Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ladies, and knights, and arms, and glorious love,
And courtesy, and brave exploit I sing,
Which may in youthful breast sweet fury move,
And make the weary Age renew it's Spring;
If so great Phœbus aid me from above,
T' uplift the silver banner of our King,
And 'sperse in Holy Land the moony host,
Which long had blaz'd upon that weeping coast.

2

And of divine Orlando to recite
The fatal strength, andvalour, that expell'd
Such flocks of Pagans to the shores of Night;
Since he with the divine Hermilda quell'd
Their furious battle, and insulting might,
Which long in fear Jerusalem had held:
If then the Muses on my labour smile,
This verse perhaps some ages may beguile.

3

And you, whose sacred name to me is dear,
Beyond the golden splendour of the day;
Whom perfectly I love, and so revere,
That nothing from my heart can tear away
That image, which on earth without a peer
Of youthful virtue sweetly you display;
My patron, and my friend, accept from me
This labour'd work, and let it pleasing be.

4

'Tis true some light ambition I may have,
To live with the great Paladin in fame;
But rather would the shafts of envy brave,
To be allied to your beloved name;
Much fitter are yourself than me to save
From deep oblivion, and the greedy flame;
But you, that have a pure heroick mind,
By sweet mistrust to your own worth are blind.

5

The golden Morning now had hardly gone,
My ------, from her chamber in the East,
And with an Angel's eye scarce look'd upon
The valleys and the hills from Night releast;
When she, for whom a thousand lovers moan,
Yet of all women cares for love the least,
Hermione along the valley speeds,
Where Nilus flows amid' his subject meads.

6

I well believe Aurora made a stay,
To gaze upon the rival of her beams;
So lovely from her helm th' unsullied ray,
And from her shield, and all her armour streams:
But far more fatal, and more bright than they,
Her face in beauty her brave pomp beseems;
Her face, that full of glory, and desire,
Mix'd virgin sweetness with heroick fire!

7

In that unbounded garden of delight
A thousand souls had lost their liberty,
And wander'd in it's charms, both day and night,
Delighted with their fond captivity:
O love, when thou art crowned to the height,
What art thou but divine felicity?
Though to her lovers she no favour gave,
Yet each preferr'd to serve her as her slave.

8

But she, indeed, not like unto her kind,
All thoughts of pity and of love disdain'd;
Which yet a blemish in her soul I find,
Since there the softest passions never reign'd;
To strife, to war, to battle she inclin'd,
And the sharp sword and weighty spear maintain'd;
To perils, and to camps would turn her feet,
And shrilling clarions made her musick sweet.

9

And now along the plain she journeys free,
As if the joyous Morn were in her breast;
Upon her right unto the midland sea
The God-descended Nile his waves addrest;
Before her in the air she well can see
Great Babylon, which is the Caliph's rest;
Who, sitting on his throne, with glory reigns
O'er half the nations, and the rest restrains.

10

The watchman on the wall 'gan loudly cry,
“I see a knight approaching city-ward;
“And surely from what now I well descry,
“A lord of great obeisance and regard:”
Straight at the voice, which sounded from on high,
Philemon, who was captain of the guard,
Ascended to the wall with hasty foot,
To see the cause of that so early bruit.

11

And there he saw, curvetting on the plain,
Full of great pomp and wanton chivalry,
A knight, that play'd so lightly with the rein,
He deem'd him in the jousts a prince to be:
A golden hoop full richly did distrain
His crimson plumes, that danc'd for jollity;
And by that sign he knew the knight must be
The Amazonian queen, Hermione.

12

Three years had pass'd, since by Euphrates' side
He first beheld the virgin queen with love;
When she her youthful courage nobly tried
Upon a salvage people, that did move
From down the hills, yet nathless could abide
Her onset, like the maiden child of Jove!
With pale amazement, and with terror blind,
She made them fly, like chaff before the wind.

13

They flew indeed, but wounded, as they flew,
With a light sort of reeds, at random sent;
For fear would not permit a steadier view,
And little ill they did, though much they meant;
But that word I miscall; for if they slew
Not many, yet the rudest rabblement
With their ill darts upon her bosom glanc'd,
And pierc'd the lily skin, and her entranc'd.

14

The springing blood the lily skin distain'd,
Like blushing rubies in a bed of pearl,
And o'er those silver apples softly rain'd:
Ah! had she armed been, the ruder kerle
Upon her golden breast, which them disdain'd,
Too much disdain'd! with weak and idle hurl
Their darts had sped; but she with lofty pride,
And naked paps their guilty rage defied.

15

Her nymphs uprearen softly from the ground
The senseless queen, and to her camp convey'd;
And balmy herbs, and precious ointments bound
Upon her wounded breast; and softly play'd
Delicious musick, which is often found
To give the feeble sprite diviner aid:
So well in little while they cur'd the queen,
That of her hurt no smallest mark was seen.

16

But good Philemon, that had still pursued
Her virgin steps throughout the glorious fight,
To guard from her that rudest multitude,
Which yet he saw dispersed by her might;
When he beheld in her soft blood imbued
The temple of pure love, and all delight,
In his own heart he felt the cruel wound,
And well nigh sunk upon the grassy ground.

17

He calls on Jove, that with his fiery hand
Doth strike the piny forests, and uprift
Th' eternal mountains, and above the land
The billows of the raging sea can lift;
“Where be those bolts to strike that impious band,
“And deep within the earth with fatal drift
“To fix them there with long arrears of woe
“Whence guilty ghosts to endless torments go?”

18

Then raging like a boar, that fiercely spoils
The blooming vineyards with his curved tooth,
Or like a pard, that having rent the toils,
Doth waste the roaring woods, disdaining ruth,
He flieth at that rout, that fast recoils,
And strikes at age, at manhood, and at youth;
Nor yet resistance finds, nor pity knows,
But slays at will whole armies of his foes.

19

The salvage people half with terror mad,
Their rugged clubs upon the ground have thrown,
And seeing no escape from fate they had,
From the steep hills they throw them headlong down;
To fly from him, to kill themselves are glad,
And in the silent rivers madly drown;
The cries of their despair to heav'n aspire,
Like Ætna quaking with internal fire

20

Here falls an arm, and there a head is split,
And there into the heart his sword is thrust;
So keen the blade, so well he uses it,
That right and left they fall into the dust:
Here stabs the throat, and there, with sharper wit,
Clean from the shoulders cuts the head, as just
As a young poppy by the scissars cropt;
Then strikes again before the head be dropt.

21

Kill them he would in his remorseless ire,
Kill them, nor leave a living man to tell
The source and fruit of that resentment dire,
The ills, that from that fatal wound befell;
Their fields would waste, their houses set on fire,
Their wives would force in foreign lands to dwell:
This would he do, and more, if more might be,
Who so could wound the fair Hermione.

22

But Night betwixt his madness and his foes
In pity her protecting curtain drew;
Not sated yet with blood, he turns and goes
To the pale camp, to feed upon his woe;
The golden Morning on his tent arose,
His sighs still breath'd, his silent tears did flow;
And from that fatal day no peace he knew,
Till here again she came into his view.

23

She came into his view, divinest maid!
More lovely than the amber-tressed Morn;
In perfect gold, like Victory, array'd;
Or Venus, of the foamy Ocean born,
When she in Vulcan's house disporting play'd
In armour with great Mars, and feigned scorn
Of sage Minerva, and her snaky shield;
So lovely look'd Hermione in field.

