But brighter still the beam was thrown
Upon the axe, which near him shone
With a clear and ghastly glitter-
Oh! that parting hour was bitter!
Even the stern stood chilled with awe:
Dark the crime, and just the law-
Yet they shuddered as they saw.

The parting prayers are said and over
Of that false son-and daring lover!
His beads and sins are all recounted,
His hours to their last minute mounted-
His mantling cloak before was stripped,
His bright brown locks must now be clipped:
'Tis done all closely are they shorn-
The vest which till this moment worn-
The scarf which Parisina gave-

Must not adorn him to the grave.

E'en that must now be thrown aside,
And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied;
But no-that last indignity

Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye.
All feelings seemingly subdued,

In deep disdain were half renewed,
When headsman's hands prepared to bind
Those eyes which would not brook such blind;
As if they dared not look on death.
'No-yours my forfeit blood and breath:
These bands are chained-but let me die
At least with an unshackled eye :
"Strike!'-and as the word he said,
Upon the block he bowed his head;
These the last accents Hugo spoke :
'Strike !'-and, flashing fell the stroke-
Rolled the head—and, gushing, sunk
Back the stained and heaving trouk,
In the dust, which each deep vein
Slaked with its ensanguined rain:
and lips a moment quiver,

His eyes
Convulsed and quick-then fix for ever!

The desolation which falls upon the heart of the father and husband of the guilty pair is such as may be imagined, and such as, if words can convey an idea of such agony, may be supposed to be expressed in the concluding stanza of the poem:

Never tear his cheek descended,

And never smile his brow unbended;
And o'er that fair broad brow were wrought
The intersected lines of thought;

Those furrows which the burning share

Of Sorrow ploughs untimely there;

Scars of the lacerating mind

Which the Soul's war doth leave behind.

He was past all mirth or woe:
Nothing more remained below
But sleepless nights and heavy days,
A mind all dead to scorn or praise,
A heart which shunned itself—and yet
That would not yield-nor could forget,
Which, when it least appeared to melt,
Intently thought-intensely felt:
The deepest ice which ever froze
Can only o'er the surface close-
The living stream lies quick below,
And flows-and cannot cease to flow.
Still was his sealed-up bosom haunted
By thoughts which Nature hath implanted;
Too deeply rooted thence to vanish,
Howe'er our stifled tears we banish :
When, struggling as they rise to start,
We check those waters of the heart,
They are not dried-those tears, unshed,
But flow back to the fountain head,
And, resting in their spring more pure,
For ever in its depth endure,
Unseen, unwept, but uncongealed,

And cherished most where least revealed.
With inward starts of feeling left,

To throb o'er those of life bereft ;

·

Without the power to fill again

The desert gap which made his pain;

Without the hope to meet them where

United souls shall gladness share,

With all the consciousness that he
Had only passed a just decree;

That they had wrought their doom of ill;
Yet Azo's age was wretched still.
The tainted branches of the tree,

If lopped with care, a strength may give,
By which the rest shall bloom and live
All greenly fresh and wildly free:

But if the lightning, in its wrath,

The waving boughs with fury scathe,

The massy trunk the ruin feels,

And never more a leaf reveals.

In Frizzi's History of Ferrara' is contained the best account extant of this real tragedy, and one, too, which is divested of all the romantic inventions which subsequent writers have thought fit to interpolate. We add an extract from this History, as well on account of the simplicity and beauty of the narration as that it may be seen in what degree Lord Byron has availed himself of the historian's labours.

This turned out a calamitous year for the people of Ferrara, for there occurred a very tragical event in the court of their sovereign. Our annals, both printed and in manuscript, with the exception of the unpolished and negligent work of Sardi; and one other, have given the following relation of it, from which, however, are rejected many details, and especially the narrative of Bandelli, who wrote a century afterwards, and who does not accord with the contemporary historians.

