer, sadder mood, Shall pour his soul out o'er Jerusalem; 120 He, too, shall sing of Arms, and Christian blood Shed where Christ bled for man; and his high harp Shall, by the willow over Jordan's flood, Revive a song of Sion, and the sharp Conflict, and final triumph of the brave And pious, and the strife of Hell to warp Their hearts from their great purpose, until wave The red-cross banners where the first red Cross Was crimsoned from His veins who died to save,[ck] Shall be his sacred argument; the loss 130 Of years, of favour, freedom, even of fame Contested for a time, while the smooth gloss Of Courts would slide o'er his forgotten name And call Captivity a kindness--meant To shield him from insanity or shame-- Such shall be his meek guerdon! who was sent To be Christ's Laureate--they reward him well! Florence dooms me but death or banishment, Ferrara him a pittance and a cell,[309] Harder to bear and less deserved, for I 140 Had stung the factions which I strove to quell; But this meek man who with a lover's eye Will look on Earth and Heaven, and who will deign To embalm with his celestial flattery, As poor a thing as e'er was spawned to reign,[310] What will _he_ do to merit such a doom? Perhaps he'll _love_,--and is not Love in vain Torture enough without a living tomb? Yet it will be so--he and his compeer, The Bard of Chivalry, will both consume[311] 150 In penury and pain too many a year, And, dying in despondency, bequeath To the kind World, which scarce will yield a tear, A heritage enriching all who breathe With the wealth of a genuine Poet's soul, And to their country a redoubled wreath, Unmatched by time; not Hellas can unroll Through her Olympiads two such names, though one[312] Of hers be mighty;--and is this the whole Of such men's destiny beneath the Sun?[313] 160 Must all the finer thoughts, the thrilling sense, The electric blood with which their arteries run,[cl] Their body's self turned soul with the intense Feeling of that which is, and fancy of That which should be, to such a recompense Conduct? shall their bright plumage on the rough Storm be still scattered? Yes, and it must be; For, formed of far too penetrable stuff, These birds of Paradise[314] but long to flee Back to their native mansion, soon they find 170 Earth's mist with their pure pinions not agree, And die or are degraded; for the mind Succumbs to long infection, and despair, And vulture Passions flying close behind, Await the moment to assail and tear;[315] And when, at length, the wingéd wanderers stoop, Then is the Prey-birds' triumph, then they share The spoil, o'erpowered at length by one fell swoop. Yet some have been untouched who learned to bear, Some whom no Power could ever force to droop, 180 Who could resist themselves even, hardest care! And task most hopeless; but some such have been, And if my name amongst the number were, That Destiny austere, and yet serene, Were prouder than more dazzling fame unblessed; The Alp's snow summit nearer heaven is seen Than the Volcano's fierce eruptive crest, Whose splendour from the black abyss is flung, While the scorched mountain, from whose burning breast A temporary torturing flame is wrung, 190 Shines for a night of terror, then repels Its fire back to the Hell from whence it sprung, The Hell which in its entrails ever dwells.

CANTO THE FOURTH.