24

Philemon bade the gates throw open wide,
With all fit honour to so fair a queen;
And, as she enter'd in, on ev'ry side
The gazing multitude with awe were seen
To throng into her face; and th' heralds cried,
“Great welcome to Hermione, the queen!
“Her sex's glory, and the paragon,
“Great welcome to the walls of Babylon!”

25

And then Philemon, “O heroick maid,
“The wonder, and the glory of our time!
“So may thy lovely will be still obey'd,
“And all thy sacred thoughts, to heav'n that climb,
“Be crowned with high Jove's divinest aid;
“As here, rejoicing in thy looks sublime,
“The Caliph will behold with deep delight
“This fairest day, made happy in thy sight.”

26

And then the silver pipes, like breathing Spring,
Preceded her in triumph to the Court;
And the soft virgins from their flaskets fling
The riches of the Earth, of every sort;
Vermilion, white, and purple, all that spring
Azure, and golden in sweet Flora's court;
Their voice attuned to the instrument,
They lead along the World's sweet ornament.

27

But here awhile I leave her on her way,
And with enlarged wing divide the air,
And take to Thessaly my speedy way,
To pitchy forests and to hills repair;
Where the ambrosial light of Morning's ray,
Obstructed, cannot shine with joyance fair:
But endless darkness and eternal shade
The caves, the rivers, and the woods pervade.

28

Beneath the Night's eternal canopy,
Unseen but by the boundless eye of God,
A Cave there is of great antiquity,
By which the bitter waves of Grief have flow'd,
And wash'd th' uneasy shore unceasingly,
Since first the guilty Earth her giant brood
Stirr'd up with envy and revenge to scale
The stedfast Sky, and over Heav'n prevail.

29

Before the porch the baleful yew is seen,
Distilling from her weeping boughs the dew;
And ev'ry mournful plant is mix'd between,
Accurs'd of Jove, that maketh man to rue;
A sacred horrour still infects the scene,
And pois'nous herbs the fatal greensward strew;
If any bird before that mansion sing,
'Tis the sad owl with her ill-omen'd wing.

30

And there, throughout the spacious Seasons' round,
Lost in heart-eating thought, and quenchless woe,
Sits Evil Meditation, on the ground
Her fixed eyes still dwelling; to and fro
The slimy serpents wander, and around
Th' unsightly bat upon it's wing doth go;
Here, hiding from the view of all mankind,
Night fills her cave, and misery her mind!

31

A way there is, amid' the thickest gloom,
That from her dwelling leads direct to Hell;
By which, when she would quit her dreariest room,
Her lonely way in silence she doth spell
To foot of sad Proserpina, to whom
Her soul-consuming anguish she doth tell;
The while the fleeting ghosts, with horrour pale,
Still gather round, and listen to her tale.

32

And even She, most dreaded queen, the while,
Can hardly look upon her wand'ring guest,
But fear and sorrow do her thoughts beguile:
Upon Proserpine she doth fix'dly rest
Her eyes, wherein no vestige of a smile,
But fatal thoughts of evil still exprest:
And then her accents, like th' undying roar
Of mournful waves upon Oblivion's shore!

33

“I come, O queen, the messenger of woe,
“With tidings that shall make thy light decay,
“And pale Cocytus ever cease to flow,
“And Styx nine times upon thy banks to stray;
“The fiery Phlegethon in vain shall glow,
“And Acheron his doleful path bewray;
“The time is come, when none shall Lethe drink,
“Or fearful ghosts yet wander on its brink.

34

“The triple prison of enduring brass,
“Whose deep foundations are infix'd in night,
“Shall shrivel, like a scroll: and O, alas!
“Thy throne of darkness, and alternate light
“No more shall be, but like a dream shall pass:
“O queen, that on the mountains shinest bright,
“And reignest in this realm of sacred woe,
“Thy two-fold sceptre from thy hand doth go.

35

“Behold! behold! throughout the upper air
“The silver clarions and the clanging steeds
“Make marvel of delight, and men prepare
“For glorious battle, while Bellona bleeds!
“To buckle their bright arms is now their care
“In lofty mountains, and in flow'ry meads:
“The foaming billows of the wond'ring main
“Their floating navies scarcely can sustain.

36

“And think you where they go, divinest queen,
“With this unceasing panoply of war?
“Where shall eternal Mars be shortly seen
“With Fury and Affright his iron car
“To urge, while Horrour shakes her torch between?
“For Salem, O, for Salem they prepare!
“And there with blazing arms will fiercely shine,
“To raise Christ's name, and to extinguish thine.

37

“Why fears thy husband to assail his foe?
“Or journeys he? or peradventure sleeps?
“Now that all Hell is on the brink of woe,
“And here thy handmaid at thy footstool weeps?”
She said, and from Proserpine turning slow,
With lonely steps unto her prison creeps;
The three-mouth'd dog, when he beheld her nigh,
The air affrighted with a fearful cry.

38

O, how I joy above the earth to be,
To wander in the light and fragrant air!
And clear my wings from damp obscurity,
That lately with dull Night encumber'd were!
I mean, I mean to shake my pinions free,
And glory in brave knights and damsels fair:
But what ensued upon that voice in Hell
Another time in other verse I'll tell.

39

Behold! beside a silver fountain lies
A goodly knight in armour well y-set,
Paly of grey and gold, and his device
A brindled lion in a silken net;
His ashen spear like Telamon's in size;
And his bright helm upon the grass is set;
Whereon, at rest, amid the boundless fire,
A golden Phenix seemeth to aspire!

40

This is Prince Palamede, I tell you true,
Who is of Ithaca the rightful king;
From Ganges to the West, though known to few,
A man more valiant not the world can bring:
O, what great deeds hereafter will he do!
His tender years are yet but in their Spring;
And yet he seems to my amazed sight,
Like fierce Achilles, burning for the fight!

41

He lies at length upon the flow'ry grass,
And thus bewails the hardness of his fate;
Who sees his fleeting days, like shadows, pass,
And sighs for action, to proclaim him great;
“O what,” he cries, “in evil can surpass
“My cruel fortune, and obscure estate?
“'Twere better to be born a shepherd's son,
“Than thus in vain in quest of glory run.

42

“Then happy I had been, though poor indeed,
“And ta'en my daily food with quiet mind;
“And in my fleecy flock, and tender breed
“Might gentle solace and contentment find;
“Who never heard of fame, of none has need,
“Nor can the golden Sun delight the blind;
“But I, O glory! that have seen thy face,
“Excepting thee, think all the world is base.

43

“O, it were easy to achieve a flight
“Beyond the gift of madness to pursue,
“To Hades, or the Moon, if so that height
“Might give divinest glory to the view!
“Or in the depth of that eternal Night
“We might release from that ungracious crew
“Confined honour, and restore to day:
“But life without enlargement is decay.

44

“Ye kings, and heroes, of whose race I am,
“Deducing from high Jove my sacred birth,
“And he indeed from ancient Saturn came,
“That was the first great ruler of the Earth,
“What is there so in me of fault, or blame,
“To make me less than of heroick worth?
“Or am I not inflam'd with equal fire,
“But still by Fate withheld from my desire?

45

“This only thought from infancy I had,
“In action with my sword to win my way;
“And, cas'd in mail, unless the Gods forbad,
“With high renown to hold a kingly sway:
“O sacred Jove, whose aid my fathers had,
“Why am I weaker or less great than they?
“Since all I ask is to behold my foe,
“And die in battle, if thy will be so.”

