Poem by Samuel Rogers

Italy: 25. Don Garzia

Among those awful forms, in elder time
Assembled, and through many an after-age
Destined to stand as Genii of the Place
Where men most meet in Florence, may be seen
His who first played the Tyrant.  Clad in mail,
But with his helmet off -- in kingly state,
Aloft he sits upon his horse of brass;
And they, who read the legend underneath,
Go and pronounce him happy.  Yet, methinks,
There is a Chamber that, if walls could speak,
Would turn their admiration into pity.
Half of what passed, died with him; but the rest
All he discovered when the fit was on,
All that, by those who listened, could be gleaned
From broken sentences and starts in sleep,
Is told, and by an honest Chronicler.
      Two of his sons, Giovanni and Garzia,
(The eldest had not seen his nineteenth summer)
Went to the chase; but only one returned.
Giovanni, when the huntsman blew his horn
O'er the last stag had started from the brake,
And in the heather turned to stand at bay,
Appeared not; and at close of day was found
Bathed in his innocent blood.  Too well, alas,
The trembling Cosmo guessed the deed, the doer;
And, having caused the body to be borne
In secret to that Chamber -- at an hour
When all slept sound, save she who bore them both,
Who little thought of what was yet to come,
And lived but to be told -- he bade Garzia
Arise and follow him.  Holding in one hand
A winking lamp, and in the other a key
Massive and dungeon-like, thither he led:
And, having entered in and locked the door,
The father fixed his eyes upon the son,
And closely questioned him.  No change betrayed
Or guilt or fear.  Then Cosmo lifted up
The bloody sheet.  'Look there! Look there!' he cried.
'Blood calls for blood -- and from a father's hand!
-- Unless thyself will save him that sad office.
What!' he exclaimed, when shuddering at the sight,
The boy breathed out, 'I stood but on my guard.'
'Dar'st thou then blacken one who never wronged thee,
Who would not set his foot upon a worm?
Yes, thou must die, lest others fall by thee,
And thou shouldst be the slayer of us all.'
Then from Garzia's belt he drew the blade,
The fatal one which spilt his brother's blood;
And, kneeling on the ground, 'Great God!' he cried,
'Grant me the strength to do an act of Justice.
Thou knowest what it costs me; but alas,
How can I spare myself, sparing none else?
Grant me the strength, the will -- and oh forgive
The sinful soul of a most wretched son.
'Tis a most wretched father that impores it.'
Long on Garzia's neck he hung and wept,
Long pressed him to his bosom tenderly;
And then, but while he held him by the arm,
Thrusting him backward, turned away his face,
And stabbed him to the heart.
                                            Well might a Youth,
Studious of men, anxious to learn and know,
When in the train of some great embassy
He came, a visitant, to Cosmo's court,
Think on the past; and, as he wandered through
The ample spaces of an ancient house,
Silent, deserted -- stop awhile to dwell
Upon two portraits there, drawn on the wall
Together, as of Two in bonds of love,
Those of the unhappy brothers, and conclude
From the sad looks of him who could have told,
The terrible truth. ---- Well might he heave a sigh
For poor humanity, when he beheld
That very Cosmo shaking o'er his fire,
Drowsy and deaf and inarticulate,
Wrapt in his night-gown, o'er a sick man's mess,
In the last stage -- death-struck and deadly pale;
His wife, another, not his Eleanor,
At once his nurse and his interpreter.

1. Italy: 44. A Character
2. Italy: 1. The Lake of Geneva
3. Italy: 7. Marguerite De Tours
4. The Boy of Egremond
5. Jacqueline

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