Part 21 (2/2)

_Non e brutto il Demon._

The Devil's not so ugly as they paint; He's well with all, compact of courtesy: Real heroism is real piety: Before small truth great falsehoods shrink and faint If pots stain worse than pipkins, it were quaint To charge the pipkins with impurity: Freedom I crave: who craves not to be free?

Yet life that must be feigned for, leaves a taint.

Ill conduct brings repentance?--If you prate This wise to me, why prate not thus to all Philosophers and prophets, and to Christ?

Not too much learning, as some arrogate, But the small brains of dullards have sufficed To make us wretched and the world enthrall.

LII.

_THE SOUL'S APOLOGY._

_Ben sei mila anni._

Six thousand years or more on earth I've been: Witness those histories of nations dead, Which for our age I have ill.u.s.trated In philosophic volumes, scene by scene.

And thou, mere mite, seeing my sun serene Eclipsed, wilt argue that I had no head To live by.--Why not try the sun instead, If nought in fate unfathomed thou hast seen?

If wise men, whom the world rebukes, combined With tyrant wolves, brute beasts we should become.

The sage, once stoned for sin, you canonise.

When rennet melts, much milk makes haste to bind.

The more you blow the flames, the more they rise, Bloom into stars, and find in heaven their home.

LIII.

_TO G.o.d ON PRAYER._

_Tu che Forza ed Amor._

O Thou, who, mingling Force and Love, dost draw And guide the complex of all ent.i.ties, Framed for that purpose; whence our reason sees In supreme Fate the synthesis of Law; Though prayers transgress which find defect or flaw In things foredoomed by Thy divine decrees, Yet wilt Thou modify, by slow degrees Or swift, good times or bad Thy mind foresaw: I therefore pray--I who through years have been The scorn of fools, the b.u.t.t of impious men, Suffering new pains and torments day by day-- Shorten this anguish, Lord, these griefs allay; For still Thou shalt not have changed counsel when I soar from hence to liberty foreseen.

LIV.

_TO G.o.d FOR HELP._

_Come vuoi, ch' a buon porto._

How wilt Thou I should gain a harbour fair, If after proof among my friends I find That some are faithless, some devoid of mind, Some short of sense, though stout to do and dare?

If some, though wise and loyal, like the hare Hide in a hole, or fly in terror blind, While nerve with wisdom and with faith combined Through malice and through penury despair?

Reason, Thy honour, and my weal eschewed That false ally who said he came from Thee, With promise vain of power and liberty.

I trust:--I'll do. Change Thou the bad to good!-- But ere I raise me to that alt.i.tude, Needs must I merge in Thee as Thou in me.

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