Many are Poets who have never penned Their inspiration, and perchance the best: They felt, and loved, and died, but would not lend Their thoughts to meaner beings; they compressed The God within them, and rejoined the stars Unlaurelled upon earth, but far more blessed Than those who are degraded by the jars Of Passion, and their frailties linked to fame, Conquerors of high renown, but full of scars. Many are Poets but without the name; 10 For what is Poesy but to create From overfeeling Good or Ill; and aim[316] At an external life beyond our fate, And be the new Prometheus of new men,[317] Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late, Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain, And vultures to the heart of the bestower, Who, having lavished his high gift in vain, Lies to his lone rock by the sea-shore? So be it: we can bear.--But thus all they 20 Whose Intellect is an o'ermastering Power Which still recoils from its encumbering clay Or lightens it to spirit, whatsoe'er The form which their creations may essay, Are bards; the kindled Marble's bust may wear More poesy upon its speaking brow Than aught less than the Homeric page may bear; One noble stroke with a whole life may glow, Or deify the canvass till it shine With beauty so surpassing all below, 30 That they who kneel to Idols so divine Break no commandment, for high Heaven is there Transfused, transfigurated:[318] and the line Of Poesy, which peoples but the air With Thought and Beings of our thought reflected, Can do no more: then let the artist share The palm, he shares the peril, and dejected Faints o'er the labour unapproved--Alas! Despair and Genius are too oft connected. Within the ages which before me pass 40 Art shall resume and equal even the sway Which with Apelles and old Phidias She held in Hellas' unforgotten day. Ye shall be taught by Ruin to revive The Grecian forms at least from their decay, And Roman souls at last again shall live In Roman works wrought by Italian hands, And temples, loftier than the old temples, give New wonders to the World; and while still stands The austere Pantheon, into heaven shall soar 50 A Dome,[319] its image, while the base expands Into a fane surpassing all before, Such as all flesh shall flock to kneel in: ne'er Such sight hath been unfolded by a door As this, to which all nations shall repair, And lay their sins at this huge gate of Heaven. And the bold Architect[320] unto whose care The daring charge to raise it shall be given, Whom all Arts shall acknowledge as their Lord, Whether into the marble chaos driven 60 His chisel bid the Hebrew,[321] at whose word Israel left Egypt, stop the waves in stone,[cm] Or hues of Hell be by his pencil poured Over the damned before the Judgement-throne,[322] Such as I saw them, such as all shall see, Or fanes be built of grandeur yet unknown-- The Stream of his great thoughts shall spring from me[323] The Ghibelline, who traversed the three realms Which form the Empire of Eternity. Amidst the clash of swords, and clang of helms, 70 The age which I anticipate, no less Shall be the Age of Beauty, and while whelms Calamity the nations with distress, The Genius of my Country shall arise, A Cedar towering o'er the Wilderness, Lovely in all its branches to all eyes, Fragrant as fair, and recognised afar, Wafting its native incense through the skies. Sovereigns shall pause amidst their sport of war, Weaned for an hour from blood, to turn and gaze 80 On canvass or on stone; and they who mar All beauty upon earth, compelled to praise, Shall feel the power of that which they destroy; And Art's mistaken gratitude shall raise To tyrants, who but take her for a toy, Emblems and monuments, and prostitute Her charms to Pontiffs proud,[324] who but employ The man of Genius as the meanest brute To bear a burthen, and to serve a need, To sell his labours, and his soul to boot. 90 Who toils for nations may be poor indeed, But free; who sweats for Monarchs is no more Than the gilt Chamberlain, who, clothed and feed, Stands sleek and slavish, bowing at his door. Oh, Power that rulest and inspirest! how Is it that they on earth, whose earthly power[325] Is likest thine in heaven in outward show, Least like to thee in attributes divine, Tread on the universal necks that bow, And then assure us that their rights are thine? 100 And how is it that they, the Sons of Fame, Whose inspiration seems to them to shine From high, they whom the nations oftest name, Must pass their days in penury or pain, Or step to grandeur through the paths of shame, And wear a deeper brand and gaudier chain? Or if their Destiny be born aloof From lowliness, or tempted thence in vain, In their own souls sustain a harder proof, The inner war of Passions deep and fierce? 110 Florence! when thy harsh sentence razed my roof, I loved thee; but the vengeance of my verse, The hate of injuries which every year Makes greater, and accumulates my curse, Shall live, outliving all thou holdest dear-- Thy pride, thy wealth, thy freedom, and even _that_, The most infernal of all evils here, The sway of petty tyrants in a state; For such sway is not limited to Kings, And Demagogues yield to them but in date, 120 As swept off sooner; in all deadly things, Which make men hate themselves, and one another, In discord, cowardice, cruelty, all that springs From Death the Sin-born's incest with his mother,[326] In rank oppression in its rudest shape, The faction Chief is but the Sultan's brother, And the worst Despot's far less human ape. Florence! when this lone spirit, which so long Yearned, as the captive toiling at escape, To fly back to thee in despite of wrong, 130 An exile, saddest of all prisoners,[327] Who has the whole world for a dungeon strong, Seas, mountains, and the horizon's[328] verge for bars,[cn] Which shut him from the sole small spot of earth Where--whatsoe'er his fate--he still were hers, His Country's, and might die where he had birth-- Florence! when this lone Spirit shall return To kindred Spirits, thou wilt feel my worth, And seek to honour with an empty urn[329] The ashes thou shalt ne'er obtain--Alas! 140 "What have I done to thee, my People?"[330] Stern Are all thy dealings, but in this they pass The limits of Man's common malice, for All that a citizen could be I was-- Raised by thy will, all thine in peace or war-- And for this thou hast warred with me.--'Tis done: I may not overleap the eternal bar[331] Built up between us, and will die alone, Beholding with the dark eye of a Seer The evil days to gifted souls foreshown, 150 Foretelling them to those who will not hear; As in the old time, till the hour be come When Truth shall strike their eyes through many a tear, And make them own the Prophet in his tomb.

Ravenna, 1819.

FOOTNOTES:

[276] {241}[Compare--

"He knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhime."

Milton, _Lycidas_, line 11.]

[277] [By "Runic" Byron means "Northern," "Anglo-Saxon."]

[278] [Compare "In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours--_Amor mio_--is comprised my existence here and hereafter."--Letter of Byron to the Countess Guiccioli, August 25, 1819, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 350. Compare, too, _Beppo_, stanza xliv.; _vide ante_, p. 173.]

[279] {243}[Compare--

"I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid: A little cupola more neat than solemn, Protects his dust."

_Don Juan_, Canto IV. stanza civ. lines 1-3.]

