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My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave, 829025

me writhe, or heard me rave? /

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Perchance in such a cell we suffer more

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The world is all before him-mine is here, eobasdf
Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier. 70
What though he perish, he may lift his eyed smil
And with a dying glance upbraid the sky peningk
I will not raise my own in such reproof, ein ni yaW

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Although 'tis clouded by my dungeon roof. este o

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Yet do I feel at times my mind decline,

But with a sense of its decay-I see

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Unwonted lights along my prison shine,.:, zow sono i And a strange demon, who is vexing me,

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With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below yM The feeling of the healthful and the free; your But much to One, who long hath suffered so,duta 9. I

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Sickness of heart, , and narrowness of place bain
And all that may be borne, or can debase.i ofive to

I thought mine enemies had been but

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But spirits may be leagued with them-all Earth

Abandons Heaven forgets me ;-in the dearth

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Of such defence the Powers of Evil can,
It may be, tempt me further, and prevail
Against the outworn creature they assail.
Why in this furnace is my spirit proved

Like steel in tempering fire? because I loved d
Because I loved what not to love, and see,

Was more or less than mortal, and than me.

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I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er ;-
My scars are callous, or I should have dashed
My brain against these bars as the sun flashed
In mockery through them;-if I bear and bore
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The much I have recounted, and the more

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Which hath no words, 'tis that I would not die

And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie
Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame
Stamp madness deep into my memory,

And woo compassion to a blighted name,

Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim.

No-it shall be immortal!—and I make
A future temple of my present cell,

Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.
While thou, Ferrara! when no longer dwell

The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,
And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearthless halls,
A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,

A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,

While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls! And thou, Leonora! thou-who wert ashamed That such as I could love-who blushed to hear To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear, Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed

By grief, years, weariness-and it may be
A taint of that he would impute to me—
From long infection of a den like this,

Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss,
Adores thee still;-and add-that when the towers

And battlements which guard his joyous hours
Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot,
Or left untended in a dull repose,

This this shall be a consecrated spot!

But Thou-when all that Birth and Beauty throws
Of magic round thee is extinct-shalt have
One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.
No power in death can tear our names apart,
As none in life could rend thee from my heart.
Yes, Leonora! it shall be our fate

To be entwined for ever-but too late!

END OF THE SIXTH VOlume.

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