46

With that he sigh'd, as if his heart would break,
And shed some tears into the silver flood;
And then did to his lonely thoughts betake:
When, suddenly, uprising in the flood,
The Nymph of that pure fountain for his sake
Appearing, in divinest beauty stood;
Her yellow locks were in a garland bound
Of lilies, that by limpid streams are found.

47

“Behold in me, O Palamede,” she said,
“The daughter of a king of Ithaca,
“(Of whom perhaps in story you have read,)
“That, coming here to Phocis on a day,
“Was chased of a Satyr through the shade,
“But in a fountain vanished away,
“By aid of great Diana, in my need,
“Who plac'd me here, to murmur in the mead.

48

“My sire Menalcas, Daulis is my name;
“And I, that feed on immortality,
“Since you the Fates without discretion blame,
“And quarrel with apparent destiny,
“Present you here, (pray, look into the same,)
“The mirror of too true calamity;
“For sure, unless these haughty thoughts you lose,
“You will be the sad image you peruse.”

49

With that she took her glass from out the wave,
And gave it to the knight, like crystal clear;
Who look'd therein, and saw a city brave,
And troops of armed men, as did appear,
Some to attack, and some the town to save;
But that, which struck his heart with deadliest fear,
He saw around a rolling chariot go,
Whose lord thereto had bound his slaughter'd foe.

50

The panting horses, like the Morning, ran,
A cloud of dust roll'd lightly o'er the plain,
The victor knight, in person more than man,
Still lash'd his steeds, and triumph'd o'er the slain;
All eyes are fix'd upon the God-like man:
But they upon the walls lift up in vain
Their feeble arms, in pity for the knight,
And turn away with anguish from the sight.

51

The king beheld; then, silent for awhile,
Restor'd the glass unto the Nymph, and said;
“If such a sight my purpose could beguile,
“Or break the thoughts, on which I still have fed,
“I should esteem myself too weak, and vile,
“To wear the kingly garland on my head;
“But let thy perfect grace, O Nymph divine,
“Whatever be my fate, continue mine.

52

“The life of man is but a Summer's shade,
“We perish, as the leaves in Autumn do;
“The action that in Ithaca we play'd
“Upon a stage, presents it to the view;
“By glory, not by years, if rightly weigh'd,
“We ought to measure it; he lives too few,
“Who lives a thousand years, devoid of fame;
“Nor can the Gods themselves this judgment blame.

53

“Let then my Soul take back her wand'ring flight,
“Since virtue must be lov'd, where thought can be,
“I doubt not, but the passage may be light,
“And we again shall see felicity:
“But since the thing is not within my might,
“'Twere foolish by the thought distress'd to be:
“If present ill is bad, 'tis ten times worse,
“By foresight to anticipate a curse.

54

“Already in the sand the bravest men
“By fortune of the war have breath'd their last,
“And been by horses trampl'd on;—What then?
“We go not to a battle, as a feast:
“But if we take hard blows, we give again;
“Or life is lost, or in its worth increast;
“But this is vain, for when the trumpets blow,
“What spirit but with joy to fate would go?”

55

The Nymph beheld him with a mournful look,
Then slowly in the silver wave withdrew;
And seem'd, indeed, when underneath the brook,
Like tender lilies in a glass to view:
The youthful king then, with soft musing, took
The flow'rets of a pale and wannish hue,
That on the margin of that fountain stood,
And sprinkled with devotion in the flood.

56

Then, rising up, he loosen'd from the tree
His faithful horse, and through the valley went,
And with himself held converse pensively,
As much amazed at that accident;
Full oft he griev'd, that he so dull should be,
Ere yet from the diviner air she went,
As never to have ask'd that Nymph the name
Of that fair city, or the victor's fame.

57

But then he thinks, what purpose to believe
Such tales as these, that are for women fit?
Some evil might perhaps my eyes deceive,
And I am weak so to consider it:
And yet he could not so his mind bereave
Of that sad fable, and that mournful fit;
But with a slacken'd rein pursues his course,
Devising his light way unto his horse.

58

There came a knight along the flow'ry glade,
All armed from the helmet to the heel;
The king, who saw his lance in rest was stay'd,
Resolv'd to give him check, at point of steel;
So spurring to the course, and nothing said,
They met with such a shock, both horses reel;
The fiery sparkles from their helms were sent,
And their fine spears into thin shivers went.

59

As when two antler'd monarchs of the herd
In wild Apulia are to battle set,
Throughout the quaking shore their rage is heard,
From Morning 'till the weary Sun is set;
So are they by the year to madness stirr'd,
That, like two thunder clouds together met,
With the fierce blow they motionless remain,
And stand awhile amazed on the plain!

60

So met the knight, and king of Ithaca,
And so astounded by the dint of spear,
But neither from his seat was born away,
And neither would admit the thought of fear;
Then leaping to the ground, without delay,
The knights began on foot a new career;
The blows, that Vulcan on his anvil heaps,
Are soft to those, that either gives or reaps.

61

An hour or more, the battle they sustain'd,
Their swords, like light'ning, glancing to and fro;
An hour or more, and either yet remain'd
Unconquer'd, though they dealt huge strokes of woe;
Then first the king, though peril he disdain'd,
Yet much approving of his valiant foe,
Withheld his sword, and with a courteous look,
And gentle voice, the stranger knight bespoke.

62

“Perhaps, sir knight, we better might bestow
“Our valiant arms upon another fight;
“Yet think not that I give my counsel so,
“As fearing any whit your matchless might;
“And yet I must confess a braver foe,
“To strike more valiant, or to guard more light,
“No man e'er found; and therefore I desire
“To have in league the virtue I admire.”

63

The knight consented, and the battle stay'd:
And much he prais'd the virtue of the king:
Who, mounting on his horse, his foe survey'd,
A goodly warrior as the world could bring:
All clad in steel, and over it were lay'd
The golden flow'rets, that adorn the Spring;
A Pine-tree for his crest; in golden field,
He bore sev'n silver rivers in his shield.

64

Of Pergamus he was the valiant king,
And burn'd with love of fair Hermione,
And Attalus his name; the world could bring
No knight more fam'd for deeds of chivalry:
For in his tender years he wont to wring
The speckled serpents, and compel to die;
And after in the forests he would tear
The bloody jaws of libbard, and of bear.

65

Besides, he could outrun the hart in chase,
And force him by the lofty horns to stay;
Ne feared he, but with his iron mace
The cruel robbers of the woods would slay;
Till quite from peril he had clear'd the place,
And virgins with a careless foot might stray
Throughout the land, wherever he had rule;
So was he trained up in virtue's school.

66

Thus brave and noble, full of high disdain
Of ill, and loving the diviner right,
To tender love he yielded up the rein,
And lost his fierceness in a woman's sight;
And now he speeds o'er forest, and o'er plain,
In balmy day, and in discolour'd night,
To find Hermione, who late was gone
From out her camp, in silence, and alone.

67

With sweet discourse they entertain'd the way,
Of cities, and of dames, and vent'rous feats,
Done by great men at arms, in mortal fray,
That so their speech the weary travel cheats;
The glorious Shepherd his obliquer ray
Shot slant-wise, and to shun the scorching heats,
The knights into a flow'ring wood are gone,
Where what they met with you shall hear anon.

