'tis not so
difficult
to die.
Byron
_Thou_ didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt me;
I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey--
But was my own destroyer, and will be
My own hereafter. --Back, ye baffled fiends! 140
The hand of Death is on me--but not yours!
[_The Demons disappear. _
_Abbot_. Alas! how pale thou art--thy lips are white--
And thy breast heaves--and in thy gasping throat
The accents rattle: Give thy prayers to Heaven--
Pray--albeit but in thought,--but die not thus.
_Man_. 'Tis over--my dull eyes can fix thee not;
But all things swim around me, and the earth
Heaves as it were beneath me. Fare thee well--
Give me thy hand.
_Abbot_. Cold--cold--even to the heart--
But yet one prayer--Alas! how fares it with thee? 150
_Man_. Old man!
'tis not so difficult to die. [171]
[MANFRED _expires. _
_Abbot_. He's gone--his soul hath ta'en its earthless flight;
Whither? I dread to think--but he is gone. [172]
THE LAMENT OF TASSO. [175]
I.
Long years! --It tries the thrilling frame to bear
And eagle-spirit of a Child of Song--
Long years of outrage--calumny--and wrong;
Imputed madness, prisoned solitude,[176]
And the Mind's canker in its savage mood,
When the impatient thirst of light and air
Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate,
Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade,
Works through the throbbing eyeball to the brain,
With a hot sense of heaviness and pain; 10
And bare, at once, Captivity displayed
Stands scoffing through the never-opened gate,
Which nothing through its bars admits, save day,
And tasteless food, which I have eat alone
Till its unsocial bitterness is gone;
And I can banquet like a beast of prey,
Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave
Which is my lair, and--it may be--my grave.
All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear,
But must be borne. I stoop not to despair; 20
For I have battled with mine agony,
And made me wings wherewith to overfly
The narrow circus of my dungeon wall,
And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall;
And revelled among men and things divine,
And poured my spirit over Palestine,[177]
In honour of the sacred war for Him,
The God who was on earth and is in Heaven,
For He has strengthened me in heart and limb.
That through this sufferance I might be forgiven, 30
I have employed my penance to record
How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored.
II.
But this is o'er--my pleasant task is done:--[178]
My long-sustaining Friend of many years!
If I do blot thy final page with tears,[179]
Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none.
But Thou, my young creation!