'By the above-mentioned Stella dell' Assassino, the Marquis, in the year 1405, had a son called Ugo, a beautiful and ingenuous youth. Parisina Malatesta, second wife of Niccolo, like the generality of stepmothers, treated him with little kindness, to the infinite regret of the Marquis, who regarded him with fond partiality. One day she asked leave of her husband to undertake a certain journey, to which he consented, but upon condition that Ugo should bear her company; for he hoped by these means to induce her, in the end, to lay aside the obstinate aversion which she had conceived against him. And indeed his intent was accomplished but too well, since, during the journey,

she not only divested herself of all her hatred, but fell into the opposite extreme. After their return, the Marquis had no longer any occasion to renew his former reproofs. It happened one day that a servant of the Marquis, named Zoese, or, as some call him, Giorgio, passing before the apartments of Parisina, saw going out from them one of her chambermaids, all terrified and in tears. Asking the reason, she told him that her mistress, for some slight offence, had been beating her; and, giving vent to her rage, she added, that she could easily be revenged, if she chose to make known the criminal familiarity which subsisted between Parisina and her step-son. The servant took note of the words, and related them to his master. He was astounded thereat, but, scarcely believing his ears, he assured himself of the fact, alas! too clearly, on the 18th of May, by looking through a hole made in the ceiling of his wife's chamber. Instantly he broke into a furious rage, and arrested both of them, together with Aldobrandino Rangoni, of Modena, her gentleman, and also, as some say, two of the women of her chamber, as abettors of this sinful act. He ordered them to be brought to a hasty trial, desiring the judges to pronounce sentence, in the accustomed forms, upon the culprits. This sentence was death. Some there were that bestirred themselves in favour of the delinquents, and, amongst others, Ugoccion Contrario, who was allpowerful with Niccolo, and also his aged and much-deserving minister. Alberto dal Sale. Both of these, their tears flowing down their cheeks, and upon their knees, implored him for mercy; adducing whatever reasons they could suggest for sparing the offenders, besides those motives of honour and decency which might persuade him to couceal from the public so scandalous a deed. But his rage made him inflexible, and, on the instant, he commanded that the sentence should be put in execution.

It was, then, in the prisons of the castle, and exactly in those frightful dungeons which are seen at this day beneath the chamber called the Aurora, at the foot of the Lion's Tower, at the top of the street Giovecca, that on the night of the 21st of May were beheaded, first, Ugo, and afterwards Parisina. Zoese, he that accused her, conducted the latter under his arm to the place of punishment. She, all along, fancied that she was to be thrown into a pit, and asked at every step whether she was yet come to the spot. She was told that her punishment was the axe. She inquired what was become of Ugo, and received for answer that he was already dead; at the which, sighing grievously, she exclaimed, "Now, then, I wish not myself to

live;" and, being come to the block, she stripped herself with her own hands of all her ornaments, and, wrapping a cloth round her head, submitted to the fatal stroke which terminated the cruel scene. The same was done with Rangoni, who, together with the others, according to two calendars in the library of St. Francesco, was buried in the cemetry of that convent. Nothing else is known respecting the

Women.

The Marquis kept watch the whole of that dreadful night, and, as he was walking backwards and forwards, inquired of the captain of the castle if Ugo was dead yet; who answered him, Yes. He then gave himself up to the most desperate lamentations, exclaiming," Oh! that I too were dead, since I have been hurried on to resolve thus against my own Ugo!" And then, knawing with his teeth a cane which he had in his hand, he passed the rest of the night in sighs and in tears, calling frequently upon his own dear Ugo. On the following day, calling to mind that it would be necessary to make public his justification, seeing that the transaction could not be kept secret, he ordered the narrative to be drawn out upon paper, and sent it to all the courts of Italy.

'On receiving this advice, the Doge of Venice, Francesco Foscari, gave orders, but without publishing his reasons, that stop should be put to the preparations for a tournament, which, under the auspices of the Marquis and at the expense of the city of Padua, was about to take place, in the square of St. Mark, in order to celebrate his advancement to the ducal chair.

The Marquis, in addition to what he had already done, from some unaccountable burst of vengeance, commanded that as many of the married women as were well known to him to be faithless, like his Parisina, should, like her, be beheaded. Amongst others, Barberina, or, as some call her, Laodamia Romei, wife of the court judge, underwent this sentence at the usual place of execution: that is to say, in the quarter of St. Giacomo, opposite the present fortress, beyond St. Paul's. It cannot be told how strange appeared this proceeding in a prince, who, considering his own disposition, should, as it seemed, have been in such cases most indulgent. Some, however, there were, who did not fail to commend him.'