XL. He thought that a fierce serpent had attack'd him; And to the gate he came with great regret— "Who knocks here?" grumbling all the while, said he. "That," said Orlando, “you will quickly see. XLI. "I come to preach to you, as to your brothers, Sent by the miserable monks-repentance; For Providence divine, in you and others, Condemns the evil done by new acquaintance.. 'Tis writ on high-your wrong must pay another's; From heaven itself is issued out this sentence. Know then, that colder now than a pilaster I left your Passamont and Alabaster." XLII. Morgante said, "O gentle cavalier! Now by thy God say me no villany; I by my faith disclose contentedly; The Saracen rejoin'd, in humble tone, "I have had an extraordinary vision; A savage serpent fell on me alone, And Macon would not pity my condition; Orlando answer'd, “Baron just and pious, Eternal honour, you will go above, "The Lord descended to the virgin breast Without whom neither sun nor star can shine, Abjure bad Macon's false and felon test, Your renegado god, and worship mine,Baptize yourself with zeal, since you repent." To which Morgante answer'd, "I'm content." XLVI. And then Orlando to embrace him flew, And made much of his convert, as he cried, "To the abbey I will gladly marshal you." To whom Morgante, "Let us go," replied; "I to the friars have for peace to sue." Which thing Orlando heard with inward pride, Saying, "My brother, so devout and good, Ask the abbot pardon, as I wish you would: XLVII. "Since God has granted your illumination, XLVIII. "Then," quoth the giant, "blessed be Jesu I wish, for your great gallantry, always." XLIX. And, by the way, about the giants dead And, since it is God's pleasure, pardon me; A thousand wrongs unto the monks they bred, And our true Scripture soundeth openly, Good is rewarded, and chastised the ill, Which the Lord never faileth to fulfil: L. "Because his love of justice unto all Is such, he wills his judgment should devour All who have sin, however great or small; But good he well remembers to restore. Nor without justice holy could we call Him, whom I now require you to adore. All men must make his will their wishes sway, And quickly and spontaneously obey. LI. "And here our doctors are of one accord, Coming on this point to the same conclusion,That in their thoughts who praise in heaven the Lord If pity e'er was guilty of intrusion, For their unfortunate relations stored In hell below, and damn'd in great confusion,Their happiness would be reduced to nought, And thus unjust the Almighty's self be thought. LII. "But they in Christ have firmest hope, and all If sire or mother suffer endless thrall, They don't disturb themselves for him or her; What pleases God to them must joy inspire;Such is the observance of the eternal choir." LIII. "A word unto the wise," Morgante said, "Is wont to be enough, and you shall sec How much I grieve about my brethren dead; And if the will of God seem good to me, Just, as you tell me, 't is in heaven obey'd— Ashes to ashes,-merry let us be! I will cut off the hands from both their trunks, And carry them unto the holy monks: LIV. "So that all persons may be sure and certain That they are dead, and have no further fear To wander solitary this deset. in, And that they may perceive my spirit clear By the Lord's grace, who hath withdrawn the curtain Of darkness, making his bright realm appear." He cut his brethren's hands off at these words, And left them to the savage beasts and birds. LV. Then to the abbey they went on together, Where waited them the abbot in great doubt. The monks, who knew not yet the fact, ran thither To their superior, all in breathless rout, Saying with tremor, "Please to tell us whether You wish to have this person in or out?" The abbot, looking through upon the giant, Too greatly fear'd, at first, to be compliant. LVI. Orlando, seeing him thus agitated, Said quickly, Abbot, be thou of good cheer; He Christ believes, as Christian must be rated, And hath renounced his Macon false;" which here Morgante with the hands corroborated, A proof of both the giants' fate quite clear: Thence, with due thanks, the abbot God adored, Saying, "Thou hast contented me, O Lord!" LVII. He gazed; Morgante's height he calculated, Know, that no more my wonder will arise LVIII. "And one of our apostles, Saul once named, Long persecuted sore the faith of Christ, Till, one day, by the Spirit being inflamed, 'Why dost thou persecute me thus?' said Christ, And then from his offence he was reclaim'd, And went for ever after preaching Christ, And of the faith became a trump, whose sounding O'er the whole earth is echoing and rebounding. LIX. "So, my Morgante, you may do likewise; He who repents-thus writes the EvangelistOccasions more rejoicing in the skies Than ninety-nine of the celestial list. With just zeal for the Lord, that you'll exist LX. And