 | The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale |  |
SCENE I.
Thyrsis and Chorus.THYRSIS.
Oh! cruel, fortune; Oh! inhuman Sylvia!
Oh! barbarous woman-kind! and thou dame Nature,
How negligently hast thou formed the sex!
How couldst thou spurn thy salutary laws,
And e'er give birth to such incongruous being?
Thou hast for them thy softest matter chosen,
And wrought it to enchanting elegance,
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Yet, strange to tell! this perfect symmetry
Contains, within, a brood of savage passions:
Angels in body; but in soul they're demons!
Thou, kind preserver of each other species,
Hast tempted man to rush on his destruction!
My friend Amyntas sure hath slain himself.
I've diligently sought him where I left him,
And in the parts adjacent; but in vain;
He certainly hath done what oft he threatened.
I see some shepherds, I'll inquire of them;
They may perhaps give me some tidings of him.
Friends, tell me, have you lately seen Amyntas;
Or some news of him you perhaps have heard?
CHORUS.
Thyrsis, thou seemest in extreme confusion:
Thou breathest quick; art thou pursued, or chasing?
What is the cause of all this agitation?
Tell us, that, if we can, we may remove it.
THYRSIS.
I fear some evil hath befallen Amyntas:
Say, have you seen him?
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Since he left this place
Some time ago, with thee, we have not seen him:
But why art thou so fearful for Amyntas?
THYRSIS.
Because I fear he hath destroyed himself.
CHORUS
Destroyed himself! canst thou assign the cause?
THYRSIS.
The cause was hapless love, and fell despair.
CHORUS.
When they together rankle in the breast,
Two dreadful enemies are they to man.
But pray be more explicit in thy story.
THYRSIS.
Most ardently the shepherd loved a nymph;
And for his love that nymph returned disdain.
CHORUS.
Thy hints raise eager curiosity;
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This place is much frequented; some may pass,
Who in the interim may inform us of him:
Or possibly himself may come this way.
THYRSIS.
I'll willingly be more particular.
For such ingratitude should not escape
Without it's recompense of infamy.
Ingratitude! that bold, licentious monster,
That tramples on the tenderest rights of man!
The fiend stalks impudently in the sunshine;
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It is not hunted down by human laws;
Therefore the heart's tribunal should arraign it:
It calls, at least, for virtue's detestation;
And nature's organ should distinctly tell it:
It is the outcast of the great Creator.
Excuse my feelings for my injured friend;
I now leave passion, and take up narration.
Amyntas knew that Sylvia was to go
To bathe with Daphne at Diana's fountain.
He knew, alas! by me, and I had spurred
The timid swain to amorous enterprize.
Sore do I now repent my rash advice.
Thither he went, not led by inclination,
But by my importunity subdued.
He went reluctant, hesitating, fearful;
Nay he would have turned back, had it not been
For my remonstrances, and ridicule.
Soon as the fountain we approached, we heard
A piercing cry of female lamentation;
And Daphne we beheld a moment after,
Clapping her hands, frantic with grief, and terror;
Who soon as she perceived us, called aloud,
“Shepherds, your help; a monster forces Sylvia.”
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Sprung, like an arrow, to the maid's assistance,
And I, with all my swiftness, followed him.
A sight we saw, shocking to generous natures:
We saw the fair Sylvia fastened to a tree,
Naked, and bound with her luxuriant hair:
Her hair with many a knot the nymph confined.
Her zone, the guardian of her virgin bosom,
Was now an implement of violence;
And roughly manacled her lily-hands.
The tree's young shoots fettered her tender limbs.
This was not all; we saw before her standing
An ugly Satyr; who had just completed
His preparation of the beauteous victim.
Much the fair captive struggled; but in vain;
What could such weakness do against such strength!
Amyntas had a dart with which he flew,
Fierce as a hungry lion, to the Satyr:
I snatched up stones to fight the sylvan ruffian;
Who, seeing our enraged resistance, flew,
And to the bosom of the wood betook him.
Amyntas now had time to think of Sylvia.
And first an amorous look he stole (what shepherd
In such a case could amorous look refrain?)
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Yet the respect attending sacred virtue,
However poor, and naked in externals,
Chastised the ardour of the lover's eye.
A burning crimson overspread her face,
The flame of violated modesty.
