The Poetical Works of Lord Byron

'And one of our apostles, Saul once named, Till, one day, by the Spirit being inflamed, Long persecuted sore the faith of Christ, "Why dost thou persecute me thus?" Christ;

'But they in Christ have firmest hope, and all
Which seems to him, to them too must appear
Well done; nor could it otherwise befall:
He never can in any purpose err.
If sire or mother suffer endless thrall,
They don't disturb themselves for him or her: And then from his offence he was reclaim d
What pleases God to them must joy inspire:And of the faith became a trump, whose sou
And went for ever after preaching Christ,

Such is the observance of the eternal choir.'

ing

O'er the whole earth is echoing and rebounding.

LIX.

'So, my Morgante, you may do likewise:
He who repents-thus writes the Evang
Occasions more rejoicing in the skies

Than ninety-nine of the celestial list.
You may be sure, should each desire arise
With just zeal for the Lord, that you'll ex
Among the happy saints for evermore;
But you were lost and damn'd to hell before""

LX.

And thus great honour to Morgante paid

The abbot many days they did repose.
One day, as with Orlando they both stray'd
And saunter'd here and there, where er t
The abbot show'd a chamber, where array d
chose,

Much armour was, and hung up certain bows
And one of these Morgante for a whim
Girt on, though useless, he believed, to him.

LXI.

There being a want of water in the place,
Orlando, like a worthy brother, said,
Morgante, I could wish you in this case
To go for water.' 'You shall be obey'd
In all commands,' was the reply, straightway
Upon his shoulder a great tub he laid,
And went out on his way unto a fountain, 3]
Where he was wont to drink below the mo

LXII.

Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears,
Which suddenly along the forest spread,
Whereat from out his quiver he prepares
An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head;
And lo! a monstrous herd of swine appears
And onward rushes with tempestuous tread.
And to the fountain's brink precisely pours,
So that the giant's join'd by all the boars.

LXIII.

Morgante at a venture shot an arrow,
Which pierced a pig precisely in the ear,
And pass'd unto the other side quite thorough;
So that the boar, defunct, lay tripp'd up near.
Another, to revenge his fellow farrow,

Against the giant rush'd in fierce career,
And reach'd the passage with so swift a foot,
Morgante was not now in time to shoot.

LXIV.

Perceiving that the pig was on him close,
He gave him such a punch upon the head,*
As floor'd him so that he no more arose,

Smashing the very bone; and he fell dead
Next to the other. Having seen such blows,
The other pigs along the valley fled;
Morgante on his neck the bucket took,

But the horse, sinking with the pain, feil dead,
And burst, while cold on earth lay head and
hoof.

Morgante said, 'Get up, thou sulky cur!'
And still continued pricking with the spur.

LXIX.

But finally he thought fit to dismount,
And said, I am as light as any feather,
And he has burst;-to this what say you, Count?'
Orlando answer'd, 'Like a ship's mast rather
You seem to me, and with the truck for front:-
Let him go! Fortune wills that we together
Should march, but you on foot, Morgante, still.'
To which the giant answer'd, 'So I will.

LXX.

'When there shall be occasion, you will see How I approve my courage in the fight.'

Full from the spring, which neither swerved nor Orlando said, 'I really think you'll be, shook.

If it should prove God's will, a goodly knight; Nor will you napping there discover me.

But never mind your horse, though out of sight 'Twere best to carry him into some wood, If but the means or way I understood.'

LXXI.

The giant said, 'Then carry him I will,
Since that to carry me he was so slack-
To render, as the gods do, good for ill;
But lend a hand to place him on my back.'
Orlando answer'd, If my counsel still

May weigh, Morgante, do not undertake
To lift or carry this dead courser, who,
As you have done to him, will do to you.

The monks, who saw the water fresh and good,
Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the
All animals are glad at sight of food: pork-Take
They lay their breviaries to sleep, and work
With greedy pleasure, and in such a mood,
That the flesh needs no salt beneath their fork.
frankness and of rot there is no fear,
or all the fasts are now left in arrear.

LXVII.

