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We could just hear its hoarse and iron tongue :
The broad sun sank behind it, and it tolled
In strong and black relief. -

"What we behold

Shall be the madhouse and its belfry tower,”-
Said Maddalo ;" and ever at this hour
Those who may cross the water hear that bell,
Which calls the maniacs, each one from his cell,
To vespers."

"As much skill as need to pray

In thanks or hope for their dark lot have they
To their stern maker," I replied.

"Oho!

You talk as in years past," said Maddalo.

"Tis strange men change not. You were ever still Among Christ's flock a perilous infidel,

A wolf for the meek lambs. If you can't swim,
Beware of providence!" I looked on him,
But the gay smile had faded from his eye.
"And such," he cried, "is our mortality!
And this must be the emblem and the sign
Of what should be eternal and divine;
And, like that black and dreary bell, the soul,
Hung in an heaven-illumined tower, must toll
Our thoughts and our desires to meet below
Round the rent heart, and pray--as madmen do;
For what? they know not, till the night of death,
As sunset that strange vision, severeth

Our memory from itself, and us from all
We sought, and yet were baffled."

I recall

The sense of what he said, although I mar
The force of his expressions. The broad star
Of day meanwhile had sunk behind the hill;
And the black bell became invisible;

And the red tower looked grey; and, all between,
The churches, ships, and palaces, were seen
Huddled in gloom; into the purple sea
The orange hues of heaven sunk silently.
We hardly spoke, and soon the gondola
Conveyed me to my lodging by the way.

The following morn was rainy, cold, and dim.
Ere Maddalo arose, I called on him;
And, whilst I waited, with his child I played.
A lovelier toy sweet Nature never made;

A serious, subtle, wild, yet gentle being;
Graceful without design, and unforeseeing;

With eyes-oh speak not of her eyes! which seem
Twin mirrors of Italian heaven, yet gleam
With such deep meaning as we never see

But in the human countenance.

With me

She was a special favourite: I had nursed

Her fine and feeble limbs when she came first
To this bleak world; and she yet seemed to know

On second sight her ancient playfellow,

Less changed than she was by six months or so.
For, after her first shyness was worn out,

We sate there, rolling billiard balls about,—
When the Count entered.

Salutations passed:

"The words you spoke last night might well have cast
A darkness on my spirit. If man be
The passive thing you say, I should not see
Much harm in the religions and old saws
(Though I may never own such leaden laws)
Which break a teachless nature to the yoke :
Mine is another faith."-Thus much I spoke,
And, noting he replied not, added-"See
This lovely child; blithe, innocent, and free:
She spends a happy time, with little care;
While we to such sick thoughts subjected are
As came on you last night. It is our will
Which thus enchains us to permitted ill.
We might be otherwise; we might be all
We dream of, happy, high, majestical.
Where is the beauty, love, and truth, we seek,
But in our minds? And, if we were not weak,
Should we be less in deed than in desire ?"-

"Ay, if we were not weak,-and we aspire,
How vainly! to be strong," said Maddalo :
"You talk Utopia."

"It remains to know,"
I then rejoined; "and those who try may find
How strong the chains are which our spirit bind :
Brittle perchance as straw. We are assured
Much may be conquered, much may be endured,
Of what degrades and crushes us. We know
That we have power over ourselves to do
And suffer-what, we know not till we try,
But something nobler than to live and die.
So taught the kings of old philosophy
Who reigned before religion made men blind;
And those who suffer with their suffering kind
Yet feel this faith Religion."

"My dear friend,"
Said Maddalo, "my judgment will not bend
To your opinion, though I think you might
Make such a system refutation-tight,
As far as words go. I knew one like you,
Who to this city came some months ago,

With whom I argued in this sort,—and he
Is now gone mad-and so he answered me,
Poor fellow!-But, if you would like to go,
We'll visit him, and his wild talk will show
How vain are such aspiring theories."

"I hope to prove the induction otherwise,
And that a want of that true theory still
Which seeks a soul of goodness in things ill,
Or in himself or others, has thus bowed
His being. There are some by nature proud
Who, patient in all else, demand but this-
To love and be beloved with gentleness:
And, being scorned, what wonder if they die
Some living death? This is not destiny,
But man's own wilful ill.”

As thus I spoke,
Servants announced the gondola, and we
Through the fast-falling rain and high-wrought sea
Sailed to the island where the Madhouse stands.
We disembarked. The clap of tortured hands,
Fierce yells, and howlings, and lamentings keen,
And laughter where complaint had merrier been,
Accosted us. We climbed the oozy stairs
Into an old courtyard. I heard on high
Then fragments of most touching melody;
But, looking up, saw not the singer there.
Through the black bars, in the tempestuous air,
I saw, like weeds on a wrecked palace growing,
Long tangled locks, flung wildly forth and flowing,
Of those who on a sudden were beguiled
Into strange silence, and looked forth and smiled,
Hearing sweet sounds. Then I :

"Methinks there were

But what is he

A cure of these with patience and kind care,
If music can thus move.
Whom we seek here?"

"Of his sad history
"He came

I know but this," said Maddalo.

To Venice a dejected man, and fame

Said he was wealthy, or he had been so :

Some thought the loss of fortune wrought him woe.

But he was ever talking in such sort

As you do, but more sadly; he seemed hurt,

Even as a man with his peculiar wrong,
To hear but of the oppression of the strong,
Or those absurd deceits (I think with you
In some respects, you know) which carry through
The excellent impostors of this earth,

When they outface detection. He had worth,
Poor fellow, but a humourist in his way."

"Alas! what drove him mad?”

"I cannot say :

A lady came with him from France; and, when
She left him and returned, he wandered then
About yon lonely isles of desert sand,

Till he grew wild. He had no cash or land
Remaining. The police had brought him here:
Some fancy took him, and he would not bear
Removal. So I fitted up for him

Those rooms beside the sea, to please his whim;
And sent him busts, and books, and urns for flowers,
Which had adorned his life in happier hours,

And instruments of music.

You may guess

A stranger could do little more, or less,

For one so gentle and unfortunate:

And those are his sweet strains which charm the weight From madmen's chains, and make this hell appear

A heaven of sacred silence hushed to hear."

"Nay, this was kind of you,—he had no claim,

As the world says."

"None but the very same

Which I on all mankind, were I, as he,
Fallen to such deep reverse. His melody
Is interrupted now: we hear the din
Of madmen, shriek on shriek, again begin,
Let us now visit him: after this strain,
He ever communes with himself again,
And sees and hears not any."

Having said
These words, we called the keeper, and he led

To an apartment opening on the sea.
There the poor wretch was sitting mournfully
Near a piano, his pale fingers twined

One with the other; and the ooze and wind
Rushed through an open casement, and did sway
His hair, and starred it with the brackish spray.
His head was leaning on a music-book,

And he was muttering, and his lean limbs shook.
His lips were pressed against a folded leaf,
In hue too beautiful for health; and grief
Smiled in their motions as they lay apart,
As one who wrought from his own fervid heart
The eloquence of passion. Soon he raised
His sad meek face, and eyes lustrous and glazed,

And spoke,-sometimes as one who wrote, and thought
His words might move some heart that heeded not,
If sent to distant lands; and then as one

Reproaching deeds never to be undone,

With wondering self compassion. Then his speech
Was lost in grief, and then his words came each

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