University of Virginia Library

Now Aurora left her bed,
And from aged Tithon fled;
And Apollo shed his beams
On the deep and silent streams,
Coming forth with all his state
From the Oriental gate;
Now the Doge was at his prayers;
And her bright and golden hairs
Amphitrite combed free,
Underneath the crystal sea;
And the Mermaid chanted brave
On the blue and sparkling wave;
Now from Candia and from Rhodes,
Mighty governors' abodes,
And from Cyprus, too, in haste,
Where the lord Othello grac'd
The ill-omen'd war begun,
(But that was ere the deed was done,
Born of jealousy, and pride,
By which Desdemona died,)
Messengers, with winged feet,
In the Doge's hall did meet,
Bringing tidings of affairs,
To fill his wise and aged cares;
Now the lute and cittern breath'd
Morning vows, to heav'n bequeath'd,
From the chaste, uprising maid,
Vows, which must be duly paid,
When she in marriage-bed doth lie,
Without reproach to chastity;
And whate'er in thought was free,
Like the lark 'gan sweet to be;
But pale jealousy did weep;
And the miser fell asleep;
And the light-hating man, and fowl,
The astronomer, and owl,
To their learned beds were gone;
Now the night, the night is flown,
And the morning came apace,
Breathing sweet an amber grace,
To delight the race of men
With her crimson cheeks again:
But yet Heliodora lay
Turning from the golden day,
Naked, on her purple bed:
Tears, like amber, she did shed,
And her bosom heav'd with groans,
Fit to melt the marble stones,
That jut upon the Adrian sea:
“What is day, false day, to me?
“Hide, O nurse, th' accursed sight,
“False to me, and to delight;
“Close my head in sable night.
“Is not this the fatal day,
“Tell me, O Caneura, pray,
“When the Doge, my father, said,
“I should mount the marriage bed
“With the lord Orsino's heir?
“O day of madness and despair!
“Rather, bear me to my grave!
“Hast thou, O nurse, no means to save?
“Or must I to my tomb be gone?
“Is my father's heart like stone,
“That thus can see his daughter lie
“Distracted, and, unpitying, die?
“Let me to the Indies fly,
“To the out-posts of the world,
“Or upon the winds be hurl'd,
“Far beyond the peopled sphere,
“Ere Orsino find me here,
“Ready for his hateful arms;
“Hast thou, O nurse, no counter charms,
“From the mountains, or the fields,
“That the gentle Nature yields,
“In pity to a maiden's woe;
“O my lord, my father, oh!
“Weeping at your feet I lay,
“Yet you turn'd your heart away
“From your daughter in despair;
“O, pity me, thou golden air,
“For pity to my God I fly;
“O Frangipani, let me die,
“If I behold thee not again!”
Then, overcome with sudden pain,
The maiden fell upon her back,
All her reason gone to wrack,
Fainting from the light away:
Scarce the nurse the life could stay,
When she had restor'd it well;
Scarce her aged sense could tell
What should be remedy to love:
Much persuasion she did move,
The winged God to overcome,
And to bring sweet patience home:
“Men are men,” Caneura said,
And gently shook her aged head;
“And Orsino, to say truth,
“Is a fair and gentle youth,
“Who will speed your happiness;
“Do not you, then, make it less;
“Or against your father fight,
“For a dream of mere delight.
“Is not Frangipani gone?
“Why then will my child make moan
“For a good she cannot have?
“Say, the youth is fierce and brave,
“Full of virtue and delight,
“Yet he is not in your sight,
“Nor he cannot be again:
“What then can be more idle pain,
“Than to tear your heart for one,
“Who cannot to your arms be won?
“Would you with Frangipani go,
“An exile, o'er the mountain's snow?
“Or with Frangipani sleep,
“In the caves of forests deep,
“Underneath dishonour'd boughs?
“Would you be the windy spouse
“Of a corsair, on the deck
“Baring that immortal neck?
“O my Heliodora, bred
“In the golden marriage-bed,
“Fed from out a princely cup,
“Where 'tis only kings may sup,
“Would you”—but who counts the lights,
Sparkling in the summer nights;
Who the leaves can number all,
That in waning Autumn fall;
Who can tell what sands there be,
By the coral-paved sea;
Who can do these things, may tell
That, which is impossible,
The words that from Caneura fell.

