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The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq

In two volumes. With Decorations. The fourth edition

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LOVE and HONOUR.
  
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LOVE and HONOUR.

Sed neque Medorum silvæ, ditissima terra
Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Hæmus,
Laudibus Angligenûm certent: non Bactra, nec Indi,
Totaque thuriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis.

Let the green olive glad Hesperian shores;
Her tawny citron, and her orange-groves,
These let Iberia boast; but if in vain,
To win the stranger plant's diffusive smile,
The Briton labours, yet our native minds,
Our constant bosoms, these, the dazled world
May view with envy; these, Iberian dames
Survey with fixt esteem and fond desire.
Hapless Elvira! thy disastrous fate
May well this truth explain; nor ill adorn
The British lyre; then chiefly, if the muse,
Nor vain nor partial, from the simple guise
Of ancient record catch the pensive lay;
And in less groveling accents give to fame.
Elvira! loveliest maid! th'Iberian realm
Could boast no purer breast, no sprightlier mind,
No race more splendent, and no form so fair.
Such was the chance of war, this peerless maid
In life's luxuriant bloom, enrich'd the spoil
Of British victors, vict'ry's noblest pride!

309

She, she alone, amid the wailful train,
Of captive maids, assign'd to Henry's care;
Lord of her life, her fortune, and her fame!
He, gen'rous youth, with no penurious hand,
The tedious moments that unjoyous roll
Where freedom's chearful radiance shines no more,
Essay'd to soften; conscious of the pang
That beauty feels, to waste its fleeting hours
In some dim fort, by foreign rule restrain'd,
Far from the haunts of men, or eye of day!
Sometimes, to cheat her bosom of its cares,
Her kind protector number'd o'er the toils
Himself had worn: the frowns of angry seas,
Or hostile rage, or faithless friend, more fell
Than storm or foe: if haply she might find
Her cares diminish'd; fruitless fond essay!
Now to her lovely hand, with modest awe
The tender lute he gave: she not averse
Nor destitute of skill, with willing hand
Call'd forth angelic strains; the sacred debt
Of gratitude, she said; whose just commands
Still might her hand with equal pride obey!
Nor to the melting sounds the nymph refus'd
Her vocal art; harmonious, as the strain
Of some imprison'd lark, who daily chear'd
By guardian cares, repays them with a song:
Nor droops, nor deems sweet liberty resign'd.
The song, not artless, had she fram'd to paint
Disastrous passion; how, by tyrant laws

310

Of idiot custom sway'd, some soft-ey'd fair!
Lov'd only one: nor dar'd that love reveal!
How the soft anguish banish'd from her cheek
The damask rose full-blown; a fever came;
And from her bosom forc'd the plaintive tale.
Then swift as light, he sought the love-lorn maid,
But vainly sought her; torn by swifter fate
To join the tenants of the myrtle shade,
Love's mournful victims on the plains below.
Sometimes, as fancy spoke the pleasing task,
She taught her artful needle to display
The various pride of spring: then swift upsprung
Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and rose:
There might you see, on gentle toils intent,
A train of busy loves; some pluck the flow'r,
Some twine the garland, some with grave grimace
Around a vacant warrior cast the wrealth.
'Twas paint, 'twas life! and sure to piercing eyes
The warrior's face depictur'd Henry's mien.
Now had the gen'rous chief with joy perus'd
The royal scroll, which to their native home
Their ancient rights, uninjur'd, unredeem'd,
Restor'd the captives. Forth with rapid haste
To glad his fair Elvira's ear, he sprung;
Fir'd by the bliss he panted to convey;
But fir'd in vain! Ah! what was his amaze,
His fond distress, when o'er her pallid face
Dejection reign'd, and from her lifeless hand
Down dropt the myrtle's fair unfinish'd flow'r!

311

Speechless she stood; at length with accents faint,
“Well may my native shore, she said, resound
“Thy monarch's praise; and ere Elvira prove
“Of thine forgetful, flow'rs shall cease to feel
“The fost'ring breeze, and nature change her laws!”
And now the grateful edict wide alarm'd
The British host. Around the smiling youths
Call'd to their native scenes, with willing haste
Their fleet unmoor; impatient of the love
That weds each bosom to its native soil.
The patriot passion! strong in ev'ry clime,
How justly theirs, who find no foreign sweets
To dissipate their loves, or match their own.
Not so Elvira! she, disastrous maid,
Was doubly captive! pow'r nor chance cou'd loose
The subtle bands; she lov'd her gen'rous foe.
She, where her Henry dwelt, her Henry smil'd,
Cou'd term her native shore; her native shore
By him deserted, some unfriendly strand,
Strange, bleak, forlorn! a desert waste and wild.
The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd
The swelling sails, the glitt'ring transports wav'd
Their pennants gay, and halcyon's azure wing
With flight auspicious skim'd the placid main.
On her lone couch in tears Elvira lay,
And chid th'officious wind, the tempting sea,
And wish'd a storm as merciless, as tore
Her lab'ring bosom. Fondly now she strove
To banish passion; now the vassal days,