[280] [The _Cassandra_ or _Alexandra_ of Lycophron, one of the seven "Pleiades" who adorned the court of Ptolemy Philadelphus (third century B.C.), is "an iambic monologue of 1474 verses, in which Cassandra is made to prophesy the fall of Troy ... with numerous other historical events, ... ending with [the reign of] Alexandra the Great." Byron had probably read a translation of the _Cassandra_ by Philip Yorke, Viscount Royston (born 1784, wrecked in the _Agatha_ off Memel, April 7, 1808), which was issued at Cambridge in 1806. The _Alexandra_ forms part of the _Bibliotheca Teubneriana_ (ed. G. Kinkel, Lipsiæ, 1880). For the prophecy of Nereus, _vide_ Hor., _Odes_, lib. i. c. xv.]

[281] {244}[In the notes to his _Essay on Epic Poetry_, 1782 (Epistle iii. pp. 175-197), Hayley (see _English Bards, etc._, line 310, _Poetical Works_, 1898, i. 321, note 1) prints a translation of the three first cantos of the _Inferno_, which, he says (p. 172), was written "a few years ago to oblige a particular friend." "Of all Hayley's compositions," writes Southey (_Quart. Rev._, vol. xxxi. pp. 283, 284), "these specimens are the best ... in thus following his original Hayley was led into a sobriety and manliness of diction which ... approached ... to the manner of a better age."

In a note on the Hall of Eblis, S. Henley quotes with approbation Hayley's translation of lines 1-9 of this Third Canto of the _Inferno_. _Vathek_ ... by W. Beckford, 1868, p. 188.]

[282] [_L'Italia_: _Canto IV. del Pellegrinaggio di Childe Harold_ ... tradotto da Michele Leoni, Italia (London?), 1819, 8º. Leoni also translated the _Lament of Tasso_ (_Lamento di Tasso_ ... Recato in Italiano da M. Leoni, Pisa, 1818).]

[283] [Alfieri has a sonnet on the tomb of Dante, beginning--

"O gran padre Alighier, se dal ciel miri."

_Opere Scelle_, di Vittorio Alfieri, 1818, iii. 487.]

[284] [The Panther, the Lion, and the She-wolf, which Dante encountered on the "desert slope" (_Inferno_, Canto I. lines 31, _sq._), were no doubt suggested by Jer. v. 6: "Idcirco percussit eos leo de silva, lupus ad vesperam vastavit eos, pardus vigilans super civitates corum." Symbolically they have been from the earliest times understood as denoting--the panther, lust; the lion, pride; the wolf, avarice; the sins affecting youth, maturity, and old age. Later commentators have suggested that there may be an underlying political symbolism as well, and that the three beasts may stand for Florence with her "Black" and "White" parties, the power of France, and the Guelf party as typically representative of these vices (_The Hell of Dante_, by A. J. Butler, 1892, p. 5, note).

Count Giovanni Marchetti degli Angelini (1790-1852), in his _Discorso_ ... _della prima e principale Allegoria del Poema di Dante_, contributed to an edition of _La Divina Commedia_, published at Bologna, 1819-21, i. 17-44, and reissued in _La Biografia di Dante_ ... 1822, v. 397, _sq_., etc., argues in favour of a double symbolism. (According to a life of Marchetti, prefixed to his _Poesie_, 1878 [_Una notte di Dante, etc._], he met Byron at Bologna in 1819, and made his acquaintance.)]

[285] {245}[For Vincenzo Monti (1754-1828), see letter to Murray, October 15, 1816 (_Letters_, 1899, iii. 377, note 3); and for Ippolito Pindemonte (1753-1828), see letter to Murray, June 4, 1817, (_Letters_, 1900, iv. 127, note 4). In his _Essay on the Present Literature of Italy_, Hobhouse supplies critical notices of Pindemonte and Monti, _Historical Illustrations_, 1818, pp. 413-449. Cesare Arici, lawyer and poet, was born at Brescia, July 2, 1782. His works (Padua, 1858, 4 vols.) include his didactic poems, _La coltivazione degli Ulivi_ (1805), _Il Corallo_, 1810, _La Pastorizia_ (on sheep-farming), 1814, and a translation of the works of Virgil. He died in 1836. (See, for a long and sympathetic notice, Tipaldo's _Biografia degli Italiani Illustri_, iii. 491, _sq_.)]

[286] {247}The reader is requested to adopt the Italian pronunciation of Beatrice, sounding all the syllables.

[287] [Compare--

"Within the deep and luminous subsistence Of the High Light appeared to me three circles, Of threefold colour and of one dimension, And by the second seemed the first reflected As Iris is by Iris, and the third Seemed fire that equally from both is breathed.... O Light Eterne, sole in thyself that dwellest."

_Paradiso,_ xxxiii. 115-120, 124 (_Longfellow's Translation_).]

