He ceased, and overcome leant back awhile, Then rising, with a melancholy smile Went to a sofa, and lay down, and slept A heavy sleep, and in his dreams he wept And muttered some familiar name, and we _515 Wept without shame in his society. I think I never was impressed so much; The man who were not, must have lacked a touch Of human nature...then we lingered not, Although our argument was quite forgot, _520 But calling the attendants, went to dine At Maddalo's; yet neither cheer nor wine Could give us spirits, for we talked of him And nothing else, till daylight made stars dim; And we agreed his was some dreadful ill _525 Wrought on him boldly, yet unspeakable, By a dear friend; some deadly change in love Of one vowed deeply which he dreamed not of; For whose sake he, it seemed, had fixed a blot Of falsehood on his mind which flourished not _530 But in the light of all-beholding truth; And having stamped this canker on his youth She had abandoned him--and how much more Might be his woe, we guessed not--he had store Of friends and fortune once, as we could guess _535 From his nice habits and his gentleness; These were now lost...it were a grief indeed If he had changed one unsustaining reed For all that such a man might else adorn. The colours of his mind seemed yet unworn; _540 For the wild language of his grief was high, Such as in measure were called poetry; And I remember one remark which then Maddalo made. He said: 'Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong, _545 They learn in suffering what they teach in song.'