As though they wish'd to burst at once, they ate;
And gorged so that, as if the bones had been
n water, sorely grieved the dog and cat,
Perceiving that they all were pick'd too clean.
rabbot, who to all did honour great,
A few days after this convivial scene,
ave to Morgante a fine horse, well train'd,
ch be long time had for himself maintain'd.
LXVIII.

horse Morgante to a meadow led,
To gallop, and to put him to the proof,
inking that he a back of iron had,
Ur to skim eggs unbroke was light enough;

I dette in su la testa un gran punzone.' It is strange Pici should have literally anticipated the technical terms bi friend and master, Jackson, and the art which he has d to its highest pitch. A punch on the head,' or, 'a in the head,un punzone in su la testa,-is the exact cent phrase of our best pugilists, who little dream that are talking the purest Tuscan

LXXII.

care he don't revenge himself, though As Nessus did of old beyond all cure. [dead, I don't know if the fact you've heard or read;

But he will make you burst, you may be sure.' 'But help him on my back,' Morgante said,

'And you shall see what weight I can endure. In place, my gentle Roland, of this palfrey, With all the bells, I'd carry yonder belfry.'

LXXIII.

The abbot said, 'The steeple may do well,

But, for the bells, you've broken them, I wot.'
Morgante answer'd, 'Let them pay in hell

The penalty who lie dead in yon grot;'
And hoisting up the horse from where he fell,
He said, Now look if I the gout have got,
Orlando, in the legs-or if I have force;
And then he made two gambols with the horse.

LXXIV.

Morgante was like any mountain framed ;
So if he did this 'tis no prodigy;
But secretly himself Orlando blamed,

Because he was one of his family;
And fearing that he might be hurt or maim'd,

Once more he bade him lay his burden by: 'Put down, nor bear him further the desert in. Morgante said. 'I'll carry him for certain.'

LXXV.

He did; and stow'd him in some nook away, And to the abbey they return'd with speed. Orlando said, 'Why longer do we stay?

Morgante, here is nought to do indeed.' The abbot by the hand he took one day,

And said, with great respect, he had agreed To leave his reverence; but for this decision He wish'd to have his pardon and permission.

LXXVI.

The honours they continued to receive

Perhaps exceeded what his merits claim'd: He said, 'I mean, and quickly, to retrieve The lost days of time past, which may be blamed;

Some days ago I should have ask'd your leave,

Kind father, but I really was ashamed, And know not how to show my sentiment, So much I see you with our stay content.

LXXVII.

'But in my heart I bear through every clime
The abbot, abbey, and this solitude-
So much I love you in so short a time;

For me, from heaven reward you with all good The God so true, the eternal Lord sublime!

Whose kingdom at the last hath open stood. Meantime we stand expectant of your blessing, And recommend us to your prayers with pressing.'

LXXVIII.

Now when the abbot Count Orlando heard,
His heart grew soft with inner tenderness,
Such fervour in his bosom bred each word;
And, Cavalier,' he said, 'if I have less
Courteous and kind to your great worth appear'd,
Than fits me for such gentle blood to express,
I know I have done too little in this case;
But blame our ignorance, and this poor place.

LXXIX.

'We can indeed but honour you with masses, And sermons, thanksgivings, and pater-nosters, Hot suppers, dinners (fitting other places

In verity much rather than the cloisters); But such a love for you my heart embraces, For thousand virtues which your bosom fosters, That wheresoe'er you go I too shall be, And, on the other part, you rest with me.

LXXX.

'This may involve a seeming contradiction;
But you I know are sage, and feel, and taste,
And understand my speech, with full conviction.
For your just pious deeds may you be graced
With the Lord's great reward and benediction,
By whom you were directed to this waste:
To his high mercy is our freedom due,
For which we render thanks to him and you.

LXXXI.

'You saved at once our life and soul: such fear The giants caused us, that the way was lost By which we could pursue a fit career

In search of Jesus and the saintly host; And your departure breeds such sorrow here, That comfortless we all are to our cost; But months and years you would not stay in sloth, Nor are you form'd to wear our sober cloth;

LXXXII.

'But to bear arms, and wield the lance; indeed, With these as much is done as with this cow., In proof of which the Scriptures you may read. This giant up to heaven may bear his soul By your compassion: now in peace proceed. Your state and name I seek not to unroll; But, if I'm ask'd, this answer shall be given, That here an angel was sent down from heaven. LXXXIII.

If you want armour or aught else, go in, Look o'er the wardrobe, and take what you choose,

And cover with it o'er this giant's skin.'

Orlando answer'd, 'If there should lie loose Some armour, ere our journey we begin,

Which might be turn'd to my companion's use, The gift would be acceptable to me.' The abbot said to him, Come in and see."

LXXXIV.

And in a certain closet, where the wall

Was cover'd with old armour like a crust, The abbot said to them, I give you all."