[bw] {248}_Star over star_----.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[288]

"Ché sol per le belle opre Che sono in cielo, il sole e l'altre stelle, Dentro da lor _si crede il Paradiso:_ Così se guardi fiso Pensar ben dei, che ogni terren piacere. [Si trova in lei, ma tu nol puoi vedere."]

Canzone, in which Dante describes the person of Beatrice, Strophe third.

[Byron was mistaken in attributing these lines, which form part of a Canzone beginning "Io miro i crespi e gli biondi capegli," to Dante. Neither external nor internal evidence supports such an ascription. The Canzone is attributed in the MSS. either to Fazio degli Uberti, or to Bindo Borrichi da Siena, but was not assigned to Dante before 1518 (_Canzoni di Dante, etc._ [Colophon]. Impresso in Milano per Augustino da Vimercato ... MCCCCCXVIII ...). See, too, _Il Canzoniere di Dante_ ... Fraticelli, Firenze, 1873, pp. 236-240 (from information kindly supplied by the Rev. Philip H. Wicksteed).]

[289] ["Nine times already since my birth had the heaven of light returned to the selfsame point almost, as concerns its own revolution, when first the glorious Lady of my mind was made manifest to mine eyes; even she who was called Beatrice by many who knew not wherefore."--_La Vita Nuova,_ § 2 (Translation by D. G. Rossetti, _Dante and his Circle,_ 1892, p. 30).

"In reference to the meaning of the name, '_she who confers blessing_,' we learn from Boccaccio that this first meeting took place at a May Feast, given in the year 1274, by Folco Portinari, father of Beatrice ... to which feast Dante accompanied his father, Alighiero Alighieri."--_Note_ by D. G. Rossetti, ibid., p. 30.]

[290] {249}

"L'Esilio che m' è dato onor mi tegno * * * * * Cader tra' buoni è pur di lode degno."

_Sonnet of Dante_ [Canzone xx. lines 76-80, _Opere_ di Dante, 1897, p. 171]

in which he represents Right, Generosity, and Temperance as banished from among men, and seeking refuge from Love, who inhabits his bosom.

[291] [Compare--

"On the stone Called Dante's,--a plain flat stone scarce discerned From others in the pavement,--whereupon He used to bring his quiet chair out, turned To Brunelleschi's Church, and pour alone The lava of his spirit when it burned: It is not cold to-day. O passionate Poor Dante, who, a banished Florentine, Didst sit austere at banquets of the great And muse upon this far-off stone of thine, And think how oft some passer used to wait A moment, in the golden day's decline, With 'Good night, dearest Dante!' Well, good night!"

_Casa Guidi Windows_, by E. B. Browning, _Poetical Works_, 1866, iii. 259.]

[292] {250} "Ut si quis predictorum ullo tempore in fortiam dicti communis pervenerit, _talis perveniens igne comburatur, sic quod moriatur_." Second sentence of Florence against Dante, and the fourteen accused with him. The Latin is worthy of the sentence. [The decree (March 11, 1302) that he and his associates in exile should be burned, if they fell into the hands of their enemies, was first discovered in 1772 by the Conte Ludovico Savioli. Dante had been previously, January 27, fined eight thousand lire, and condemned to two years' banishment.]

[bx] _The ashes she would scatter_----.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[293] {251}[At the end of the Social War (B.C. 88), when Sulla marched to Rome at the head of his army, and Marius was compelled to take flight, he "stripped himself, plunged into the bog (_Paludes Minturnenses_, near the mouth of the Liris), amidst thick water and mud.... They hauled him out naked and covered with dirt, and carried him to Minturnæ." Afterwards, when he sailed for Carthage, he had no sooner landed than he was ordered by the governor (Sextilius) to quit Africa. On his once more gaining the ascendancy and re-entering Rome (B.C. 87), he justified the massacre of Sulla's adherents in a blood-thirsty oration. Past ignominy and present triumph seem to have turned his head ("ut erat inter iram toleratæ fortunæ, et lætitiam emendatæ, parum compos animi").--Plut., "Marius," _apud_ Langhorne, 1838, p. 304; Livii _Epit_., lxxx. 28.]

[by] {252}----_their civic rage_.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[294] {253} This lady, whose name was _Gemma_, sprung from one of the most powerful Guelph families, named Donati. Corso Donati was the principal adversary of the Ghibellines. She is--described as being "_Admodum morosa, ut de Xantippe Socratis philosophi conjuge scriptum esse legimus,_" according to Giannozzo Manetti. But Lionardo Aretino is scandalised with Boccace, in his life of Dante, for saying that literary men should not marry. "Qui il Boccaccio non ha pazienza, e dice, le mogli esser contrarie agli studj; e non si ricorda che Socrate, il più nobile filosofo che mai fusse, ebbe moglie e figliuoli e ufici nella Repubblica nella sua Città; e Aristotile che, etc., etc., ebbe due moglie in varj tempi, ed ebbe figliuoli, e ricchezze assai.--E Marco Tullio--e Catone--e Varrone--e Seneca--ebbero moglie," etc., etc. [_Le Vite di Dante, etc._, Firenze, 1677, pp. 22, 23]. It is odd that honest Lionardo's examples, with the exception of Seneca, and, for anything I know, of Aristotle, are not the most felicitous. Tully's Terentia, and Socrates' Xantippe, by no means contributed to their husbands' happiness, whatever they might do to their philosophy--Cato gave away his wife--of Varro's we know nothing--and of Seneca's, only that she was disposed to die with him, but recovered and lived several years afterwards. But says Leonardo, "L'uomo è _animale civile_, secondo piace a tutti i filosofi." And thence concludes that the greatest proof of the _animal's civism_ is "la prima congiunzione, dalla quale multiplicata nasce la Città."

