No More Learning

.
'Alas, love!
Fear me not. . . against thee I would not move
A finger in despite. Do I not live
That thou mayst have less bitter cause to grieve? _495
I give thee tears for scorn and love for hate;
And that thy lot may be less desolate
Than his on whom thou tramplest, I refrain
From that sweet sleep which medicines all pain.
Then, when thou speakest of me, never say _500
"He could forgive not. " Here I cast away
All human passions, all revenge, all pride;
I think, speak, act no ill; I do but hide
Under these words, like embers, every spark
Of that which has consumed me--quick and dark _505
The grave is yawning. . . as its roof shall cover
My limbs with dust and worms under and over
So let Oblivion hide this grief. . .
the air
Closes upon my accents, as despair
Upon my heart--let death upon despair! ' _510

He ceased, and overcome leant back awhile,
Then rising, with a melancholy smile
Went to a sofa, and lay down, and slept
A heavy sleep, and in his dreams he wept
And muttered some familiar name, and we _515
Wept without shame in his society.
I think I never was impressed so much;
The man who were not, must have lacked a touch
Of human nature. . . then we lingered not,
Although our argument was quite forgot, _520
But calling the attendants, went to dine
At Maddalo's; yet neither cheer nor wine
Could give us spirits, for we talked of him
And nothing else, till daylight made stars dim;
And we agreed his was some dreadful ill _525
Wrought on him boldly, yet unspeakable,
By a dear friend; some deadly change in love
Of one vowed deeply which he dreamed not of;
For whose sake he, it seemed, had fixed a blot
Of falsehood on his mind which flourished not _530
But in the light of all-beholding truth;
And having stamped this canker on his youth
She had abandoned him--and how much more
Might be his woe, we guessed not--he had store
Of friends and fortune once, as we could guess _535
From his nice habits and his gentleness;
These were now lost. . . it were a grief indeed
If he had changed one unsustaining reed
For all that such a man might else adorn.
The colours of his mind seemed yet unworn; _540
For the wild language of his grief was high,
Such as in measure were called poetry;
And I remember one remark which then
Maddalo made. He said: 'Most wretched men
Are cradled into poetry by wrong, _545
They learn in suffering what they teach in song. '

If I had been an unconnected man,
I, from this moment, should have formed some plan
Never to leave sweet Venice,--for to me
It was delight to ride by the lone sea; _550
And then, the town is silent--one may write
Or read in gondolas by day or night,
Having the little brazen lamp alight,
Unseen, uninterrupted; books are there,
Pictures, and casts from all those statues fair _555
Which were twin-born with poetry, and all
We seek in towns, with little to recall
Regrets for the green country. I might sit
In Maddalo's great palace, and his wit
And subtle talk would cheer the winter night _560
And make me know myself, and the firelight
Would flash upon our faces, till the day
Might dawn and make me wonder at my stay:
But I had friends in London too: the chief
Attraction here, was that I sought relief _565
From the deep tenderness that maniac wrought
Within me--'twas perhaps an idle thought--
But I imagined that if day by day
I watched him, and but seldom went away,
And studied all the beatings of his heart _570
With zeal, as men study some stubborn art
For their own good, and could by patience find
An entrance to the caverns of his mind,
I might reclaim him from this dark estate:
In friendships I had been most fortunate-- _575
Yet never saw I one whom I would call
More willingly my friend; and this was all
Accomplished not; such dreams of baseless good
Oft come and go in crowds or solitude
And leave no trace--but what I now designed _580
Made for long years impression on my mind.
The following morning, urged by my affairs,
I left bright Venice.
After many years
And many changes I returned; the name
Of Venice, and its aspect, was the same; _585
But Maddalo was travelling far away
Among the mountains of Armenia.
His dog was dead.