All her words were vain; as vain
As it were with gentle strain
Of persuasive speech to move
A marble Dian into love:
And, like the marble, Heliodore,
An image for all men t' adore,
Lay upon her purple bed,
Hiding her thrice-golden head:
Only, now and then, a groan
Made her mighty passion known;
And the tears were flowing free,
As from unhappy Niobe.
Then she lift up her marble arms,
Unfolding a whole world of charms;
And, “O great God, and what beside
“May hear, and pity me,” she cried,
“If I forsake this hapless youth,
“And fall from my pure rock of truth;
“If I forsake him in his woe,
“And from Frangipani go
“To another marriage-bed”—
No more the hapless virgin said;
But fell again upon the bed,
And her bright and golden head
In the dews of night was steep'd;
Long time, then, the maiden sleep'd;
And the nurse, with trembling fear,
Could scarce bring back her daughter dear:
Then, as she held her weeping head,
“And is it thus,” Caneura said,
“My daughter for her love must die?
“Lift up thy thoughts, my child, and I
“To ease thy loaded heart will try:
“What if the Doge be grown so old,
“That he thy passion can behold
“Unmov'd, Caneura will not see
“Thee perish for fidelity:
“'Spite of them all, and all their power,
“Thou shalt be free this very hour;
“I've an old head, and that can tell—
“There's nothing so impossible,
“But that this eve, ere Hesper glow,
“To Frangipani thou shalt go.
“There's never a prince in Italy,
“With my Heliodore shall lie,
“But I'll know the reason why:
“Unless, and I myself deceive,
“Frangipani give them leave.
“Frangipani, I say again,
“What is there in that lovely strain
“So hateful to the Doge's ears?
“The Doge is mad, as it appears;—
“Is he not young, is he not brave,
“On the land, or on the wave?
“Is he not soft and gentle too?
“And very beautiful to view?
“What would the Doge fain have, I pray,
“That to this boy he answers, nay?
“And he must banish him, forsooth,
“Despite of all his spotless truth;
“O, he must banish him, and then
“He brings us here this king of men,
“This great Orsino here to wed,
“And t'enjoy thy golden bed;
“Marry, forbid! the Doge is mad,
“I say't again, the Doge is mad,
“Caneura says it,”—here she stopp'd,
And for a while the subject dropp'd,
Lacking her breath; and then she smil'd,
To see how much her words beguil'd
The virgin, who raised up her head,
As when a marigold doth spread
Her flourishing leaves to the Sun's eye,
That lately in cold death did lie.
The rose came to her cheek again,
And her heart forgot its pain:
And, as the ivy clasps the oak,
The nurse into her arms she took,
And gave her an immortal kiss;
Fit, O Jove, t' have fill'd with bliss
Thy eternal chair on high:
And then upon her neck did lie,
Full of joy, and tranquilly.
Then the nurse resum'd her theme;
“It were folly in th' extreme,
“Longer here, my love, to stay,
“Than the lamp shall shed it's ray,
“In the purple skirts of day;
“Then, ere yet the moon's soft beam
“Gild the Adriatick stream,
“When now the Doge's board is set,
“(We have time t' escape them yet,)
“We with Phœbus taking leave,
“Underneath the purple eve,
“To the port will make repair:
“I have a good brother there,
“Captain of the ship, Saint Mark;
“Who will take us in the dark,
“And safely once on board with him,
“We may chant our vesper hymn,
“Laughing at the peril past:
“And, the while we stand by the mast,
“Farewell, good Orsino, Sir!—
“If the Doge shall make a stir,
“That to us breeds little care,
“When upon the gulf we are,
“And the wind is fresh, and fair:
“And my brother sails to-night,
“Having his permittance right.
“Then, my love, my Heliodore,
“All your grief shall soon be o'er,
“Flying to a foreign shore.
“Only there is one thing yet,
“These legs, so soft and delicate,
“Must forget their wonted state:
“And this bosom for the world,
“When our foresail is unfurl'd,
“Flying in the idle wind,
“Then a sailor's coat must bind:
“I must buy you sailor's clothes;
“But be sure you learn your oaths,
“Not such pretty oaths, as maids
“Find expedient in their trades,
“By Gis, and by Saint Charity—
“No, you braver words must try:
“It will not hurt your chastity,
“Since for winged love you fly.
“Now, my love, awhile farewell!
“I at eve a tale will tell,
“That, I think, shall please you well.”

Then from out the door she pass'd,
But first Heliodore embrac'd,
And to the Doge then went in haste.

Him she pray'd, with simple air,
Her lady's presence to forbear;
“For she was full of shame,” she said,
“Till the lamp of eve might shed
“Her amber light, and Hymen's vows
“Should then be wakeful through the house:
“His highness knew the gentle maid,
“How soft, and how of love afraid,
“And, if it pleas'd him, she would stay
“In her chamber during day,
“Till Hesper should light up his ray.”
Then, having won the duke's consent,
To the port Caneura went:
Her brother, and aboard she found,
Pulling anchor from the ground,
And his sails already bent:
Straight on board Caneura went,
And brought his courage to comply,
To save Heliodore, or die:
“If this wind shall hold us fair,
“We shall cause the Doge some care;
“For long ere morning's light we see,
“Off Apulia we shall be,
“If it but blow a steady gale—
“Believe it, I'll not take-in sail:
“Be sure you come, so soon as day
“Sinks upon the crimson bay,
“And underneath that squared gate,
“My boatmen and my boat shall wait,
“And I, to watch the turns of fate.
“Then bring your beauteous sailor; I
“Am not afraid for her to die,
“But stand prepar'd to fall or fly.”
Then, furnish'd with her boyish weeds,
Caneura to the shore proceeds,
And murmur'd oft upon her way,
“This, sure, is an important day,
“As Venice to her cost shall know,
“Long ere to-morrow's sun shall glow.”

And now the princess, pale with fear,
Seeing, that the hour was near,
Equipp'd herself in boyish weeds,
And to the wat'ry marge proceeds:
The nurse still saying to her friends,
That she her sister's son attends
Down to the port, to Greece to sail:
And now they see the flapping sail,
And now into the boat are gone,—
Orsino, for thy wife make moan!