[There is nothing in the _Divina Commedia_, or elsewhere in his writings, to justify the common belief that Dante was unhappily married, unless silence may be taken to imply dislike and alienation. It has been supposed that he alludes to his wife, Gemma Donati, in the _Vita Nuova_, § 36, "as a young and very beautiful lady, who was gazing upon me from a window, with a gaze full of pity," "who remembered me many times of my own most noble lady," whom he consented to serve "more because of her gentle goodness than from any choice" of his own (_Convito_, ii. 2. 7), but there are difficulties in the way of accepting this theory. There is, however, not the slightest reason for believing that the words which he put into the mouth of Jacopo Rusticucci, "La fiera moglie più ch'altro, mi nuoce" ["and truly, my savage wife, more than aught else, doth harm me"] (_Inferno_, xvi. 45), were winged with any personal reminiscence or animosity. But with Byron (see his letter to Lady Byron, dated April 3, 1820, in which he quotes these lines "with intention" [_Letters_, 1901, v. 2]), as with Boccaccio, "the wish was father to the thought," and both were glad to quote Dante as a victim to matrimony.

Seven children were born to Dante and Gemma. Of these "his son Pietro, who wrote a commentary on the _Divina Commedia_, settled as judge in Verona. His daughter Beatrice lived as a nun in Ravenna" (_Dante_, by Oscar Browning, 1891, p. 47).]

[295] {256}[In his defence of the "mother-tongue" as a fitting vehicle for a commentary on his poetry, Dante argues "that natural love moves the lover principally to three things: the one is to exalt the loved object, the second is to be jealous thereof, the third is to defend it ... and these three things made me adopt it, that is, our mother-tongue, which naturally and accidentally I love and have loved." Again, having laid down the premiss that "the magnanimous man always praises himself in his heart; and so the pusillanimous man always deems himself less than he is," he concludes, "Wherefore many on account of this vileness of mind, depreciate their native tongue, and applaud that of others; and all such as these are the abominable wicked men of Italy, who hold this precious mother-tongue in vile contempt, which, if it be vile in any case, is so only inasmuch as it sounds in the evil mouth of these adulterers."--_Il Convito_, caps. x., xi., translated by Elizabeth Price Sayer, 1887, pp. 34-40.]

[bz] ----_when matched with thine_.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[296] [With the whole of this apostrophe to Italy, compare _Purgatorio_, vi. 76-127.]

[ca] _From the world's harvest_----.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[cb] {257}

_Where earthly Glory first then Heavenly made._-- [MS. Alternative reading.] _Where Glory first, and then Religion made_.--[MS. erased.]

[297] [Compare--

"The Goth, the Christian--Time--War--Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hilled City's pride."

_Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza lxxx. lines 1, 2, _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 390, note 2.]

[298] {258}See "Sacco di Roma," generally attributed to Guicciardini [Francesco (1482-1540)]. There is another written by a Jacopo _Buonaparte_.

[The original MS. of the latter work is preserved in the Royal Library at Paris. It is entitled, "Ragguaglio Storico di tutto I'occorso, giorno per giorno, nel Sacco di Roma dell' anno mdxxvii., scritto da Jacopo Buonaparte, Gentiluomo Samminiatese, che vi si trovo' presente." An edition of it was printed at Cologne, in 1756, to which is prefixed a genealogy of the Buonaparte family.

The "traitor Prince" was Charles IV., Connétable de Bourbon, Comte de Montpensier, born 1490, who was killed at the capture of Rome, May 6, 1527. "His death, far from restraining the ardour of the assailants [the Imperial troops, consisting of Germans and Spanish foot], increased it; and with the loss of about 1000 men, they entered and sacked the city.... The disorders committed by the soldiers were dreadful, and the booty they made incredible. They added insults to cruelty, and scoffs to rapaciousness. Upon the news of Bourbon's death, His Holiness, imagining that his troops, no longer animated by his implacable spirit, might listen to an accommodation, demanded a parley; but ... neglected all means for defence.... Cardinals and bishops were ignominiously exposed upon asses with their legs and hands bound; and wealthy citizens ... suspected of having secreted their effects ... were tortured ... to oblige them to make discoveries, ... the booty ... is said to have amounted to about two millions and a half of ducats."--_Mod. Univ. History_, xxxvi. 512.]