thus great honour to Morgante paid Much armour was, and hung up certain bows; (i) "Gli dette in su la testa un gran punzone." It is strange that Pulci should have literally anticipated the LXI. There being a want of water in the place, To go for water." "You shall be obey'd And went out on his way unto a fountain, LXII. Arrived there, a prodigious noise he hears, An arrow for his bow, and lifts his head; 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 (1) As floor'd him, so that he no more arose, Smashing the very bone; and he fell dead The tun was on one shoulder, and there were With the dead boars, and with that brimful vase, Marvell'd to see his strength so very great; So did the abbot, and set wide the gate. LXVI. The monks, who saw the water fresh and good, Rejoiced, but much more to perceive the pork ;All animals are glad at sight of food; 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, Of rankness and of rot there is no fear, For all the fasts are now left in arrear. LXVII. As though they wish'd to burst at once, they ate; A few days after this convivial scene, technical terms of my old friend and master, Jackson, ard the art which he has carried to its highest pitch. "4 LXVIII. The horse Morgante to a meadow led, Or to skim eggs unbroke was light enough; But finally he thought fit to dismount, And said, "I am as light as any feather, "When there shall be occasion, you will see But never mind your horse, though out of sight 'T were best to carry him into some wood, If but the means or way I understood." LXXI. The giant said, "Then carry him I will, 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 who, courser, As you have done to him, will do to you. LXXII. "Take care he don't revenge himself, though dead, As Nessus did of old beyond all cure. 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. The abbot said, "The steeple may do well, The penalty who lie dead in yon grot;" He said, "Now look if I the gout have got, Morgante was like any mountain framed; Because he was one of his family; punch on the head," or "a punch in the head, "-un punzone in su la testa,"-is the exact and frequent phrase of our LXXV. He did; and stow'd him in some nook away, "Morgante, here is nought to do indeed.” The abbot by the hand he took one day, And said, with great respect, he had agreed 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 LXXVIII. Now when the abbot Count Orlando heard, And, "Cavalier," he said, "if I have less "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; best pugilists, who little dream that they are talking the purest Tascan. LXXXII. "But to bear arms, and wield the lance; indeed, With these as much is done as with this cowl; In proof of which the Scripture 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 Which might be turn'd to my companion's use, 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 dust (I) "It is strange that here nobody understands the real precise meaning of 'sbergo' or usbergo; an old Tuscan word which I have rendered cuirass, but am not sure it is The whole, which, save one cuirass, (1) was too small, 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, Precisely as the war occurr'd they drew him, Who long had waged a war implacable: And there was Milo as he overthrew him. LXXXVI. Seeing this history, Count Orlando said So that he could not keep his visage dry,- From evil keep you the high King of glory! not helmet." (Lord B. to Mr. Murray.) See also antè, page 326, note.-P. E. The Prophecy of Dante." "'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, DEDICATION. LADY! (2) if for the cold and cloudy clime I dare to build the imitative rhyme, Such sounds are utter'd, and such charms display'd, So sweet a language from so fair a mouth Ah! to what effort would it not persuade? (3) (1) This poem, which Lord Byron, in sending it to Mr. Murray, called "the best thing he had ever done, if not unintelligible," was written, in the summer of 1819, at -"that place Of old renown, once in the Adrian sea, The Prophecy, however, was first published in May, 1821. It is dedicated to the Countess Guiccioli, who thus describes the origin of its composition:-"On my departure from Venice, Lord Byron had promised to come and see me at Ravenna. Dante's tomb, the classical pine-wood,* the relics of antiquity which are to be found in that place, afforded a sufficient pretext for me to invite him to come, and for him • "'T was in a grove of spreading pines he stray'd," etc. Dryden's Theodore and Honoria. 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 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 to accept my invitation. He came in the month of June, 1819, arriving at Ravenna on the day of the festival of the Corpus Domini. Being deprived at this time of his books, his horses, and all that occupied him at Venice, I begged him to gratify me by writing something on the subject of Dante; and, with his usual facility and rapidity, he composed his Prophecy.”