68

Then hardly for two miles their way had led
Through branching cypress, and eternal oak,
When, like an arrow by the archer sped,
A fearful man into their presence broke;
His staring hair was standing up for dread,
His ashy cheeks were of their blood forsook,
And by the shaggy crest he stoutly held
A helmet, that the Sun in light excell'd.

69

He would have pass'd, but at his back there came
A messenger, that soon enforc'd his stay,
A swift, a valiant, and a lovely dame,
Whose fearful anger in her eyes did play:
Her silv'ry spear like the avengeful flame,
Transfix'd him through the side; supine he lay,
Unhappy man! a corse upon the ground;
The helmet on the quaking earth did bound.

70

As when a hawk, the spoiler of the sky,
With swift descent, and level to his prey,
Hath pierced a plover, at whose feeble cry
The tender birds are filled with dismay,
And here and there in wild disorder fly;
So with her spear did that bright damsel slay
The hapless man, and stretch him on the path,
Where rode the kings, the spectacle of wrath!

71

While yet they gaz'd with wonder at the deed,
And wot not what to think, the man arose,
And, flying from the place with fresher speed,
Forgot, as it should seem, the cruel blows
Which lately had his soul from body freed:
Such virtue had that spear, that to it's foes
It instant death, and instant healing gave,
The gift of Vulcan, both to kill and save.

72

New wonder then the youthful monarchs took,
To see a man thus die, and thus revive;
One moment on the ground, of life forsook,
The next, like to a hare, run off belive;
Such thing as this they never read in book,
Nor, though they saw it, could they yet believe;
And doubtless in amazement had remain'd,
But that Clorinda all the fact explain'd.

73

First taking up the helm, she softly said,
“This helmet, that you see, fair Sirs, is mine;”
And then she bravely plac'd it on her head,
And seem'd in her majestic port divine;
“Mine is it, nor shall fit another head,
“Until a knight, that is of kingly line,
“And wanders in the silver tracts of air,
“A plumed bird, shall to the East repair.

74

“By such a tenure, and I think it good,
“I hold this helmet, and this charmed spear,
“Which never yet was stain'd with mortal blood,
“But kills with healing, as you saw it here:
“This wretched man, I sleeping in the wood,
“Thought well to rob me, maugre all his fear;
“But found at last, and to his bitter cost,
“He reckon'd up his bill without his host.

75

“I slew him, but what more is need to say?
“New evil may perhaps new woe afford:”
The quaking ether with a silver neigh,
And all the forest echoed at the word;
From out a thicket, wanton as in May
The mares of Tagus fling themselves abroad,
A milk-white steed unto Clorinda came,
And with soft duty knelt unto the dame.

76

And surely on those golden banks was bred,
Whose foaming waters roll into the main,
Which is around the Sacred Islands spread:
There sorrow never enters, nor sad pain
Afflicts, but joy with youthful love is wed,
And endless Summer o'er the clime doth reign:
There the great poets, and the heroes dwell,
And kings, who held the glorious sceptre well.

77

And there too you, but be the season long,
My ------, shall repose in soft delight;
And feed your perfect soul with Virgil's song,
Your temples with pure laurel chastely dight;
Since still you sought the right, and left the wrong,
There thro' the golden day, and radiant night,
Your bliss shall be; but, ah! I fable here;
Your virtue will be crown'd in higher sphere.

78

The sacred book, and testament divine,
Which ever in your youth you lov'd so dear,
Preferring it to all, a beauteous sign
Of wisdom, in your mind then burning clear,
Shall light you, I believe, when cease to shine
The darkling planets of this earthly sphere,
And guide you to that place, where bliss is sure,
Whose truth is spotless, and whose faith is pure.

79

Nor is the soft and tender-dropping dew
More lovely to the thirsty herb, that dies,
Than truth divine is lovely unto you:
Then, oh! forgive me, if the verdant prize
Of poësy now tempts me to pursue
A phantom, while the truth neglected lies;
But here I turn unto Clorinda's steed,
From whom we parted, longer than is need.

80

Then often in those waves he wont to play,
And scatter with his hoof the frothy foam,
And often with his mouth would tear away
The fragrant orange; till misled from home,
From all his soft delights, and tender play,
To Constantine's fair port he learnt to roam;
A fine magician, in a silken rein,
Convey'd him from the West to Pera's plain.

81

And there Clorinda took him for her own,
And fed him with the soft, and pearly corn,
And fragrant herbs, and flow'rs but newly blown,
And wine of Chios in a golden horn:
Till fed by love, and to full stature grown,
It seem'd in speed he could outfly the Morn;
The purple violets, beneath his hoof,
Scarce felt the pressure of his soft reproof.

82

The Apennines were not more white than he;
Or silver doves; (as gentle as a dove;)
And to Clorinda yet he bent the knee,
That in the Thracian forests would have strove
With that wild brood, that, O, ferocity!
Upon the limbs of men were fed, and throve;
But Hercules then slew the cruel king,
And did his limbs to the like purpose fling.

83

Clorinda on her steed y-mounted is;
The knights attend her through the gloomy wild;
And now apace great Phaëton, I wis,
Declining, shot his beams more soft, and mild;
If Attalus long since was spoiled of his,
Yet Palamede was of his heart beguil'd,
Beholding here the beauty of her face,
Her youthful courage, and exceeding grace.

84

A form so fair, as well he could perceive,
Had made Ulysses on the shore to stay:
No man alive such loveliness could leave,
Unless indeed his wits had fled away:
Of all the fairest daughters then of Eve,
Most fair to him in her divine array,
Clorinda seem'd; and to his poison'd ears
Her voice convey'd the musick of the spheres.

85

As when a bird, that in the flow'ry wood
Hath warbled to her mates, the summer's day,
And seeing now great Phœbus in the flood
Ingulph'd, begins to slumber on the spray;
She wakes, and sees, fast gazing on his food,
A snake below her, from whose baleful ray
She cannot part, but with imperfect cries
Descends into the monster's jaw, and dies:

86

So Palamede perceiv'd his soul betray'd
With poison'd sweetness of the virgin's look;
He trembled, and he blush'd, but nothing said;
Too deep into his heart the bait he took:
O Mars, from out Cythera lift thy head,
Thy votary has here thy laws forsook;
The monarch, that would Kings, and Cæsars chain,
Like thee, is prison'd in a silken rein.

87

Let Venus laugh, and all her shores resound
With joyous musick of triumphant love!
The lion so in her soft bands is bound,
And is at heart as tender as a dove:
What limits to her largest reign are found?
On ev'ry side, beneath us, and above,
Her smiles prevail; the tenants of the air,
And fishes of the deep her bondsmen are.

88

But mostly in the heart of men she reigns,
And there sets up the standard of her might;
Controuling them by tender joys, and pains,
And ruling without stay both day and night;
The bad establishes, the good restrains,
Makes few of many, and much ill of right;
But if by me her follies must be penn'd,
A thousand moons will fade, ere I can end.

89

But rather I prefer with them to stray,
The youthful monarchs, and the lovely maid,
Who gently through the forest took their way,
And found sweet solace in the tender shade:
Some doubt they had, if now they went astray;
At length, discoursing through the flow'ry glade,
A monument of marble, black as night,
And lofty as the wood, engag'd their sight.

90

It stood as firm, and massy to the view,
As those great pyramids of Egypt's kings,
By which they vainly promis'd to subdue
The fearful Time, that all to ruin brings,
And palaces, and tombs in dust doth strew;
But need there is, that now some writer springs,
With knowledge of the past, in dreams convey'd,
To tell by whom those monuments were made.

91

So firm it stood, and massy to the sight,
And all its front in fair compartments laid,
Wherein was carv'd the image of a fight,
And fainting warriors on the ground were laid;
But many still upstood, and 'gainst a knight,
That, like a mountain his large shield display'd,
And thinn'd them with his sword, yet bravely fought:
This action on the northern side was wrought.

92

And then behind the knight there might be seen
A slender altar, on whose top the fire
Yet flicker'd to the air, and by a queen
Of tend'rest beauty, and most dear desire,
Whose terror in her face was carved clean:
Death, fear, amazement, and consummate ire
So finely did through all the sculpture run,
That life almost was by its art outdone.

93

What other groupes upon the other sides
The same great master curiously had wrought,
I leave to say; sufficient there abides
To be by me into one canto brought;
But South, and East, and West, whoever rides
To that fair monument, shall to my thought
Behold as lovely, and divine a work,
As e'er was spoil'd by the unfeeling Turk.

94

Clorinda with her spear the marble stroke,
To point to Palamede some finer form,
When straightway through a thousand fissures broke
A cloud of birds, that all the air deform;
As thick as locusts, that their vengeance wroke
On hapless Egypt; such a night and storm
Of plumed birds, with flapping of their wings,
And beat of beak, amazed both the kings.

95

Some thousands with the sword and spear they kill'd,
But yet new flocks ascended in the air,
Till all the forest with their wings they fill'd,
Nor longer to look up the monarchs dare;
But, setting spur to horse, with terror fill'd,
For flight, their only refuge, they prepare;
But swifter than they fled the birds pursu'd;
It seem'd they meant to make the kings their food.

96

With beak and plume they chac'd them thro' the wood,
Their fearful cries resounding in the air;
Each knight believ'd it was the devil's brood,
That meant to chace his senses to despair:
Both shield and spear they flung into the wood,
Which sounds not of so valiant knights so fair;
Like madmen then they spurr'd and dropt the reins;
At last they came into the open plains.

97

The birds of night, then, wheeling to their den,
Declin'd the combat in the eye of day,
And left the knights unto their thoughts again,
Faint, breathless, feeble from their late affray:
For fifty minutes yet, and hardly then,
For fear the birds should on their visage prey,
They lifted not the head, but with a look,
Stole sideways, of their case some knowledge took.

98

They scarcely could believe their foes were gone,
The dismal cry yet ringing in their ears,
But deem'd the fatal birds would come anon,
And hardly could restrain their quaking fears;
At length they saw the fading day was done,
And Hesper in the gloomy air appears;
But now for the divine Clorinda's sake,
Our way into the wood again we take.

99

The beamy spear and helmet of the maid,
That wisely had been charm'd from foreign woe,
Permitted not the birds to ply their trade
Against Clorinda, as the weaker foe,
Yet weaker was she not, but lent her aid
To save the kings, and with her spear laid low
Some thousands of that overwhelming crew;
But thousands in this case were still too few.

100

'Tis vain to combat, where, the more you kill,
The faster to your sword your foes arrive;
Besides, by this, the kings had had their fill,
Perceiving in that fight they could not thrive;
To flight they were compell'd: the maiden still
A moment did with wond'rous courage strive
To clear the air, but longer could not stay;
She turn'd her steed, and swiftly fled away.

101

So dazzled, and so spent her senses were
In that vain combat and illusive fight,
Had with the dusky habitants of air,
She hardly could discern her passage right;
But wander'd in the forest here and there,
And thought amid the boughs to pass the night;
When straight before her, in an alley green,
A princely hart, and beautiful was seen.

102

Around his neck a silver bell was plac'd,
With which sweet musick to the woods he made;
And often was his neck with garlands grac'd,
When so they heard him braying in the shade,
By maidens, that about the forest pac'd;
As white as milk, but when the hounds were laid,
His branching antlers reaching to the sky,
Like Zephyr, or a Parthian dart would fly.

103

Now whether he was sent, as seems to me,
By great Diana to Clorinda's aid,
To set her feet from out that forest free;
Or whether he but ply'd his wonted trade,
(As in the cities, so in woods we see
The dappled burghers are to theft betray'd,)
And meant but in the meads, that skirt the wood,
To take his supper, and his balmy food:

104

Clorinda, who believ'd his mind was so,
Pursuing still his tract to left and right,
That leisurely about the wood did go,
Had soon the champaign blazing in her sight:
And now the West with crimson 'gan to glow,
And flakes of amber, mixt with purple bright,
And Hesperus in tender air to reign,
When fair Clorinda issu'd on the plain.

105

She heard a damsel singing on the plain,
As joyous as the lark at break of day,
Or that sweet bird, that in the night doth reign,
That all the air was filled with her lay;
A herdsman's daughter, and did there restrain
Her wanton steeds to wander in their play,
And, browzing, o'er the silver hills to roam;
And this her song, the while she drove them home.

106

“O happy state, the happiest of all!
“The blameless herdsman in the flow'ry plain;
“He cares not for great kingdoms' rise or fall,
“Or battles, that the mighty Consuls gain;
“His homely thoughts no foreign guiles can call,
“He in his cottage, and his herd doth reign;
“If Phœbus through the welkin look but clear,
“His peaceful mind is joyous through the year.

107

“Before the sun to drive them to the lea,
“Or up the mountain, tracking in the dew;
“To see that they in good contentment be,
“And eat their balmy breakfast, as is due;
“At noon from out the hills to set them free,
“And to the vallies their soft steps pursue,
“Wherein amid the streams, and silver shade
“They wanton, till the light of day doth fade,

108

“Sufficeth him: then, browzing on the way,
“By Hesper bright he driveth to the fold;
“Before his door his little children play,
“His tender wife him in her arms doth hold:
“O happy state! far different they say,
“From theirs, whom guilty purple doth infold;
“O happy state! (and sweetly she did sing,)
“The herdsman of himself is truly king!”

109

Clorinda, then, appearing from the shade
With glist'ring armour, made the song to cease;
The damsel was at first some whit dismay'd;
But when Clorinda, in soft terms of peace,
For that sad night to give her shelter pray'd,
She yielded to her wish; which much did please
The gentle herdsman, and his daughter dear:
But more in the next canto will appear.

THE SECOND CANTO.

1

Some criticks may believe my verse is ill,
That I within no limit am confin'd,
But wander, like a straying horse, at will,
Whose master by a chance is left behind,
O'er wood, o'er plain, o'er valley, and o'er hill:
But these objectors to my verse are blind;
(Then let their cynick censure be forbid,)
I do in this what Ludovico did.

2

That mighty Poet, that Ferrara charm'd,
And still shall charm until the latest day;
And universal envy had disarm'd,
If that could be, with his melodious lay:
Who e'er affirm'd, that he his glory harm'd,
Because he travell'd not the beaten way?
But wander'd, where his fancy led him, soon
To Africa, to Hades, or the Moon?

3

Without regard of season, or of time;
But Nature was companion of his flight,
And all the Muses by his side would climb
Above Olympus, or go down to Night,
When thither, with his company sublime,
He turn'd his feet; and open'd by his might
The gates of Hell: but there he stay'd not long;
But to the living world restor'd his song.

4

I not pretend to equal his renown,
Or take my journey with so large a flight:
This were, as if a loose, and shambling clown,
With oaken staff, should combat with a knight,
Whose spirit had been nurs'd in trumpet's sown,
Who for a princess did demand the fight,
With sword, and spear, with helmet, and with shield;
God help the man, to undertake the field!

5

But what in him is good, in me is ill,
Unless to both this method be allow'd:
Nor will it with too much displeasure fill
My weaker mind, if I but please the crowd,
Despairing of the learned men of skill:
Yet some, of whom that Poet might be proud,
And worthy of a nobler verse than mine,
Approve my thought, and favour my design.

6

Whose praises yet I fear not to rehearse,
Till all the world shall with their fame be fill'd,
In some more just, and more heroick verse:
But well it is, the vineyard must be till'd,
The husbandmen we fitly must disperse,
Till all the lands be drain'd, the weeds be kill'd,
And with the good manure the soil be dress'd,
Before the swelling fruitage can be press'd.

7

But chiefly He shall in my song be seen,
Whose glory, like the sacred eye of Morn,
Can break the cloudy night, with joyous sheen,
And all the world with beauty doth adorn,
As if the first sweet morning now it been:
Since none of nobler progeny is born,
Or graces with diviner gifts his birth,
'Twere pity, were his name confin'd to Earth.

8

Ye sacred Muses, take it, when is need,
And place it high amid' the silv'ry sphere,
With anthems of delight, from errour freed;
Till by the star of Astrophel, that clear
Doth shine upon our Northern Isle, and lead
Th' eternal musick of the wand'ring Year,
It sparkle may with light, and guide us well,
The star of Hastings, close to Astrophel.

9

But now to you, my ------, I return,
Since 'tis for your delight this song is made,
While you upon the banks of ------ learn
Th' unerring volume, which if rightly weigh'd,
New glory to your labour shall return;
Ah! might the sacred Muses but persuade
Your learned leisure to their silv'ry spring,
The world would hear an Ariosto sing!

10

Then would the praise of fair Hermione
Be fitly vaunted in a noble song,
With all the nymphs, that keep her company;
Then would Clorinda lead the armed throng,
To dissipate th' invading chivalry,
That would exempt fair Flordilege from wrong;
And with Orlando, by the sacred wall,
Divine Hermilda would the foe enthrall.

11

But since to you severer truth is dear,
And duty prompts you to a mightier task,
I must begin this varied web to clear,
And brighten from the rust this aged casque:
In doubt I am, if rather you would hear
Of fair Clorinda, or th' event would ask
Of that late journey of Hermione;
But for the present it untold must be.

12

For, hark! I hear a silver trumpet bray,
The mountains quake with terrour at the song,
And charmed air doth wander with affray;
I see amid' the hills a goodly throng
From out a castle speed upon their way
A knight, and horse, both beautiful and strong:
Upon his plumed crest the knight doth bear
The golden apples, nodding in the air.

13

Hereafter to be fam'd beyond the fruit,
That in the garden of Hesperides,
Defended of the nymphs, with fair repute
Compell'd the sacred feet of Hercules;
Eridanus, for fables so impute,
Beyond the purple washing of the seas,
Directed him to find the sacred shore;
If Hercules be much, this knight is more,

14

So mighty is his fame; of ev'ry knight,
Through all the Pagan lands, and Palestine,
And Westwardly, where virtue shines more bright,
Acknowledg'd for his acts, and deem'd divine:
Since heav'nly Virtue, for a golden light,
First plac'd him here, amid' the world to shine:
As doth the Sun amid' the wond'ring air,
Or Moon amid' the stars, supremely fair.

15

I speak then of Zerbino, who is gone
From out the castle, as to you I said;
In fields of Persia lately had he won
Great honour and renown, that in him bred
New ardour, till he made the world his own:
With fair Aurora rising from his bed,
He left his host, and, clad in burning gold,
He sought the plains, as I to you unfold.

16

And much revolving in his noble mind
Of moral virtue, as it best is taught;
That fairest, greatest blessing of mankind,
Before religion to our aid was brought;
Of war, but just; of polity refin'd,
By which small states to mighty worth are wrought;
With wisdom on his way he lov'd to dwell;
Now his adventure I to you will tell.

17

It was the jolly, and earth-teeming Spring;
The daffodils did in the meads appear,
That still their pensive heads do lowly fling,
As shedding for Narcissus' fate a tear;
Whom beauty to that sad event did bring,
That loved in a stream himself too dear,
And pined with the vain delight away;
Such pleasure did his face to him convey.

18

Now Dian, for he was to Dian dear,
As well by beauty, as his virtue's charm,
Perceiving how he lov'd that mirror clear,
In which his fatal beauty did him harm,
Would not remove him, as it may appear,
But with soft pity did his fate disarm;
She turn'd him to a pale, and silken flow'r,
That on itself still gazes to this hour.

19

No fountain, be its silver water pure,
Unless sad herbs have in it's wave been thrown,
By those, that can the charmed Moon allure
To leave her sphere, but reckons for it's own
The pale Narcissus, that with passion pure
Still feeds upon itself; but, newly blown,
The Nymphs will pluck it from its tender stalk,
And say, “Go, fool, and to thy image talk,”

20

I say, the daffodils did now appear,
The silver lambs did wanton them among,
And, singing at the gate of Heaven clear,
The lark awaken'd Ether with her song;
But Philomel, that is to shepherds dear,
Was still in Egypt, the thick reeds among;
The mavis, and the ouzel in the shade,
Each other to it's mate, did love persuade.

21

And Procne, in the marble plains of air,
For Itys did with weeping song complain;
But time had somewhat soften'd her despair,
And pity did prevail through all the strain;
And yet her restless passage did declare
The fatal wrongs of Tereus did remain;
Her weeping song, upon the silv'ry brim,
Resounded of poor Itys, and of him.

22

So swiftly from the impious king she fled,
And swiftly has e'er since pursu'd her flight,
Still weeping for the cruel rage, that shed
The guiltless soul of Itys, in despite
Of that vile king;—but whither am I led
In soft description from the wand'ring knight?
Zerbino through the valley took his way:
The Zephyrs with his golden crest did play.

23

As much delighted with the beauteous fruit,
That, like a banquet, on his helm y-shone,
When joyous marriage doth with parents suit,
And the sweet musick is so touch'd, and blown
From shawm, and trumpet, dulcimer, and lute,
That Jealousy with love doth look thereon;
And Hymen with a golden song doth tell,
How the pure marriage doth with angels dwell!

24

I say, Zerbino through the valley went,
And poured forth his soul to God on high,
Who blesseth still his creatures with extent
Of goodness, and to them doth nought deny,
But what perhaps with evil is y-blent:
Now Phœbus in the air was flaming high,
And the green lizard in the flow'ry brake
To shelter from the Sun did her betake.

25

The shrill cicada deafen'd with her song
The sultry air, and made the hills to quake;
The fishes to the depth of rivers throng,
The birds within the leaves a descant make;
The heat doth do their pretty musick wrong:
Now, quitting the cold woods, the speckled snake,
Exulting in the burning light, displays
His forked tongue, and revels in the blaze.

26

Enduring not the flashing beams of day,
The knight betook him to a flow'ry shade,
Wherein in gentle slumber as he lay,
The restless fancy such amusement made,
With revel in his thoughts, and elfish play,
It seem'd he wander'd in a beauteous glade,
Where silv'ry orange, and the myrtle sweet
In soft embraces o'er his head did meet.

27

He deem'd he heard, and so he truly did,
A song, of sweetness to ascend the sky,
And rest amid' the bliss, to us forbid,
Until indeed our latest moments fly,
And all, that to our earthly sight was hid,
In radiant prospect doth before us lie;
He deem'd he heard a tender virgin sing
This song of love, and anthem for a king.

28

“O youthful guest, whose lineaments divine
“Bespeak you of the blood of kings to be,
“That softly wander on these shores of mine,
“Where all things of delight you well may see,
“If to diviner wisdom you incline,
“And thirst for fruit of immortality,
“Zerbino, to your sight I will declare
“What wonders are in earth, in sea, in air.

29

“The silv'ry dragons to the team of thought,
“That feed upon the pleasure of the air,
“From out their silent caverns shall be brought,
“And yoked to the wheel; do you prepare,
“Zerbino, as when greatest things are wrought,
“To fortify your breast with sacred prayer;
“For in a little space you shall behold
“The courts of amber, and the gates of gold!

30

“I tell you, you shall walk the shades of night,
“And hear the song, that can turn back the day,
“For Hell, Zerbino, opens to my might,
“And upward to the Morning I can stray:
“The Muse I am, that offer to your sight
“The banks of Lethe, and the starry way:
“No harm shall meet you on your sacred road;
“For Virtue in all worlds hath her abode.

31

“'Tis Virtue, not your golden arms can save
“Your soul from Evil, that with wand'ring flight
“Doth journey on the wing of Care, and brave
“The fine perdition of the beamy light;
“For Rest is not her consort, by the wave
“Of Stygian darkness, or the crystal height;
“But with an iron plume she beats the air,
“Incessant on her journey of despair.

32

“Not feared by the mind, whose beauteous thought
“Is dear to Angels, and with Angel's wing
“O'er-shadow'd, when to depths of darkness brought,
“And fed with nectar of immortal Spring:
“Then come, Zerbino, without fear of ought,
“As Virgil did of old, the Poet's king,
“Ascend with me into the crystal air,
“And see what love, and what delights are there.

33

“I will you show the palace of the Moon,
“And take you in the track of Phœbus' car,
“In all his glorious altitude at Noon;
“Where you may wonder, how each little star,
“Like pearl, upon the milky air is strewn;
“And see the World diminish'd from afar:
“Awake, Zerbino, for the Sun is high,
“And we are night must to Olympus fly.

34

“Awake, Zerbino!” and the knight awoke,
And saw before him, on the flo'wry ground,
The beauteous Muse, that like an Angel spoke,
More soft than is in Spring the thunder's sound:
A golden plume from each fair shoulder broke,
And with a laurel leaf her hair was bound;
Her hair, that like Italian harvests shone,
When burning Ætna flameth them upon!

35

She stood in height as stately, and as tall,
As some fair temple, to Diana dear,
On which the golden light of Heav'n doth fall,
That staineth with it's face the silver year:
Round which, when Jove doth to his daughter call,
The golden-hoofed harts do start for fear,
And fly into the sacred woods again:
So stood the Muse upon the flow'ry plain.

36

And in her hand a myrtle branch she bore,
With bud and blossom beauteously adorn'd,
And shining leaves, a very plenteous store;
Which she had fairly pluck'd, and not suborn'd,
From off the bright, and ever-sacred floor,
With which the house of Phœbus is adorn'd:
The little bees of that celestial air
Still murmur'd in it's leaves, and blossoms fair.

37

On whatso forehead she that myrtle laid,
In yet unpractis'd youth, and flow'ring age,
That sacred head was by her counsel sway'd:
Nor can he in the foaming chase engage,
Nor practise yet the gainful merchant's trade,
Nor seek of mighty war the iron rage,
Nor yet to love can yield his spirit pure;
But is her pupil, and must so endure,

38

But wisest kings, that with a sacred eye
Behold their subjects, and allot to each
Their gracious smiles, and equal majesty,
With condescension of their awful speech,
When they approve th' immortal Poësy,
Protect the man, that can with wisdom teach
What Virtue to true spirits doth unfold,
By great example of the times of old.

39

They fill him with deep cups of Bacchus old,
And bless him with the fat of venison;
The while some ancient tale is strictly told,
And reverend Age doth give its benison
To what the stately tables do uphold:
Then musick, that is sure a denizen
Of Phœbus' court, with some immortal air,
The light digestion doth for him prepare.

40

So then upon the stringed harp he sings
A song, that may delight Olympian Jove;
Of something, which he learnt beside the springs
Of Helicon, that with eternal love
He fills the feast, and to sweet madness brings
The breast of him, who from his throne above
Doth bow his ear to catch the sacred song,
And drinketh with delight the musick strong.

41

Now so Augustus to our Virgil did;
He fed him with the black Falernian wine;
By which the themes, that else had been forbid,
Were chanted with sweet love, and joy divine:
Too long his Muse had been with shepherds hid,
But now amid' the stately courts doth shine;
By great Mecænas to Augustus brought,
All Italy had glory in his thought.

42

But, checking here the rein, I must return
To good Zerbino, that with wonder heard
Th' immortal song, that made his spirit burn,
And fancy with divine ambition spurr'd
To travel, where such love he could discern,
As by that fairest Goddess was averr'd:
But when he saw the glory of her face,
The knight fell down, and worshipp'd on the place.

43

“A Goddess, sure! that deignest to behold
“Our earthly shore,” and further would have said;
But that the Muse in pity did uphold
His fainting step, and to his sight convey'd
The wond'rous chariot, bidding him be bold,
For virtue to itself is surest aid:
The silv'ry dragons, in the marble air,
Did champ the bit, and for swift flight prepare.

44

The knight ascended with the beauteous Muse,
(But first unto a myrtle tied his horse,)
And soon did of the Earth all vision lose,
And in the middle air pursued his course,
Above the region of the mists, and dews,
To where the Morning has her fragrant source:
So hotly did the beams of Phœbus play,
The knight almost had fainted by the way.

45

And playing in the soft, and balmy air,
A thousand butterflies, in beauteous swarms,
(The while they for a higher flight prepare,)
Did cover with their wings his golden arms;
And o'er his head were an upsoaring pair
Of beauteous birds, that with their musick's charms
The spirit of Zerbino drown'd in bliss:
No mortal ear e'er heard a song like this.

46

The knight then to his fair companion said,
“Before we to Olympus take our flight,
“A little further East I would be led,
“And with the Sacred City bless my sight;
“Before the which such noble knights have bled,
“And still shall bleed in that most holy fight,
“Until the tomb, and temple of our Lord
“Shall be from Pagans to the Faith restor'd.”

47

Then with a gentle voice the silv'ry team
She urg'd right forward to the Morning's rise,
Diverging to the Earth, 'till now 'gan gleam
Jerusalem amid' the golden skies:
Behold! the fruitful olives, in the beam
Of Phœbus, like a crown, around her rise:
And, sitting on her sacred hill alone,
The daughter of fair Sion makes her moan.

48

For, ah! her pride is gone, her glory waste,
Her temples in the mournful dust are laid;
Dishonour'd by her foemen, and defac'd,
That so the will of God might be obey'd;
Her sons are slain, her ramparts are displac'd,
A byeword to the nations she is made;
And yet, abandon'd, like a mourning queen,
Magnificent in sorrow she is seen.