312

The captive moments that so smoothly past,
By many an art recall'd; now from her lute
With trembling fingers call'd the fav'rite sounds
Which Henry deign'd to praise; and now essay'd
With mimic chains of silken fillets wove
To paint her captive state; if any fraud
Might to her love the pleasing scenes prolong,
And with the dear idea feast the soul.
But now the chief return'd; prepar'd to launch
On ocean's willing breast, and bid adieu
To his fair pris'ner. She, soon as she heard
His hated errand, now no more conceal'd
The raging flame; but with a spreading blush,
And rising sigh the latent pang disclos'd.
“Yes, gen'rous youth! I see thy bosom glow
With virtuous transport, that the task is thine
To solve my chains; and to my weeping friends,
And every longing relative, restore
A soft-ey'd maid, a mild offenceless prey!
But know, my soldier, never youthful mind,
Torn from the lavish joys of wild expence
By him he loath'd, and in a dungeon bound
To languish out his bloom, could match the pains
This ill-starr'd freedom gives my tortur'd mind.
What call I freedom? is it that these limbs
From rigid bolts secure, may wander far
From him I love? Alas! ere I may boast
That sacred blessing, some superior pow'r
To mortal kings, to sublunary thrones,

313

Must loose my passion, must unchain my soul.
Ev'n that I loath; all liberty I loath!
But most the joyless privilege to gaze
With cold indifference, where desert is love.
True, I was born an alien to those eyes
I ask alone to please; my fortune's crime!
And ah! this flatter'd form by dress endear'd
To Spanish eyes, by dress may thine offend,
Whilst I, ill-fated maid! ordain'd to strive
With custom's load, beneath its weight expire.
Yet Henry's beauties knew in foreign garb
To vanquish me; his form, howe'er disguis'd,
To me were fatal! no fantastic robe
That e'er caprice invented, custom wore,
Or folly smil'd on, cou'd eclipse thy charms.
Perhaps by birth decreed, by fortune plac'd
Thy country's foe, Elvira's warmest plea
Seems but the subtler accent fraud inspires;
My tenderest glances, but the specious flow'rs
That shade the viper while she plots her wound.
And can the trembling candidate of love
Awake thy fears? and can a female breast
By ties of grateful duty bound, ensnare?
Is there no brighter mien, no softer smile
For love to wear, to dark deceit unknown?
Heav'n search my soul, and if thro' all its cells
Lurk the pernicious drop of pois'nous guile;
Full on my fenceless head its phial'd wrath
May fate exhaust; and for my happiest hour
Exalt the vengeance I prepare for thee!

314

Ah me! nor Henry's, nor his country's foe;
On thee I gaz'd, and reason soon dispell'd
Dim error's gloom, and to thy favour'd isle
Assign'd its total merit, unrestrain'd.
Oh! lovely region to the candid eye!
'Twas there my fancy saw the virtues dwell,
The loves, the graces play; and blest the soil
That nurtur'd thee! for sure the virtues form'd
Thy gen'rous breast; the loves, the graces plan'd
Thy shapely limbs. Relation, birth essay'd
Their partial pow'r in vain: again I gaz'd,
And Albion's isle appear'd, amidst a tract
Of savage wastes, the darling of the skies!
And thou by nature form'd, by fate assign'd
To paint the genius of thy native shore.
'Tis true, with flow'rs, with many a dazling scene
Of burnish'd plants, to lure a female eye,
Iberia glows: but ah! the genial sun,
That gilds the lemon's fruit, or scents the flow'r,
On Spanish minds, a nation's nobler boast!
Beams forth ungentle influences. There
Sits jealousy enthron'd, and at each ray
Exultant lights his slow consuming fires.
Not such thy charming region; long before
My sweet experience taught me to decide
Of English worth, the sound had pleas'd mine ear.
Is there that savage coast, that rude sojourn
Stranger to British worth? the worth which forms
The kindest friends; the most tremendous foes;

315

First, best supports of liberty and love!
No, let subjected India, while she throws
O'er Spanish deeds the veil, your praise resound.
Long as I heard, or ere in story read
Of English fame, my bias'd partial breast
Wish'd them success, and happiest she, I cry'd,
Of woman happiest she, who shares the love,
The fame, the virtues of an English lord.
And now what shall I say? blest be the hour
Your fair-built vessels touch'd th'Iberian shores:
Blest did I say the time? if I may bless
That lov'd event, let Henry's smiles declare.
Our hearts and cities won, will Henry's youth
Forego its nobler conquest? will he slight
The soft endearments of the lovelier spoil?
And yet Iberia's sons, with every vow
Of lasting faith, have sworn these humble charms
Were not excell'd; the source of all their pains,
And love her just desert, who sues for love;
But sues to thee, while natives sigh in vain.
Perhaps in Henry's eye (for vulgar minds
Dissent from his) it spreads an hateful stain
On honest fame, amid his train to bear
A female friend. Then learn, my gentle youth!
Not love himself, with all the pointed pains
That store his quiver, shall seduce my soul
From honour's laws. Elvira once deny'd
A consort's name, more swift than lightning flies,
When elements discordant vex the sky,
Shall blushing from the form she loves retire.