—L. E. "There were in this poem originally three lines of remarkable strength and severity, which, as the Italian poet against whom they were directed was then living, were omitted in the publication. I shall here give them from memory:The prostitution of his muse and wife, Both beautiful, and both by him debased. Shall salt his bread and give him means of life.'" Moore.-P. E. (2) "Prettily but inharmoniously turned." Galt.-P. E. (3) The Countess Guiccioli was the daughter of Count Gamba, a nobleman of Ravenna. She was taken, at an 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, 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, 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 probably 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 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 of 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," 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 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 early age, from a convent, to become the wife of Count Guiccioli, a widower, old enough to be her grandfather, and rich enough to buy the consent of the parents of any young lady of family in the states of the Church, in spite of a character not distinguished for its worthiness. This marriage of custom instead of affection had not taken place long before her visit to Venice in the spring of 1819, where her acquaintance with Lord Byron commenced, which con. tinued to his death. He met her in society at the Countess Benzoni's. Moore, in his Life of Lord Byron, has detailed their introduction to each other, their early acquaintance, and continued attachment, and has given numerous characteristic extracts from his correspondence. It is acknowledged by the friends of Byron, that the affection of the Guiccioli brought him back, from a state of low and degrading dissipation, to health and to all the tranquillity of which his temperament was susceptible, and that his heart, seared by domestic abandonment, could receive. In the winter of 1832-3 this lady came to England with her brother. The object of her journey was to visit all the scenes associated with Byron, and to make a pilgrimage to his grave." See Finden's Illustrations.-P. E. (1) "The Prophecy of Dante contains unquestionably stanzas of resounding energy, but the general verse of the poem is as harsh and abrupt as the clink and clang of the cymbal: morcover, even for a prophecy, it is too obscure; and though it possesses abstractedly too many fine thoughts, and too much of the combustion of heroic passion, to be regarded as a failure, yet it will never be popular. It is a quarry, however, of very precious poetical expression." Galt.-P. E. (2) Dante Alighieri was born in Florence in May, 1265, of of an Italian imitator of Milton, or if a translation of Monti, or Pindemonte, or Arici, should be held up i 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, when my business is with the English one; and, be they few or many, I must take my leave of both. (1) THE PROPHECY OF DANTE.(2) CANTO 1. ONCE more in man's frail world! which I had left My earthly sorrows, and to God's own skies That nought on earth could more my bosom move, Relieved her wing till found; without thy light an ancient and honourable family. In the early part of his life he gained some credit in a military character, and distinguished himself by his bravery in an action where the Florentines obtained a signal victory over the citizens of Arezzo. He became still more eminent by the acquisition of court honours; and at the age of thirty-five he rose to be one of the chief magistrates of Florence, when that dignity was conferred by the suffrages of the people. From this exaltation the poet himself dated his principal misfortunes. Italy was at that time distracted by the contending factions of the Ghibelines and Guelphs,-among the former Dante took an active part. In one of the proscriptions he was banished, his possessions confiscated, and he died in exile in 1321. Boccaccio thus describes his person and manners:-"He was of the middle stature, of a mild dispo sition, and, from the time he arrived at manhood, grave in his manner and deportment. His clothes were plain, and his dress always conformable to his years: his face was long; his nose aquiline; his eyes rather large than otherwise. His complexion was dark, melancholy, and pensive. In his meals he was extremely moderate; in his manners most courteous and civil; and, both in public and private life, he was admirably decorous.”—L. E. (3) The reader is requested to adopt the Italian pronunciation of Beatrice, sounding all the syllables. (4) Canzone, in which Dante describes the person of Beatrice, Strophe third: |