[299] {259}[Cambyses, the second King of Persia, who reigned B.C. 529-532, sent an army against the Ammonians, which perished in the sands.]

[cc] ----_and his phalanx--why_.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[300] [The _Prophecy of Dante_ was begun and finished before Byron took up the cause of Italian independence, or definitely threw in his lot with the Carbonari, but his intimacy with the Gambas, which dates from his migration to Ravenna in 1819, must from the first have brought him within the area of political upheaval and disturbance. A year after (April 16, 1820) he writes to Murray, "I have, besides, another reason for desiring you to be speedy, which is, that there is that brewing in Italy which will speedily cut off all security of communication.... I shall, if permitted by the natives, remain to see what will come of it, ... for I shall think it by far the most interesting spectacle and moment in existence, to see the Italians send the Barbarians of all nations back to their own dens. I have lived long enough among them to feel more for them as a nation than for any other people in existence: but they want Union [see line 145], and they want principle; and I doubt their success."--_Letters_, 1901, v. 8, note 1.]

[cd] {261} ----_of long-enduring ill._--[MS. erased.]

[ce]

----_the martyred country's gore_ _Will not in vain arise to whom belongs._--[MS. erased.]

[301] {262}Alexander of Parma, Spinola, Pescara, Eugene of Savoy, Montecuccoli.

[Alessandro Farnese, Duke of Parma (1546-1592), recovered the Southern Netherlands for Spain, 1578-79, made Henry IV. raise the siege of Paris, 1590, etc.

Ambrogio, Marchese di Spinola (1569-1630), a Maltese by birth, entered the Spanish service 1602, took Ostend 1604, invested Bergen-op-Zoom, etc.

Ferdinando Francesco dagli Avalos, Marquis of Pescara (1496-1525), took Milan November 19, 1521, fought at Lodi, etc., was wounded at the battle of Padua, February 24, 1525. He was the husband of Vittoria Colonna, and when he was in captivity at Ravenna wrote some verses in her honour.

François Eugene (1663-1736), Prince of Savoy-Carignan, defeated the French at Turin, 1706, and (with Marlborough) at Malplaquet, 1709; the Turks at Peterwardein, 1716, etc.

Raimondo Montecuccoli, a Modenese (1608-1680), defeated the Turks at St. Gothard in 1664, and in 1675-6 commanded on the Rhine, and out-generalled Turenne and the Prince de Condé]

[302] Columbus, Americus Vespusius, Sebastian Cabot.

[Christopher Columbus (circ. 1430-1506), a Genoese, discovered mainland of America, 1498; Amerigo Vespucci (1451-1512), a Florentine, explored coasts of America, 1497-1504; Sebastian Cabot (1477-1557), son of Giovanni Cabotto or Gavotto, a Venetian, discovered coasts of Labrador, etc., June, 1497.]

[303] {263}[Compare--

"Ah! servile Italy, griefs hostelry! A ship without a pilot in great tempest!"

_Purgatorio_, vi. 76, 77.]

[cf]

_Yet through this many-yeared eclipse of Woe_. --[MS. Alternative reading.] _Yet through this murky interreign of Woe_.--[MS. erased.]

[cg] _Which choirs the birds to song_---.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[ch] _And Pearls flung down to regal Swine evince_.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[ci] _The whoredom of high Genius_----.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[304] {264}[Alfieri, in his _Autobiography_ ... (1845, _Period III_. chap. viii. p. 92) notes and deprecates the servile manner in which Metastasio went on his knees before Maria Theresa in the Imperial gardens of Schoenbrunnen.]

[cj] _And prides itself in prostituted duty_.--[MS. Alternative reading.]

[305] A verse from the Greek tragedians, with which Pompey took leave of Cornelia [daughter of Metellus Scipio, and widow of P. Crassus] on entering the boat in which he was slain. [The verse, or verses, are said to be by Sophocles, and are quoted by Plutarch, in his Life of Pompey, c. 78, _Vitæ_, 1814, vii. 159. They run thus--

Ὅστις γὰρ ὡς τύραννον ἐμπορεύεται, Κείνου ἐστὶ δοῦλος, κἂν ἐλεύθερος μῃ.

("Seek'st thou a tyrant's door? then farewell, freedom! Though _free_ as air before.")

_Vide Incert. Fab. Fragm_., No. 789, _Trag. Grec. Fragm_., A. Nauck, 1889, p. 316.]

[306] The verse and sentiment are taken from Homer.

[Ἥμισυ γάρ τ' ἀρετῆς ἀποαίνυται εὐρύοπα Ζεύς ᾿Ανέρος, εὗτ᾿ ἅν μιν κατὰ δούλιον ἦμαρἕλῃσιν.

_Odyssey_, xvii. 322, 323.]