316

Yet if the specious wish the vulgar voice
Has titled prudence, sways a soul like thine,
In gems or gold what proud Iberian dame
Eclipses me? nor paint the dreary storms
Or hair-breadth scapes that haunt the boundless deep,
And force from tender eyes the silent tear;
When mem'ry to the pensive maid suggests
In full contrast, the safe domestic scene
For these resign'd. Beyond the frantic rage
Of conq'ring heroes brave, the female mind,
When steel'd by love, in love's most horrid way
Beholds not danger, or beholding scorns.
Heav'n take my life, but let it crown my love.”
She ceas'd, and ere his words her fate decreed,
Impatient, watch'd the language of his eye:
There pity dwelt, and from its tender sphere
Sent looks of love, and faithless hopes inspir'd.
“Forgive me, gen'rous maid, the youth return'd,
If by thy accents charm'd, thus long I bore
To let such sweetness plead, alas! in vain!
Thy virtue merits more than crowns can yield
Of solid bliss, or happiest love bestow.
But ere from native shores I plough'd the main,
To one dear maid, by virtue and by charms
Alone endear'd, my plighted vows I gave;
To guard my faith, whatever chance should wait
My warring sword: if conquest, fame and spoil
Grac'd my return, before her feet to pour
The glitt'ring treasure, and the laurel wreath;

317

Enjoying conquest then, and fame and spoil.
If fortune frown'd adverse; and death forbade
The blissful union, with my latest breath
To dwell on Medway's and Maria's name.
This ardent vow deep-rooted, from my soul
No dangers tore; this vow my bosom fir'd
To conquer danger, and the spoil enjoy.
Her shall I leave, with fair events elate,
Who crown'd mine humblest fortune with her love?
Her shall I leave, who now perchance alone
Climbs the proud cliff, and chides my slow return?
And shall that vessel, whose approaching sails
Shall swell her breast with extasies, convey
Death to her hopes, and anguish to her soul?
No! may the deep my villain-corse devour,
If all the wealth Iberian mines conceal,
If all the charms Iberian maids disclose,
If thine, Elvira, thine, uniting all!
Thus far prevail—nor can thy virtuous breast
Demand, what honour, faith, and love denies.”
“Oh! happy she, rejoin'd the pensive maid,
Who shares thy fame, thy virtue, and thy love!
And be she happy! thy distinguish'd choice
Declares her worth, and vindicates her claim.
Farewel my luckless hopes, my flatt'ring dreams
Of rapt'rous days! my guilty suit, farewel!
Yet fond howe'er my plea, or deep the wound
That waits my fame, let not the random shaft
Of censure pierce with me th'Iberian dames:

318

They love with caution, and with happier stars.
And oh! by pity mov'd, restrain the taunts
Of levity, nor brand Elvira's flame;
By merit rais'd; by gratitude approv'd;
By hope confirm'd; with artless truth reveal'd;
Let, let me say, but for one matchless maid
Of happier birth, with mutual ardor crown'd.
These radiant gems, which burnish happiness,
But mock misfortune, to thy fav'rite's hand
With care convey. And well may such adorn
Her chearful front, who finds in thee alone
The source of every transport; but disgrace
My pensive breast, which doom'd to lasting woe,
In thee the source of ev'ry bliss resign.
And now farewel, thou darling youth! the gem
Of English merit! peace, content, and joy,
And tender hopes, and young desires, farewel!
Attend, ye smiling train, this gallant mind
Back to his native shores; there sweetly smooth
His ev'ning pillow; dance around his groves;
And, where he treads, with vi'lets paint his way.
But leave Elvira! leave her, now no more
Your frail companion! in the sacred cells
Of some lone cloister let me shroud my shame:
There, to the matin bell, obsequious, pour
My constant orisons. The wanton loves,
And gay desires shall spy the glimm'ring tow'rs,
And wing their flight aloof: but rest confirm'd,
That never shall Elvira's tongue conclude

319

Her shortest pray'r, ere Henry's dear success
The warmest accent of her zeal employ.”
Thus spoke the weeping fair, whose artless mind
Impartial scorn'd to model her esteem
By native customs; dress, and face, and air,
And manners, less; nor yet resolv'd in vain.
He, bound by prior love, the solemn vow
Giv'n and receiv'd, to soft compassion gave
A tender tear; then with that kind adieu
Esteem could warrant, weary'd heav'n with pray'rs
To shield that tender breast he left forlorn.
He ceas'd, and to the cloister's pensive scene
Elvira shap'd her solitary way.