[ 20 ] [Jan. 



tasso and his sister. 



" Devant vous est Sorrente ; la, tlemeurait la soeur de TasRe, quand il vint en P6- 

 lerin demander h cette obscure amie, un asile contra I'injustice des Princes : ses 

 loneiies douleurs avaient presque egare sa raison ; il ne lui restait plus que du genie." 



Corinne, vol. ii, p. 269. 



She sat where, on each wind that sighed, 



The citron's breath went by, 

 While the deep gold of eventide 



Burn'd in th' Italian sky. 

 Her bower was one where day-light's close 



Full oft sweet laughter found, 

 As thence the voice of childhood rose 



To the high vineyards round. 



But still and thoughtful, at her knee, 



Her children stood that hour — 

 Their bursts of song, and dancing glee, 



Hush'd as by words of power. 

 With bright, fix'd, wondering eyes, that gaz'd 



Up to their mother's face. 

 With brows through parting ringlets rais'd. 



They stood in silent grace. 



While she — yet something o'er her look 



Of mournfulness was spread — 

 Forth from a poet's magic book 



The glorious numbers read : 

 The proud undying lay which pour'd 



Its light on evil years ; 

 His of the gifted pen and sword,* 



Thetriumph— and the tears. 



She read of fair Erminia's flight, 



Which Venice once might hear 

 Sung on her glittering seas, at night. 



By many a gondolier : 

 Of Him she read, who broke the charm 



That wrapt the myrtle grove, 

 , Of Godfrey's deeds — of Tancred's arm. 



That slew his Paynim-love. 



Young cheeks around that bright page glow'd ; 



Young holy hearts were stirr'd, 

 And the meek tears of woman flow'd 



Fast o'er each burning word ; 

 And sounds of breeze, and fount, and leaf, 



Came sweet each pause between. 

 When a strange voice of sudden grief 



Burst on the gentle scene. 



The mother turn'd — a way-worn man 



In pilgrim-garb stood nigh. 

 Of stately mien, yet wild and wan, 



Of proud, yet restless eye : 

 But drops, that would not stay for pride. 



From that dark eye gush'd free, 

 As, pressing his pale brow, he cried — 



" Forgotten, ev'n by thee !" 



» It is hardly necessary to recall the well-known ItaUan saying, that " Tasso, with 

 his sword and pen, was superior to all men." 