Morgante rummaged piecemeal from the d The whole, which, save one cuirass, was too se And that too had the mail inlaid with rust. They wonder'd how it fitted him exactly, Which ne'er has suited others so compactly.

LXXXV.

'Twas an immeasurable giant's, who By the great Milo of Agrante fell Before the abbey many years ago.

The story on the wall was figured well; In the last moment of the abbey's foe,

Who long had waged a war implacable: Precisely as the war occurr'd they drew him, And there was Milo as he overthrew him.

LXXXVI.

Seeing this history, Count Orlando said
In his heart, Óh God, who in the sky
Know'st all things! how was Milo hither le??
Who caused the giant in this place to die?
And certain letters, weeping, then he read,

So that he could not keep his visage dry-
As I will tell in the ensuing story.
From evil keep you the high King of glory!

FRANCESCA OF RIMINI.*

WRITTEN 1820. PUBLISHED 1830.

FROM THE INFERNO OF DANTE.

CANTO THE FIFTH.

'THE land where I was born sits by the seas, t
Upon that shore to which the Po descends,
With all his followers, in search of peace.
Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends,
Seized him for the fair person which was ta'en
From me, and me even yet the mode offends.
Love, who to none beloved to love again
Remits, seized me with wish to please, so
strong,

That, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain. Love to one death conducted us along,

But Cainà‡ waits for him our life who ended:' These were the accents utter'd by her tongue. Since I first listen'd to these souls offended, I bow'd my visage, and so kept it till'What think'st thou,' said the bard; when I unbended,

And recommenced: Alas! unto such ill How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstasies,

Led these their evil fortune to fulfil!'
And then I turn'd unto their side my eyes,
And said, Francesca, thy sad destinies
Have made me sorrow till the tears arise.
But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs,
By what and how thy love to passion rose,
So as his dim desires to recognize?'
Then she to me: 'The greatest of all woes
Is to remind us of our happy days
In misery, and that thy teacher knows.
But if to learn our passion's first root preys
Upon thy spirit with such sympathy,

I will do even as he who weeps and says.
We read one day for pastime, seated nigh,
Of Lancilot, how love enchain'd him too.
We were alone, quite unsuspiciously.
But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue
All o'er discolour'd by that reading were;
But one point only wholly us o'erthrew ;
When we read the long-sigh'd-for smile of her,
To be thus kiss'd by such devoted lover,
He who from me can be divided ne'er
Kiss'd my mouth, trembling in the act all over :
Accursed was the book and he who wrote !
That day no further leaf we did uncover.'
While thus one spirit told us of their lot,
The other wept, so that with pity's thralls
I swoon'd, as if by death I had been smote,
And fell down even as a dead body falls.

The scene of the Drama is amongst the Higher Alps-partly in the Castle of Manfred, and partly in the Mountains.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-MANFRED alone.-Scene, a Gothic Gallery.-Time, Midnight.

but

Man. The lamp must be replenish'd, even then It will not burn so long as I must watch: My slumbers-if I slumber-are not sleep, But a continuance of enduring thought, Which then I can resist not in my heart There is a vigil, and these eyes but close To look within; and yet I live, and bear The aspect and the form of breathing men. But grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth, The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life. Philosophy and science, and the springs Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world, I have essay'd, and in my mind there is A power to make these subject to itselfBut they avail not: I have done men good, And I have met with good even among menBut this avail'd not: I have had my foes, And none have baffled, many fallen before meBut this avail'd not :-Good, or evil, life, Powers, passions, all I see in other beings, Have been to me as rain unto the sands,

Or lurking love of something on the earth.Now to my task.

Mysterious Agency! Ye spirits of the unbounded Universe! Whom I have sought in darkness and in bghtYe, who do compass earth about, and dwell In subtler essence-ye, to whom the tops Of mountains inaccessible are haunts, And earth's and ocean's caves familiar thingI call upon ye by the written charm Which gives me power upon you-Rise! appear [4 pat

They come not yet.-Now by the voice of bat
Who is the first among you-by this sign,
Which makes you tremble-by the claims of
Who is undying,-Rise! appear!-Appear
LA pen

If it be so.-Spirits of earth and air,
Ye shall not thus elude me: by a power,
Deeper than all yet urged, a tyrant-spel,
Which had its birth-place in a star condemt,
The burning wreck of a demolish'd work,
A wandering hell in the eternal space!
By the strong curse which is upon my soul,

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The Poetical Works of Lord Byron: Reprinted from the Original Editions, with ...