understood the death of Chrysostom, who, we are informed, was to be buried in this place; and therefore, out of curiosity and concern, have turned out of our way, resolving to come, and see with our eyes, what had affected us so much in the hearing: and in return for that concern, and the desire we felt in remedying it, if it had been in our power, we entreat thee, O discreet Ambrosio! at least, for my own part, I beg of thee not to burn these papers, but allow me to preserve some of them."
Accordingly, without staying for an answer, he reached out his hand, and took some of those that were nearest him: which Ambrosio perceiving, said, "Out of civility, Signor, I will consent to your keeping what you have taken up; but to think that I will fail to burn the rest, is a vain supposition." Vivaldo being desirous of seeing the contents, immediately opened one entitled "A Song of Despair," which Ambrosio hearing, said, "That is the last poem my unhappy friend composed; and that you may see, Signor, to what a pass his misfortunes had reduced him, read it aloud, and you'll have time enough to finish it before the grave be made!" "That I will do with all my heart," said Vivaldo, and everybody present being seized with the same desire, they stood around him in a circle, and he read what follows, with an audible voice:—
A SONG OF DESPAIR.
I.
"Since then thy pleasure, cruel maid!
Is, that thy rigour and disdain
Should be from clime to clime convey'd;
All hell shall aid me to complain!
