Classic Poem

Where, mid' Italia 's ever Sunny Lands,
Fast by the Streams of Po Ferrara stands,
At Manhood's full Increase now just arriv'd,
In splendid Leisure young Cornaro liv'd;
Of a full Bed the first and best belov'd,
Each Gift kind Nature lent him, Art Improv'd.

He knew and lov'd his City; yet wou'd know
What other Cities diff'rent had to show;
Eager to gratify his stretching Mind,
In One small Realm too narrowly confin'd.

To tell his Sire his Wish, was to succeed;
The Son but hinted, and the Sire agreed.
Then, as became him, full supply'd he went,
And to Livornia first his Way he bent;
On whose fair Shore each distant Nation meets,
And fills, with various Tongues, her Peopled-Streets.
Each Object there his strict Attention drew,
Much he observ'd, yet still found something new,
And sought it still, for, Knowledge all his End,
Him, who cou'd that advance, he thought his Friend;
To Rich and Poor alike he cast his Eye,
As 'twas a Treasure they might both enjoy,
And he might teach him who the Vessel steer'd,
What the rich Freighter thought not worth Regard.

Of graceful Presence and inviting Mien,
He in each Place of full Resort was seen;
On the throng'd Quay, or in the busy Hall,
And skill'd in Tongues, seem'd Countryman to all;
To Observation deep Reflection join'd,
And fix'd the gather'd Honey in his Mind.

His Lodging on a large Quadrangle's Side,
To him still Thinking, farther Thought supply'd;
And as each Hour of passing Day went by,
Some Scene, worth Note, still met his curious Eye.

Yet one among the rest he long had weigh'd
And oft'nest seen the stronger Mark it made;
For the sad Sigh that keen Misfortune drew
Still to his Breast an easy Passage knew.

As he each Morn the rising Sun beheld,
E'er yet the moving Square with Crouds was fill'd;
On one same Spot, as still he look'd around,
One solitary Wretch he always found;
A Porter's Garb declar'd his present Yoke,
But his whole Mien a Birth far diff'rent spoke.
In his swoln Breasts, Sighs, spite of Shame, wou'd rise,
And Tears, kept back, flow'd faster from his Eyes,
Which with the knotted Rope he wip'd away,
Sad Ensign of his Fortune's deep decay!

The Youth, who pitying saw the frequent Grief,
Thought Pity blameful carrying no Relief;
So, generously curious, sought to know,
In hopes to ease, the Cause of so much Woe;
And call'd him from his melancholy Stand.
He came — and silent waited his Command;
Thinking some Errand wou'd a Mite afford,
Just to support a Being he abhorr'd,
Which yet he durst not of himself destroy,
Since Heav'n again might change the Grief it sent to Joy.

But other Bus'ness fill'd Cornaro 's Breast,
And his kind suit in tend'rest Terms he prest,
Wish'd that he wou'd his cause of Grief impart
To one who lov'd to sooth an aching Heart,
And always thought, however low his Sphere,
A Man who felt Affliction worth his Care;
Yet here believ'd the Stroke of fickle Fate
Was fall'n on one had known a happier State.
" Then speak, he said, nor let false Shame conceal
" Whate'er with Truth a Suff'rer may reveal,
" And, if my happier Lot may ease thy Woes,
" Whate'er a Stranger's Ear may learn, disclose.

The list'ning Wretch each Word with wonder heard,
Perceiv'd 'em Virtue's Dictates, and was chear'd,
Ventur'd to throw his slavish Badge aside,
And thus with Manly Confidence reply'd.

" I was not always what I now appear;
" But Truths, thy Nobleness has challeng'd, hear.
" First I'm a Mussul-man , yet here confin'd
" Must wish thee, as thy milder Doctrines, kind.
" Oh! Love thy Faith, yet hate not me for mine,
" Which had, hadst thou been born a Turk , been thine.
" Next know, e'er fall'n to this most abject State,
" Smyrna once saw me happy, tho' not great;
" By Merchandize with sumptuous Affluence blest,
" And sweet Content, which great ones seldom taste.
" But Oh! to have been blest brings no Relief,
" But adds a stronger Bitterness to Grief;
" Forgive my Tears that utter, as they flow,
" A Son's, a Father's, and a Husband's Woe;
" To swell each Sigh these various Sorrows join,
" For all those dear Relations once were mine.
" Nor was it Hopes of adding to my Store,
" By lawless Plunder sent me from my Shore,
" To gain in bleeding Fields a cruel Name,
" Or wish on slaughter'd Heaps to build my Fame.
" 'Twas Duty bid me watch the fav'ring Gale,
" And filial Love that hoisted ev'ry Sail.
" 'Twas to a Father's fond Embrace I went,
" E'er yet his Lamp of Life was wholly spent;
" While still a kneeling Son might please his Eye,
" And swell his aged Heart with tender Joy.
" For Cyprus then I sail'd — what since befel
" Let these hard Chains, and this vile Habit tell;
" Which with for-ever growing Grief I bear,
" And now the fourth sad Winter sees me wear;
" And Years may roll on Years, unstopp'd my Grief,
" Till welcome Death shall bring his last Relief,
" In whose cold Arms, by some dire chance betray'd,
" My Friends may long e'er this believe me laid.
" My fond old Sire perhaps, my Fate unknown,
" Wailing my ravish'd Life, consum'd his own;
" And oh! what Pangs my orphan Children feel,
" Hast thou a tender Parent, thou canst tell.

He stopp'd, — Tears drown'd his Accents, and the rest
A Silence far beyond all Words exprest.

Nor spoke Cornaro more — he too was mute,
Nor Language found his Fellow-grief to sute;
But struggling with a Tear-attended Sigh,
Just mutter'd out — " Friend, take this small supply,
" 'Twill give thee some Relief — and were it mine
" To give, Freedom and Happiness were thine.

He took the Gold and bow'd, and slow return'd,
And, as was wont, in hopeless Sadness mourn'd.

Cornaro see, in other Guise appear!
Sudden he stopp'd the commendable Tear.
" And be, he said, my Soul, thy Joy exprest,
" 'Tis in the Pow'r to make the Wretched blest.
" Now am I blest indeed, since on my Wealth
" Depends another's Being, Freedom, Health.
" 'Tis I can bid the Sun of Mercy shine;
" This Man's Peace, Life, and Liberty are mine.
" Whatever Joys he has or may receive,
" His Country, Children, Wives are mine to give;
" Now India 's Lord, amidst his hoarded Store,
" And endless Mines, compar'd with me is poor.
" Quick then, Cornaro to his Ransom flee,
" And let this Morning's Sun behold him free.
Strait to the Lordly Governor's he went,
His Name, his Rank, his Cause of coming sent;
Nor need he long to wait, his Errand told,
Bringing, that ne'er refus'd Credential, Gold.
The Price requir'd for Liberty he gave,
And quick return'd to find the now but fancy'd Slave,
And said, — " Be free; His Transports who can tell?
Prostrate before him in wild Joy he fell,
Which only his who caus'd it cou'd excel.
Gladness and wonder in his Bosom wrought,
With lab'ring Gratitude his Soul was fraught,
Nor had he Pow'r to utter half he thought.