[307] {265}Petrarch. [Dante died September 14, 1321, when Petrarch, born July 20, 1304, had entered his eighteenth year.]

[308] [Historical events may be thrown into the form of prophecy with some security, but not so the critical opinions of the _soi-disani_ prophet. If Byron had lived half a century later, he might have placed Ariosto and Tasso after and not before Petrarch.]

[ck]

_Was crimsoned with his veins who died to save,_ _Shall be his glorious argument,_----.--[MS, Alternative reading.]

[309] {266}[See the Introduction to the _Lament of Tasso_, _ante_, p. 139, and _Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza xxxvi. line 2, _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 355, note 1.]

[310] [Alfonso d'Este (II.), Duke of Ferrara, died 1597.]

[311] [Compare the opening lines of the _Orlando Furioso_--

"Le Donne, i Cavalier'! l'arme, gli amori, Le Cortesie, l'audaci imprese io canto."

See _Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanzas xl., xli., _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 359, 360, note 1.]

[312] [The sense is, "Ariosto may be matched with, perhaps excelled by, Homer; but where is the Greek poet to set on the same pedestal with Tasso?"]

[313] [Compare _Churchill's Grave_, lines 15-19--

"And is this all? I thought,--and do we rip The veil of Immortality, and crave I know not what of honour and of light Through unborn ages, to endure this blight? So soon, and so successless?"

_Vide ante_, p. 47.]

[cl] {267}

/ _winged_ \ _The_ < > _blood_----.--[MS. Alternative reading.] \ _lightning_ /

[314] [Compare--

"For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise."

_Kubla Khan,_ lines 52, 53, _Poetical Works_. of S. T. Coleridge, 1893, p. 94.]

[315] [Compare--

"By our own spirits are we deified: We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness."

_Resolution and Independence_, vii. lines 5-7, Wordsworth's _Poetical Works_, 1889, p. 175.

Compare, too, Moore's fine apology for Byron's failure to submit to the yoke of matrimony, "and to live happily ever afterwards"--

"But it is the cultivation and exercise of the imaginative faculty that, more than anything, tend to wean the man of genius from actual life, and, by substituting the sensibilities of the imagination for those of the heart, to render, at last, the medium through which he feels no less unreal than that through which he thinks. Those images of ideal good and beauty that surround him in his musings soon accustom him to consider all that is beneath this high standard unworthy of his care; till, at length, the heart becoming chilled as the fancy warms, it too often happens that, in proportion as he has refined and elevated his theory of all the social affections, he has unfitted himself for the practice of them."--_Life_, p. 268.]

[316] {269}[So too Wordsworth, in his Preface to the _Lyrical Ballads_ (1800); "Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings."]

[317] [Compare--

"Thy Godlike crime was to be kind, To render with thy precepts less The sum of human wretchedness ... But baffled as thou wert from high ... Thou art a symbol and a sign To Mortals."

_Prometheus_, iii. lines 35, _seq_.; _vide ante_, p. 50.

Compare, too, the _Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte_, stanza xvi. _var_ ii.--

"He suffered for kind acts to men."

_Poetical Works_, 1900, iii. 312.]

[318] {270}["Transfigurate," whence "transfiguration," is derived from the Latin _transfiguro,_ found in Suetonius and Quintilian. Byron may have thought to anglicize the Italian _trasfigurarsi._]

[319] The Cupola of St. Peter's. [Michel Angelo, then in his seventy-second year, received the appointment of architect of St. Peter's from Pope Paul III. He began the dome on a different plan from that of the first architect, Bramante, "declaring that he would raise the Pantheon in the air." The drum of the dome was constructed in his life-time, but for more than twenty-four years after his death (1563), the cupola remained untouched, and it was not till 1590, in the pontificate of Sixtus V., that the dome itself was completed. The ball and cross were placed on the summit in November, 1593.--_Handbook of Rome_, p. 239.

Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto IV. stanza cliii. line i, _Poetical Works_, 1892, ii. 440, 441, note 2.]

[320] {271}["Yet, however unequal I feel myself to that attempt, were I now to begin the world again, I would tread in the steps of that great master [Michel Angelo]. To kiss the hem of his garment, to catch the slightest of his perfections, would be glory and distinction enough for an ambitious man."--_Discourses_ of Sir Joshua Reynolds, 1884, p. 289.]

[321] The statue of Moses on the monument of Julius II. [Michel Angelo's Moses is near the end of the right aisle of the Church of S. Pietro-in-Vincoli.]

"SONETTO

"_Di Giovanni Battista Zappi_.

"Chi é costui, che in si gran pietra scolto, Siede gigante, e le più illustri, e conte Opre dell' arte avanza, e ha vive, e pronte Le labbra si, che le parole ascolto? Quest' è Mosè; ben me 'l diceva il folto Onor del mento, e 'l doppio raggio in fronte; Quest' è Mosè, quando scendea dal monte, E gran parte del Nume avea nel volto. Tal' era allor, che le sonanti, e vaste Acque ei sospese, a se d' intorno; e tale Quando il Mar chiuse, e ne fè tomba altrui. E voi, sue turbe, un rio vitello alzaste? Alzata aveste immago a questa eguale! Ch' era men fallo i' adorar costui."