49

No more her songs of marriage shall be heard
To shake the roofs of cedar, and of gold;
No more her youth shall be to battle stirr'd,
When they the fairness of her state behold:
No more within her gates, at ev'ning heard,
Her aged men shall commune, and unfold
The wonders of their youth, and fairer days;
But mute her love, and silent is her praise.

50

Shall ever then, Jerusalem, again
The Angel of the Lord in thee be seen,
When that memorial of the lamb is slain,
To shake the waters of Bethesda clean?
By which the halt, and wither'd were again,
Like youthful roes, and like the laurels green;
And they, that wept in darkness, were restor'd,
To view the setting Sun, and bless the Lord?

51

Three times around, amid' the pitying air,
The wond'rous chariot on its axle turn'd,
To take the compass of that city fair;
The while the knight with indignation burn'd,
To see her made the spectacle of care;
And inly to destroy those Pagans yearn'd:
But then soft pity o'er his reason stole,
And tears betray'd the feelings of his soul.

52

“Thy fault is great, and great is thy reward:
“But is it fit, those Infidels should hold
“The sacred tomb, and temple of our Lord,
“Which still with love the Morning doth behold,
“And still the Ev'ning doth with love regard?
“O, be it not to after ages told,
“That any Christian knight doth live, and see
“Thy courts defil'd with such vile progeny!

53

“If I forsake thee, Salem, in thy need,
“Forsaken may I be of God on high!
“It makes indeed my very heart to bleed,
“To see thee in distress, and ruin lie:
“The while the ensign of that faithless seed,
“The flouting crescent high in air doth fly;
“Must then the cross be trampled in the dust?
“It shall not be so, as in God I trust.

54

“Farewell, awhile!” then, turning on his way,
The knight betook him to the upper air:
Full gently did the Muse her dragons sway,
Which lightly through the clouds their burthen bear:
A silent tear of virtue there did stray
Adown her sunny cheek, like marble, fair:
Then with a peaceful smile she look'd on high,
And bade her thoughts unto their fountain fly.

55

They passed o'er the broad sev'n-mouthed Nile,
Beholding on the right the Cyprus shore,
And then to Crete, where Jupiter erewhile
Was hid from Saturn, that much malice bore
To those, that him should of his reign beguile;
Wherein a hundred cities were of yore:
Then o'er Cythera, and the Cyclades,
And Corinth, and its gulf they pass with ease.

100

56

Then forward o'er the Mount of Helicon,
But Thebes, and Athens to the right were left,
And Delphi then with joy they look upon,
That on the south-west of Parnassus' cleft
Is in a vale, and, as old fables won,
Was center to the Earth, but now bereft
Of that large honour; then they Pindus saw,
Wherein Apollo gives the Muses law.

57

Then all Thessalia open'd to their view,
And all Pelasgia, 'till Olympus shone
At distance in the air, to which they flew,
And with a sweet delight alighted on:
Within a pleasant cave they then withdrew;
Beneath the which the springs of Helicon
Did bubble from the Earth, and bless their sight:
Now you may joy to rest you from your flight.

101

58

But if to you I should recite the streams,
The glorious forests, and the cities fair,
O'er which Zerbino pass'd, such lovely themes
Your gen'rous goodness might fatigue too far;
Such as Eurota, that by Sparta gleams,
Or Pindus, or the deep Cephissus are,
Or Argos, or the ancient Sycion,
Or Nemea, or the Persic Marathon:

59

But here I rest; this only will I say,
Who tells them all, must number, and discern
The leaves, that in the woods of Summer play,
The stars, that in the skies of Winter burn:
Since from the height of Ida, on their way,
Diverging to the sloping Earth they turn:
But now within a cave, as is exprest,
On side of great Olympus they can rest.

102

60

Until the palace of high Jove doth shine
With golden light, and Phœbe on her throne
In beauteous state, and majesty divine,
To all the host of planets now is shown;
And Earth is lighten'd with her beamez fine:
The swelling tides by her are overflown,
And on the Scythian hills, with winter bright,
Th' enamoured wolves do bay throughout the night.

61

Upon the threshold of the cave they stand,
And thence look out into the balmy night,
And hear some distant sounds on either hand:
The hoarser Bosphorus, with great affright,
Doth murmur on the left, and Scylla's strand
Is vexed with the waves upon the right,
And Lipari doth burn, and then they hear
The blows of Vulcan strike upon the ear.

103

62

Zerbino, and the Muse again ascend,
Right upward to the zenith of the Moon,
And with so swift delight their journey tend,
They in her silver gates are enter'd soon:
But here another fable must be penn'd,
As sweet as is the dewy rose in June,
And downward to the Earth we must begone,
To hear the message of the Amazon.

63

And therefore for a little while must stay
Zerbino in that lovely planet's house;
Where if he sojourn'd for a year and day,
Not all its wonders could his soul espouse,
Which he would wish to bring with him away;
But not a chamber in that silver house,
But silently we mean to wander o'er,
And to the Earth it's pleasure will restore,

104

64

It is indeed the World's epitome,
And a brief abstract of our lives below,
By which Zerbino in a glass may see
What here in many years he could not know;
For to that place, as to a treasury,
The fumes of our distracted reasons flow,
And there take shape, and in their essence be;
But here we will rejoin Hermione.

65

The warlike virgin to the palace rode,
Her crimson plumage floating in the sky,
The sun-beams from her radiant armour flow'd,
And all her looks were full of majesty;
But love therein had never his abode:
From banquets, and from beds she wont to fly,
And with the steely spear, and flick'ring sword,
Great honour to her nation did afford.

105

66

She found the Caliph, pensive and alone,
Within his garden, walking to and fro,
From whence unto the greedy eye were shown
A hundred cities interspers'd below,
Upon the banks of Nile, from Memphis down
To Delta, where his fatt'ning waters flow
With uproar to the sea; obeisance made,
And princely greeting, thus the virgin said:

67

“What sorrow makes my lord, the Caliph, here,
“Or counsel of some great affair of state?
“But I believe, when to his wisest ear
“My fearful tale, and message I relate,
“He will exchange his sceptre for a spear,
“His purple vestment for a mailed plate,
“And show to Egypt, and the Eastern world
“His streaming ensign, to the winds unfurl'd.

106

68

“O'er hill and valley I am come with speed
“To show my lord the dangers that abound,
“How all the Pagan world shall sadly bleed,
“And Christian knights upon our Eastern ground
“Awake the vaulted Echo with the steed,
“Upon adventure to that city bound,
“Wherein entombing, after timeless death,
“They laid to sleep the man of Nazareth.

69

“Three times hath Phœbus lash'd his fiery steeds
“Along the brazen archway of the sky,
“And fill'd with purple light th' abundant meads;
“Since by the wave, that deep and silently
“From Sura to the Persian gulph proceeds,
“Before the tomb, where Gordian doth lie,
“Our horses of the sweet Euphrates drank,
“And we our tents had pitched on the bank.

107

70

“No sound awak'd the ever-silent night,
“The stars with pleasure burnt amid' the air,
“And pale Diana, with a soft delight,
“Did bathe her visage in Euphrates fair;
“I sate, as I am wont, to feed my sight,
“And in the lovely sky forget my care;
“For all that even I with Virgil's song
“Had fed my soul, amid' the Greekish throng.

71

“Then silence reign'd amid' the beauteous sky,
“Save when Euphrates murmur'd on the ear,
“Or else our silver steeds, that fed thereby,
“Did neigh unto the pale and watchful sphere, [OMITTED]

The very noble Lord, the Earl of Moira.