nikolino840
Member
He is no more. As reft of breath
The heedless body lay at last
On whom such boundless hopes were cast,
Immobile in the calm of death.
So, by the tidings, in amaze
The earth is held, and with her gaze
The parting hour doth mutely scan
Of this great spirit ; if again
Upon the dust of her wide plain,
All blood-besprinkled, ever can
The footfall of a mortal show
Like unto his, she doth not know.
My muse, seeing him most gloriously
Ensconced upon a royal throne,
Was still, nor in the clam'rous tone
Of myriad voices joined as he
Fell, then triumphantly did soar
To fall again and rise no more :
Free from all taint of servile praise
And cowardly insult, let me rise,
Now this bright star falls from the skies,
As one who piteous homage pays ;
A garland on his urn, let lie
This song which haply will not die !
From Alp to hoary Pyramid,
From Manzanare to the Rhine,
From Scylla to the Don, sure sign
His vivid lightnings were that did
Foreshow the tempest that would be,
His winged bolt from sea to sea.
Is his true fame ? Posterity
The arduous verdict will declare ;
We can but bow in reverence where
The Eternal Craftsman mightily
Conceived this soul that it might stand
To show the marvels of His hand.
The tremulous, impassioned joy
Of schemes conveyed with master-art,
The strife of a subjected heart
Which dreamed a sceptre for a toy,
Nor was denied the godly prize
Before a world's incredulous eyes ;
All these he knew ; untold renown
More glorious for the peril passed,
Flight, then the victory at last,
The pains of exile doffed the crown ;
Twice humbled to the very dust,
Twice gifted with an empire's trust.
He spoke : and lo, two centuries,
Ranged face to face upon the field,
Submissive to his voice did yield,
As if to destiny's decrees :
He called for silence, and then grave
Judgment between them both he gave.
He vanished : idly passed the days
Imprisoned in a narrow round,
By bitter envy and profound
Compassion, by the constant gaze
Of hate unconquerable pursued,
With love indomitable endued.
A wave o'er shipwrecked mortal's head
Closeth, then heavily down doth bear,
The very wave that in despair
He scanned before, straining ahead
After some merciful trace of ground
In a vain hope before he drowned :
Even so this soul was crushed below
The burden that is memory !
How often to posterity
On deathless page he sought to show
Himself revealed, how often then
From his tired fingers dropped the pen !
How often, drawing to the end
Of a day spent in listless wise,
Arms crossed on breast and downcast eyes
Aflame, he stood while thought did tend
Towards the past, in yearning vain
For that which could not be again,
Calling to mind the mobile tents,
The glint of passing infantry
The flood-wave of the cavalry,
The storming of the battlements,
The sharply framed, imperious word,
The swift consent of those who heard !
Maybe in such deep misery
His spirit might have known despair,
Had not a hand divine been there
To raise him up in charity
And carry him to mansions where
Breathes a more consecrated air ;
To lead him by hope's flowery ways
To everlasting pastures sweet,
Where perfect happiness doth meet
And soar above poor mortal praise,
Where in hushed twilight doth abide
The earthly glory that hath died.
Immortal Faith, O gentle maid,
Full many a triumph hast thou seen !
Write this thing down in joy serene ;
Never on Golgotha was laid
Sublimer fame as low as this,
Never proud spirit bowed like his.
O Faith, from his sad ashes move
All words of bitterness away !
The God who doth create and slay,
Who doth chastise then heal in love,
Will surely come to him and keep
Vigil beside his lonely sleep.
- Alessandro Manzoni -
The heedless body lay at last
On whom such boundless hopes were cast,
Immobile in the calm of death.
So, by the tidings, in amaze
The earth is held, and with her gaze
The parting hour doth mutely scan
Of this great spirit ; if again
Upon the dust of her wide plain,
All blood-besprinkled, ever can
The footfall of a mortal show
Like unto his, she doth not know.
My muse, seeing him most gloriously
Ensconced upon a royal throne,
Was still, nor in the clam'rous tone
Of myriad voices joined as he
Fell, then triumphantly did soar
To fall again and rise no more :
Free from all taint of servile praise
And cowardly insult, let me rise,
Now this bright star falls from the skies,
As one who piteous homage pays ;
A garland on his urn, let lie
This song which haply will not die !
From Alp to hoary Pyramid,
From Manzanare to the Rhine,
From Scylla to the Don, sure sign
His vivid lightnings were that did
Foreshow the tempest that would be,
His winged bolt from sea to sea.
Is his true fame ? Posterity
The arduous verdict will declare ;
We can but bow in reverence where
The Eternal Craftsman mightily
Conceived this soul that it might stand
To show the marvels of His hand.
The tremulous, impassioned joy
Of schemes conveyed with master-art,
The strife of a subjected heart
Which dreamed a sceptre for a toy,
Nor was denied the godly prize
Before a world's incredulous eyes ;
All these he knew ; untold renown
More glorious for the peril passed,
Flight, then the victory at last,
The pains of exile doffed the crown ;
Twice humbled to the very dust,
Twice gifted with an empire's trust.
He spoke : and lo, two centuries,
Ranged face to face upon the field,
Submissive to his voice did yield,
As if to destiny's decrees :
He called for silence, and then grave
Judgment between them both he gave.
He vanished : idly passed the days
Imprisoned in a narrow round,
By bitter envy and profound
Compassion, by the constant gaze
Of hate unconquerable pursued,
With love indomitable endued.
A wave o'er shipwrecked mortal's head
Closeth, then heavily down doth bear,
The very wave that in despair
He scanned before, straining ahead
After some merciful trace of ground
In a vain hope before he drowned :
Even so this soul was crushed below
The burden that is memory !
How often to posterity
On deathless page he sought to show
Himself revealed, how often then
From his tired fingers dropped the pen !
How often, drawing to the end
Of a day spent in listless wise,
Arms crossed on breast and downcast eyes
Aflame, he stood while thought did tend
Towards the past, in yearning vain
For that which could not be again,
Calling to mind the mobile tents,
The glint of passing infantry
The flood-wave of the cavalry,
The storming of the battlements,
The sharply framed, imperious word,
The swift consent of those who heard !
Maybe in such deep misery
His spirit might have known despair,
Had not a hand divine been there
To raise him up in charity
And carry him to mansions where
Breathes a more consecrated air ;
To lead him by hope's flowery ways
To everlasting pastures sweet,
Where perfect happiness doth meet
And soar above poor mortal praise,
Where in hushed twilight doth abide
The earthly glory that hath died.
Immortal Faith, O gentle maid,
Full many a triumph hast thou seen !
Write this thing down in joy serene ;
Never on Golgotha was laid
Sublimer fame as low as this,
Never proud spirit bowed like his.
O Faith, from his sad ashes move
All words of bitterness away !
The God who doth create and slay,
Who doth chastise then heal in love,
Will surely come to him and keep
Vigil beside his lonely sleep.
- Alessandro Manzoni -