[_Scelta di Sonetti ... del Gobbi_, 1709, iii. 216.]

["And who is he that, shaped in sculptured stone Sits giant-like? stern monument of art Unparalleled, while language seems to start From his prompt lips, and we his precepts own? --'Tis Moses; by his beard's thick honours known, And the twin beams that from his temples dart; 'Tis Moses; seated on the mount apart, Whilst yet the Godhead o'er his features shone. Such once he looked, when Ocean's sounding wave Suspended hung, and such amidst the storm, When o'er his foes the refluent waters roared. An idol calf his followers did engrave: But had they raised this awe-commanding form, Then had they with less guilt their work adored."

Rogers.]

[cm] {272}

----_from whose word_ {_Israel took God, pronounce the law in stone._ {_Israel left Egypt, cleave the sea in stone_.--

[MS. Alternative readings.]

[322] The Last Judgment, in the Sistine Chapel.

["It is obvious, throughout his [Michel Angelo's] works, that the poetical mind of the latter [Dante] influenced his feelings. The Demons in the Last Judgment ... may find a prototype in _La Divina Comedia_. The figures rising from the grave mark his study of _L'Inferno_, e _Il Purgatorio_; and the subject of the Brazen Serpent, in the Sistine Chapel, must remind every reader of Canto XXV. dell' _Inferno_."--_Life of Michael Angelo_ by R. Duppa, 1856, p. 120.]

[323] I have read somewhere (if I do not err, for I cannot recollect where,) that Dante was so great a favourite of Michael Angelo's, that he had designed the whole of the Divina Commedia: but that the volume containing these studies was lost by sea.

[Michel Angelo's copy of Dante, says Duppa (_ibid_., and note 1), "was a large folio, with Landino's commentary; and upon the broad margin of the leaves he designed with a pen and ink, all the interesting subjects. This book was possessed by Antonio Montanti, a sculptor and architect in Florence, who, being appointed architect to St. Peter's, removed to Rome, and shipped his ... effects at Leghorn for Cività Vecchia, among which was this edition of Dante. In the voyage the vessel foundered at sea, and it was unfortunately lost in the wreck."]

[324] {273} See the treatment of Michel Angelo by Julius II., and his neglect by Leo X. [Julius II. encouraged his attendance at the Vatican, but one morning he was stopped by the chamberlain in waiting, who said, "I have an order not to let you enter." Michel Angelo, indignant at the insult, left Rome that very evening. Though Julius despatched five couriers to bring him back, it was some months before he returned. Even a letter (July 8, 1506), in which the Pope promised his "dearly beloved Michel Angelo" that he should not be touched nor offended, but be "reinstated in the apostolic grace," met with no response. It was this quarrel with Julius II. which prevented the completion of the sepulchral monument. The "Moses" and the figures supposed to represent the Active and the Contemplative Life, and three Caryatides (since removed) represent the whole of the original design, "a parallelogram surmounted with forty statues, and covered with reliefs and other ornaments."--See Duppa's _Life, etc_., 1856, pp. 33, 34, and _Handbook of Rome_, p. 133.]

[325] [Compare _Merchant of Venice_, act iv. sc. 1, lines 191, 192.]

[326] {274}[Compare--

"I fled, and cried out Death ... I fled, but he pursued, (though more, it seems, Inflamed with lust than rage), and swifter far, Me overtook, his mother, all dismayed, And in embraces forcible and foul, Ingendering with me, of that rape begot These yelling monsters, that with ceaseless cry Surround me."

_Paradise Lost_, book ii. lines 787-796.]

[327] [In his _Convito_, Dante speaks of his banishment, and the poverty and distress which attended it, in very affecting terms. "Ah! would it had pleased the Dispenser of all things that this excuse had never been needed; that neither others had done me wrong, nor myself undergone penalty undeservedly,--the penalty, I say, of exile and of poverty. For it pleased the citizens of the fairest and most renowned daughter of Rome--Florence--to cast me out of her most sweet bosom, where I was born and bred, and passed half of the life of man, and in which, with her good leave, I still desire with all my heart to repose my weary spirit, and finish the days allotted me; and so I have wandered in almost every place to which our language extends, a stranger, almost a beggar, exposing against my will the wounds given me by fortune, too often unjustly imputed to the sufferer's fault. Truly I have been a vessel without sail and without rudder, driven about upon different ports and shores by the dry wind that springs out of dolorous poverty; and hence have I appeared vile in the eyes of many, who, perhaps, by some better report, had conceived of me a different impression, and in whose sight not only has my person become thus debased, but an unworthy opinion created of everything which I did, or which I had to do."--_Il Convito_,