Advancing towards her with gentle pace,
By steps too hasty fearing to offend her,
He thus in humble suit accosted her:
“Oh! Sylvia think not my respectful hand
Presumptuous, if it now comes near thy body:
For near thee it must come to set thee free;
It trembles at the delicate approach.
And Oh! abate of thy severity;
And grudge me not the happiness which fortune,
So cruel hitherto, at length vouchsafes me.”
CHORUS.
How did these moving words affect the maid?
THYRSIS.
She to these moving words no answer gave,
But with a blushing, and disdainful aspect,
Turned to the ground her eyes; with strong contortion
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He now began to loose her golden hair;
And to her virgin-bashfulness the task
He softened with these tender sentiments:
“And art thou, tree, worthy of so much honour?
How are these ringlets misapplied! not meant
To noose this lifeless trunk, this rugged substance:
The pride of nature for a worthier purpose,
To captivate the lover's feeling soul!”
He next the girdle which confined her hands
Untied in aukward, dilatory manner,
That showed his fear, and his desire to touch them.
But when he stooped, the fetters to untwist
That bound her limbs: she said, in angry tone,
“Shepherd, keep off thy sacrilegious hands;
I'm a chaste virgin of Diana's train;
Enough thou hast presumed; my hands are free,
With them I'll set my feet at liberty.”
CHORUS.
Dwells there such haughtiness in rural breasts?
Harsh retribution to a generous deed!
THYRSIS.
Forthwith Amyntas reverently withdrew:
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He did not suffer even his eye to linger,
To steal at parting, a luxurious view.
I stood concealed amongst the neighbouring trees,
And saw, and overhead the whole adventure.
This cruel treatment fired me with resentment,
And ready was my tongue for exclamation.
Her feet now rid of their impediments,
Which with great difficulty was effected,
Away she ran, swift as a hunted deer;
As if she just had left the frightful Satyr,
And not Amyntas, her obsequious lover.
CHORUS.
Why did she fly so fast?
THYRSIS.
Her niggard soul
Rather to flight her safety chose to owe,
Than to her shepherd's generosity.
CHORUS.
Another mark of her ingratitude!
But tell us how your hapless friend resented
This humour, such as ne'er before I heard of.
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Alas! I know not; for impelled with rage,
I tried to overtake the fugitive,
That by detaining her, I might torment
Her pride again, and load her with reproaches,
Such as I'd only give ingratitude:
But vain was my pursuit; I lost her soon;
The labyrinth of the wood secured her from me.
I to the spot where this adventure happened
Straightway returned, but could not find Amyntas.
My boding heart presages some disaster.
Oft did the melancholy swain imagine
Before this accident, that he would find
No friendly shelter from adversity,
But in the quiet, gloomy shade of death.
Thither, I fear, he hath at length retired.
CHORUS.
Oh! 'tis the way with disappointed lovers
To talk of dying; but they seldom bleed;
Protecting nature, kinder than the fair,
Keeps them in love with life, and wards the blow:
Rare, very rare, are the determined victims.
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Amyntas, I'm afraid, is one of them.
CHORUS.
Fear not; thy friendship gives a false alarm.
THYRSIS.
I'll hasten to the cave of sage Elpinus:
Thither for consolation he is gone,
If he's alive; none fitter than Elpinus
To heal the wounded soul with virtuous counsel,
And raise it with the powers of harmony.
In awful solitude his cave is seated;
Nature improves the scene with various sweets,
Romantic in her garb; and attitudes.
These objects banish care, they set us loose
From mean attachments, and compose our souls
For fine impressions, and for heavenly airs:
But when the god-like bard, his flute inspiring,
Pours the melodious, sounding, varied strain;
We then participate an angel's nature;
'Tis nought but extasy, poetic vision.
Nor is it man alone that feels the charm:
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They listen, and they soften at the lay;
To milk are mellowed all the neighbouring rills,
And honey from the rugged oak distills.
These lines recall to my mind a passage in Xenophon, the quotation of which may be agreeable to the reader.
The Persians take rigid cognizance of the charge of ingratitude, a crime which renders a man extremely odious; yet not in any country but Persia is it comprehended in the animadversion of the laws. For the Persian who returns not a good office, when he has it in his power, is most severely punished. They conclude that the ungrateful man must pay no regard to his friends, to his relations, to his parents, to his country, or to the gods. Besides, they think he must immediately become impudent in consequence of his ingratitude; and impudence they deem the forerunner of all vice, and profligacy. Cyropædia, Book I.
| The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale | |