Henry and Blanche :: :: University of Virginia Library

Henry and Blanche

or The Revengeful Marriage. A Tale: Taken from the French of Gil Blas

Mendez, Moses

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HENRY and BLANCHE: OR, The Revengeful Marriage.

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HENRY and BLANCHE: OR, The Revengeful Marriage.

------quis talia fando,
Myrmidonum, Dolopumve, aut duri miles Ulyssei,
Temperet a lachrymis?
Virgil.

Tancred , the Ruler of Sicilia's Land,
Long held the Sceptre with an equal Hand,
The joyful People blessed the easy Reign,
And wanton Plenty crown'd the bearded Plain;
Till Manfred, impious Brother! shook the State,
Affrights the Island, and divides the Great;
Rebellious, aims at Sceptres not his own,
And blind to Justice, seeks to mount the Throne.

Now Desolation, Terror, and Dismay,
Their bloody Banners to the Wind display;
Shrill Cries transpierce the Air, and speak from far,
The dreadful Havock of intestine War;
But Heav'n at length the lawful Monarch joins,
And blasts the haughty Rebel's bold Designs;
His Legions sink beneath superior Might,
And leave their Leader in the Ranks of Fight,
Who in close Bondage (never to be free)
Counts, by the Loss, the Charms of Liberty.

Yet was the King of a forgiving Mind,
But to all Counsel easily inclin'd;
Brave as the Hero, tender as the Maid;
The last Advice was certain to persuade.
Oft he laments unhappy Manfred's Woe,
And in the Brother would forget the Foe:
Yet when soft Pity thaw'd his melting Soul,
Matilda would the Dawn of Peace controul;
Within his wav'ring Breast relume the Flame,
Forgetful of a Sister's sacred Name,

Bent to destroy Manfredo and his Race,
And with th'imperial Crown her Daughter grace:
For Tancred had no Offspring of his own
To thwart her greedy Hopes, that sought the Throne.
Hence she beholds Affliction with Disdain,
Insults Distress, and arms the Hand of Pain;
Till Death, more kind to human Misery,
From tedious Bondage set the Captive free;
While some suspect that Poison seal'd his Doom,
And that Matilda sent him to his Tomb.
Nor could his Death her impious Anger tame,
But still it blazes with a fiercer Flame;
Now aims at Henry, now at Pedro's Head,
The blameless Issue of the hapless Dead:
Nor Thoughts of Heav'n avert her stubborn Hate,
When pale and sick'ning on the Bed of Fate:
She sends for Royal Tancred, and exprest,
In Words like these, the Purpose of her Breast.

“E'er the dim Curtain of eternal Night
“Infold these Eyes, and intercept the Light,

“To my last Counsels faithfully attend,
“And while you hear a Sister, own a Friend.
“Look on Manfredo's Sons, and learn to fear,
“Their Father's Steps may guide their wild Career;
“Still are his Praises by the Rabble sung,
“His Fate lamented by each vulgar Tongue;
“Then, lest Rebellion shake thy Realms once more,
“Clip, clip those Wings, which else too high may soar:
“Destroy the Brats, e'er popularly strong,
“Full-swoln Success shall varnish over Wrong.
“I grant they're young, yet dang'rous 'tis to rear
“The infant Tiger, or the toothless Bear.
“Rouze from your Trance while Time is yet your own;
“Chuse what you like, a Dungeon or a Throne.
“In these Extremes your future Fortune lies.
She said; and Sleep eternal seal'd her Eyes.

Now various Cares perplex the Monarch's Mind;
Ambition's Clouds all fairer Prospects blind.
‘And shall my Crown again, he sternly said,
‘Torn from these Brows, adorn a Traitor's Head?

‘Tho' struggling Nature in their Favour plead,
‘Empire denies; then bleed, ye Victims, bleed.’
He said, and sought Siffredi, there reveals
The various Passions that his Bosom feels.
This pious Noble of Sicilia's State,
In Manners blameless, as by Birth-right great,
The Scale of Justice held with equal Hand,
At once the Judge, and Father of the Land.
To whom the Statesman (free from Statesmen's Guiles,
Insidious Whispers, or delusive Smiles:)
“Far, far from Tancred fly th' ungen'rous Thought,
“That Human Safety can with Blood be bought!
“What have (alas!) these helpless Orphans done,
“So soon to sink to Earth, and lose the Sun?
“When Manfred, guided by a lawless Flame,
“Snatch'd at the Crown, and miss'd his impious Aim,
“Your Anger ended with the finish'd Strife,
“The Royal Victor spar'd a Brother's Life.
“And would'st thou now thy former Glories stain,
“And cloud the Evening of so mild a Reign?

“No; let Suspicion, that unwelcome Guest,
“Shed her black Venom in the Tyrant's Breast;
“While gentler Thoughts thy spotless Bosom cheer,
“And to my Counsels lend a list'ning Ear.
“To me the Charge of Henry's Youth consign,
“So shall his riper Years be wholly thine;
“While Pedro shall beneath Rodolpho's Sway
“Confess his Soveraign, and his Throne obey.
“Let young Constantia hold at least that Part
“Which once Matilda claim'd within your Heart;
“Safe in your Palace let the Maid reside,
“And be in one her King, her Friend, and Guide;
“So shall her Mind its native Peace resume,
“Nor fruitless Tears bedew a Mother's Tomb.”

Old Tancred heard: ‘And be it so, he said,
‘May Heav'n it self protect that virtuous Head;
‘Bless'd be the Hand, that from the black Abyss
‘Snatch'd his rash Prince, & shew'd the Paths to Bliss.
‘Had I the Purpose of my Soul pursu'd,
‘And my keen Sword with Infant-Blood imbru'd,

‘Where should I Rest or Comfort hope to find?
‘Deep are the Wounds that plough the guilty Mind,
‘Nor golden Crowns the rising Pang can quell.
‘Hence to thy Charge; thou worthy Lord, farewell.

West of the Town an ancient Castle stands,
Whose tow'ring Height an ample View commands,
Old stately Oaks extend a lengthen'd Shade,
And fan the Streams that purl along the Glade,
Siffredi's Seat, where eas'd from greater Care,
He seeks Retirement in a purer Air;
By no Court-fawning or Injustice won,
But long Descent from Father down to Son.
Here in the Rules of Virtue and of Truth
The worthy Sage instructs the Royal Youth;
Taught him the Lessons that reform Mankind,
The open Heart, and Rectitude of Mind;
And oft he cry'd, ‘If e'er it be thy Fate,
‘By Birth-right call'd to rule Sicilia's State,
‘The People's Rights observe with pious Awe,
‘And with regret the Sword of Vengeance draw;

‘Nor screen the Villain from th' avenging Brand,
‘Tho' deeply mingl'd with the Courtly Band;
‘The varnish'd Flatt'rer number with thy Foes,
‘Those mean thy good who sometimes dare oppose.
‘Where Wisdom shines, thy genial Beams out-spread,
‘Let Worth distress'd uprear her languid Head;
‘So Vice shall sicken at the glorious Ray,
‘As Dæmons fly before the Blaze of Day.
‘Be these the Honours of the Norman Line,
‘These are the Arts that make a King divine;
‘For such the People grateful Pæans sing,
‘For such the Poet wakes the trembling String;
‘His virtuous Deeds inscribe th' historic Page,
‘Burst from the Tomb, and warm a future Age.

Form'd by these Rules his youthful Pupil grew,
And long'd to practise what so well he knew.
Now old Siffredi left his rural Seat,
Call'd by his Monarch from the soft Retreat.
The only Hopes of his declining Years,
At once the Object of his Joys and Fears,

Rest in one Daughter; for, of all his Race,
None else surviv'd his virtuous Age to grace.
The twining Jasmin, that embalms the Air,
Sweet to Excess, and exquisitely fair,
Or full-blown Rose in all its Pomp array'd,
Faintly describe the Beauties of the Maid;
While partial Nature, like a Parent kind,
To Grace of Feature added Worth of Mind;
Blanche was the Name the tender Virgin bore,
Call'd from her Mother, who now breath'd no more.

The Fair, for ever in young Henry's Sight,
Gave and receiv'd unspeakable Delight;
While Years on Years the Passion still improve,
And Infant-Fondness ripen'd into Love:
This they conceal from ev'ry envious Spy,
But chiefly from Siffredi's watchful Eye.

Desist, rash Youth, and thou ill-fated Maid,
Oft by our Wishes is our Joy betray'd;
The angry Gods deny your am'rous Pray'r,
And all your Vows fly scatter'd thro' the Air.

Long Henry press'd for Love, but press'd in vain,
Within her Chamber to reveal his Pain,
Till Tears and Sighs o'ercome her wav'ring Mind,
Love pleads his Cause, and makes the Virgin kind.
But pure and chaste as Hermits warm Desires,
Whose panting Bosoms glow with sacred Fires,
Was virtuous Blanche; nor less the love-sick Youth,
Protesting Innocence, and breathing Truth.

Yet that the Vulgar, with opprobrious Tongue
Prone to accuse, might not their Passion wrong,
Thro' the strong Wall that did their Chambers part,
A Passage open'd by the Hand of Art,
'Gainst which a Pillar spread its ample Side,
And proudly grac'd the Part it meant to hide.
This, ever ready to th' impulsive Hand,
Slipt to and fro, and yielded to Command.
No piercing Eye the curious Fraud could find,
With so much Craft the Architect design'd.
When Night o'er all out-spread her gloomy Shade,
Then Henry hasted to his much-lov'd Maid;

His much-lov'd Maid would hearken to his Song,
Accuse the Sun, and find the Day too long.

But once when Evening o'er the sylvan Bow'rs
Spread her brown Wing, and darken'd all the Flow'rs;
When May's gay Choirists slept on ev'ry Bough,
And the tir'd Ox retreated from the Plough;
Young Henry sought the Partner of his Breast,
But found her drown'd in Grief, and sore distress'd.
As Damask Roses (when descending Rain
Pours from on high; and smoaks upon the Plain)
Hang from the Stalk, and seem to weep their Doom,
Nor lost their Fragrance, nor destroy'd their Bloom;
So look'd the Virgin, Source of Henry's Care,
Beauteous in Grief, and tho' afflicted, fair.
To whom the Youth: “Bright Object of my Flame,
“Dear to my Heart as is the Love of Fame;
“Thou peerless Maid, declare thy inmost Smart,
“The Wounds of Blanche transpierce her Henry's Heart.
“Then to thy Lover every Doubt display,
“And be it his to chace this Gloom away.”

The Fair reply'd: ‘The cause of all my Woe,
‘Whence swell these Sighs, and whence these Sorrows flow,
‘Proceeds from this; I hear old Tancred lies
‘Grappling with Death, and soon shall close his Eyes:
‘His Will confirms the Wishes of the State,
‘And calls my youthful Henry to be great;
‘Then on his Head the golden Crown shall shine,
‘And grac'd with Empire be no longer mine.
‘No more thy Converse cheers a love-sick Maid,
‘Nor Belmont sees thee in her grateful Shade;
‘No more Siffredi's Daughter boasts her Charms,
‘The Monarch tears the Lover from her Arms:
‘Now nobler Thoughts within thy Bosom roll,
‘The thirst of Glory fires thy glowing Soul,
‘Or Cares of Nations all thy Mind invest;
‘Can I then hope to share thy burden'd Breast?
‘As well might Rivers, when they join the Main,
‘Their native Sweetness, and their Course maintain.
‘The God of Love detests the courtly Blaze,
‘Thro' myrtle Groves and flow'ry Meads he strays;

‘Directs his Arrows at the rustick Swain,
‘And rules despotick o'er the humble Plain.
‘Not so where Cities thronging Nations hold,
‘Where the high Domes resplendent glow with Gold,
‘Where sparkling Beauties, form'd to give Delight,
‘Yield to the Wish, and crown the rapt'rous Night.
‘Some lead the Dance, the sprightly Song approve,
‘But all despise the Tenderness of Love;
‘Free from the Shaft, and to the Passion blind,
‘Term it the Dotage of the sickly Mind;
‘And shall my King, of all the Throng alone,
‘Feel the keen Dart, and languish on a Throne?

‘Or grant my Image should remain impress'd
‘(Vain is the Hope) upon thy constant Breast;
‘Yet shall the weighty Reasons of the State
‘Despise the Sorrows of so mean a Mate;
‘Thy People's Good requires a high-born Bride,
‘By Peers conducted, and to Kings ally'd,
‘Whose ample Heritage may stretch thy Sway,
‘And teach unconquer'd Nations to obey:

‘Then, then in vain a Prince shall plead he loves;
‘His Country frowns, the Patriot Sage reproves,
‘Till Prudence points to Safety's flow'ry Shore,
‘His Scruples vanish, and he sighs no more.

‘Yet be thy Hours all bless'd, thy Minutes flow
‘In Peace and Bliss, undash'd by sullen Woe;
‘May Pleasure's Train with Roses strew the Way,
‘And joyful Pæans hail the nuptial Day,
‘While Belmont's lonesome and neglected Shade,
‘Shall hear the Sorrows of a luckless Maid;
‘Repeating Echo shall the Sound return,
‘'Tis his, O Blanche, to reign; thy Lot shall be to mourn.

She ceas'd; when Henry to his weeping Fair
Thus quick reply'd: “You seem to woo Despair;
“Repel this Gloom, compose thy anxious Mind,
“Thou loveliest, dearest, tend'rest of thy Kind.
“And Heav'n attest the Purpose of my Vows:
“Should e'er thy Crown, Sicilia, bind my Brows,
“Then, when high-seated on th'Imperial Throne,
“And all Palermo's Lords their Soveraign own,

“Then shall my Lips proclaim my happy Choice,
“And every Noble justify my Voice;
“So shall my People say, such Brightness sure
“Will Sceptres grace, and make a Crown endure.”

As in the Month when Beauty's Queen presides,
Fair, yet inconstant as the Pow'r that guides,
The low'ring Clouds involve the darken'd Sky,
And Night's black Empire seems to threat the Eye,
Down pours the Rain, the pelting Hailstones beat
The frighted Cattle from their soft Retreat:
Yet in an Instant view the alter'd Scene,
Again the Sun enlivens ev'ry Green;
Enamell'd Meads in flow'ry Pomp appear,
And double Brightness gilds the blooming Year:
Thus Blanche forgot the Anguish of her Mind,
And gave her Sorrows to the passing Wind.

O could the Muse Events more happy sing,
Well-pleas'd she then would stretch her tow'ring Wing;
But Horror scouls upon th' expected Bliss,
Vain are their Hopes of future Happiness.

It chanc'd (unhappy Chance for those that love!)
Rodolpho saw in Belmont's blissful Grove
The peerless Maid; to see is to admire;
Who looks on Beauty and escapes Desire?
Soon to Siffredi he relates his Smart,
And claims the Partner of his raptur'd Heart.
The aged Sire, by long Experience wise,
With secret Joy accepts the proffer'd Prize:
For who would not for such a Match content?
At once his Soveraign's, and the People's Friend;
In Person graceful, and of high Command,
Great by his Birth, and honour'd thro' the Land;
But Tancred's Illness stop'd the nuptial Day,
And the warm Youth accus'd the tedious Stay;
While Blanche, a Stranger to the am'rous Peer,
Saw not those Dangers which she ought to fear.

Curst be those Laws, which give a Parent Pow'r
To force a Daughter at the bridal Hour!
Chain the rough Surge, the whistling Tempest bind,
But dare not hope t' inslave the freeborn Mind.

At such a Sight Alecto holds the Brand,
Which whilom wont to grace young Hymen's Hand;
Hence spring those Woes which taint the human Life,
The cruel Husband and the faithless Wife.

One Morn to Henry old Siffredi came,
With the bright Object of his raging Flame:
“No longer now (the virtuous Noble said)
“The Crown you well deserve will be delay'd.
“Last Night old Tancred took eternal Rest,
“(O may his Soul be number'd with the Bless'd!)
“And now deputed by the Peers I come,
“Who wait thee in Palermo's regal Dome,
“To their new King to bend the loyal Knee,
“For so did Tancred's latest Hours decree;
“Myself and Daughter first of all the Train
“Pay our glad Homage, nor I hope in vain.”

The starting Tears burst forth from Henry's Eyes:
‘Is Tancred gone? (the pious Monarch cries)
‘May Heav'n forget his Sins, and count alone
‘Those frequent Virtues which adorn'd his Throne!

‘Rest, Royal Shade, nor let my Father's Fate
‘Beyond the Grave awake my filial Hate.

‘For you, the Tutor of my wand'ring Youth,
‘Who form'd my Steps to Piety and Truth,
‘Still be my riper Age's faithful Guide,
‘Such gray Experience I obey with Pride;
‘Thou more than I shalt govern in the Isle,
‘And reap the Harvest of thy virtuous Toil.

‘To you, my Fair, much more is owing still,
‘Thou lovely Ruler of thy Soveraign's Will;
‘What e'er you wish, you may by this command;
‘Receive this slender Gift from Henry's Hand.’
So said, he reach'd a Paper to the Fair,
His Signet seal'd it, and his Name was there,
The rest a Blank. While Blanche with modest Grace
Took the lov'd Pledge, warm Blushes streak'd her Face:
“And be it mine with Pleasure to receive
“(Reply'd the Maid) what'er my King shall give;
“Yet there is one whom Years have render'd wise,
“Trusty to keep, or faithful to advise,

“To him with Joy the Paper I commit,
“For he best knows the Purpose it may fit.”
Then to her Father she the Gift resign'd,
And gay Ideas wanton'd in her Mind.

'Twas then the Statesman first remark'd they lov'd,
Nor in his Patriot Soul the Flame approv'd;
Disdain'd his Daughter should ascend a Throne,
And in the Publick Good forgot his own.

Now old Siffredi and the beauteous Maid
For proud Palermo quit the rural Shade;
And Henry hastens to th' Imperial Town,
His Peers attending, to receive a Crown.
Thrice happy Mortal, to himself he cry'd,
Bless'd in the Virtues of so fair a Bride!
Where Beauty shines but in the second Place,
And manly Wisdom joins each female Grace!
Nor Thrones can please, unless my Blanche be there;
Without her, all is Darkness and Despair.

Now view young Henry at the City-Gate,
Where the glad People for their Soveraign wait;

Some chosen Nobles their new King surround,
The noisy Mob at Distance hangs around;
The joyful Streets with sprightly Musick ring,
And all forget the late departed King.
At length they reach the Palace of the Isle,
Whose matchless Pomp would ask the noblest Stile;
The Porph'ry Pillars were with Gold o'er-wrought,
And Bronze expressive half reveal'd the Thought:
There Marble swell'd with all that Art could give,
And ev'ry pictur'd Semblance seem'd to live.

The sad Constantia in a sable Dress,
Which did the Purpose of her Soul express,
Receiv'd the King, and wish'd him long to reign;
For much she lov'd the Youth, but lov'd in vain.
He thank'd her Wishes, and with courtly Art
Once spoke a Language foreign to his Heart;
For still his Soul abhorr'd as a Disgrace
To hold long Converse with Matilda's Race.
Close to the Monarch sat his destin'd Bride,
And old Siffredi waited at his Side;

While in the spacious Dome fate all around
Sicilia's Peers, in Arts or Arms renown'd,
The virtuous Statesman thus the Silence broke,
And dumb Attention listen'd while he spoke.
‘Ere with the Crown we bind young Henry's Head,
‘Hear the last Mandate of the Royal Dead:
‘To Manfred's eldest Hope he leaves the Throne,
‘If his fair Bride Constantia he shall own,
‘Else shall the Diadem the Brows adorn
‘Of Princely Pedro, tho' the youngest born,
‘On like Conditions. This our Sovereign's Will,
‘Whoe'er succeeds him, strictly must fulfill;
‘So shall Rebellion lose her impious Aim,
‘Nor mask her Crimes beneath a lawful Claim:’

He paus'd a while, and Henry gave a Start,
As if a Shaft had pierc'd him to the Heart;
When thus Siffredi follow'd his Discourse.
‘So Tancred spoke, & Words must have their Force:
‘His Royal Thoughts to me were quickly known,
‘And soon disclos'd to his adopted Son;

‘Who smil'd with Joy, and will with Pride obey,
‘Where Crowns and Beauty point the glorious Way.’

“Desist, rash Man, reply'd the Youth in Rage,
“Lest I forget my Rank, and spurn thy Age:
“Was it for this I gave the fatal Scroll,
“Which from my Body rends my struggling Soul?”
This the King whisper'd in Siffredi's Ear,
Unheard by Constance, or each distant Peer.

The hoary Patriot thus his Speech pursu'd.
‘My Soul rejoices at the gen'ral Good;
‘No more Destruction reigns, nor War, nor Strife;
‘No more the Brother seeks the Brother's Life;
‘Epinnys drops her Snakes and flaming Brand,
‘Her bold Commotion shakes the frighted Land;
‘Embattled Squadrons haste to Arms no more,
‘And peaceful Olives shade our happy Shore;
‘No more the Hero grasps the pond'rous Shield,
‘Waves his keen Blade, and thunders thro' the Field;
‘No more the Courser, to the Trumpet's Sound,
‘Neighs with fierce Joy, & paws the flow'ry Ground;

‘On fruitful Hills the bleating Wand'rers rove,
‘And ev'ry jovial Shepherd clasps his Love;
‘Safe from all Outrage, now the Village Maid
‘Securely strays beneath th' embow'ring Shade;
‘While golden Harvests nod on ev'ry Plain.
‘Foretell rich Plenty, nor foretell in vain.

‘On such a Union sure the Gods must smile;
‘From this, what Blessings wait to crown our Isle!
‘And here behold, ye Nobles of the Land,
‘The Truth I speak, confirm'd by Henry's Hand.’
He said; and shew'd the Paper all around,
And Shouts tumultuous thro' the Palace sound;
The vaulted Hall repeats the Monarch's Name,
And rings with Pæans to the Princely Dame.

Is there a Lover in these Iron Days?
If such there be, to him I write my Lays;
Let him the Pangs a Monarch felt, confess,
And think the Anguish Words could ne'er express.

Who now but Royal Henry inly mourns?
And Grief and Anger sway his Mind by turns;

His Uncle's Will implicitly obey'd,
Denies him Empire, or the lovely Maid;
Now Beauty rushes forward to his Sight
In all her Charms, intolerably bright,
Dress'd in the Bloom that cloaths the Youth of May,
The Rainbow's Colours, and the Beam of Day;
Now proud Ambition fires his glowing Breast,
The golden Circlet, and the Purple Vest;
His wav'ring Thoughts now this, now that approve,
Fain would he keep his Empire and his Love.
Yet deep revolving, to himself he said,
Suppose I seem to choose the hated Maid,
Then while to Rome the Embassy is sped,
For Leave to take Constantia to my Bed,
By Gifts or Threats my Nobles I will gain,
And render this imperious Order vain.

With that he turn'd him to th' assembled Peers:
“Let Sicily (he cry'd) discard her Fears:
“May wanton Peace extend her genial Hand,
“And strew her Flow'rets o'er the smiling Land;

“To your Intreaties I my Will resign,
Then faintly murmur'd, “Be Constantia mine.”

'Twas at that Instant beauteous Blanche appear'd
To compliment the King, the Words she heard,
The horrid Sounds her fault'ring Speech oppress'd,
Grief, Anger, Love, at once o'erwhelm her Breast;
Scarce could she say, ‘May ev'ry Pow'r look down
‘To bless the Head that wears Sicilia's Crown.

The King no sooner saw the lovely Maid,
Than Fears prophetick did his Breast invade,
His Thoughts croud thick, Appearances deceive;
The thoughtless Virgin may perhaps believe
The Words he spoke proceeded from the Heart,
This stings to Madness, and augments his Smart.
Then he reflects, in Belmont's peaceful Grove,
The conscious Witness of his former Love,
How oft he glory'd in his happy Chain,
Torments that sooth, and pleasurable Pain.
Could he but speak, to shew he kept his Trust,
Tho' artful honest, in dissembling just;

Then might the Fair the rising Gloom destroy,
And change Distress for Heart-enliv'ning Joy:
But how could he his secret Mind declare,
Before all Sicily assembled there?
Besides, the wise Siffredi saw confess'd
The rising Storm that ruffled all his Breast,
Nor deem'd it safe his Monarch to engage
And stand defenceless 'gainst a Lover's Rage;
So when the Rites of Regal Pomp were o'er,
His beauteous Daughter from Palermo bore.

And now behold, in Belmont's gloomy Shade,
The hoary Father and afflicted Maid!
‘My Child, he cries, struck by thy pow'rful Charms,
‘Who leads the bold Sicilian Bands to Arms,
‘The brave Rodolpho now intreats to wed,
‘And thou art destin'd for his nuptial Bed:
‘I know thy Wishes take a higher Aim,
‘Siffredi's Daughter flies at Royal Game;
‘Yet your fond Purpose Heav'n itself denies;
‘Then, much-lov'd Blanche, be pious and be wise,

‘Resign your Claim, your Country's Good demands
‘This slender Tribute from thy virtuous Hands;
‘Nor blame the King, who still thy Form admires,
‘But Reason frowns upon his fond Desires;
‘Constantia's Title, equal to his own,
‘His rash Refusal drives him from the Throne;
‘And wouldst thou have a gay, a youthful King,
‘With rosy Chaplets near yon crystal Spring,
‘Quit mighty Empire for ignoble Love,
‘And tune his Lyre to thee in Belmont's Grove?

‘Yet if thy Bosom swell with female Pride,
‘To be neglected, scorn'd, and cast aside,
‘Dismiss that Thought; for thou art not despis'd,
‘But weigh'd with Kingdoms, these are higher priz'd;
‘Then wisely keep each rising Passion down,
‘Since he who leaves thee, leaves thee for a Crown.

‘If still the Ardor of thy Soul explain,
‘How much you lov'd the King, yet lov'd in vain;
‘Think, oh my Child! how shall you bear to see
‘The pointing Palace aim their Scorn at thee?

‘Bred by a genial Court's enliv'ning Ray,
‘To the mild Gale ten thousand Insects play,
‘Wave their gay Pinions to the Noonday Air,
‘Fairer than Light, yet falser than they're fair.
‘'Tis their's with Joy to wound the honest Name,
‘Traduce the Youth, or brand the Maiden's Fame:
‘Shall they not say, beneath the spreading Shade
‘The am'rous King thy Virgin Faith betray'd?
‘Then to the World proclaim the impious Tale,
‘While foul-mouth'd Scandal helps their Tongues to rail.
‘Then on Rodolpho cast a pitying Eye,
‘Wipe off each Tear, and curb the lab'ring Sigh;
‘To-morrow's Sun shall join your plighted Hands,
‘Let Blanche comply, for now her Sire commands:
‘I sue no longer, but will be obey'd.’
He spoke, and hasten'd from the weeping Maid.

“O good Siffredi, if I e'er could please,
“A prattling Infant on a Father's Knees,
“Recall a Daughter's miserable Doom,
“Who longs to mix with Dust, and meet the Tomb.

She said, and sunk as to eternal Night,
While every Charm appear'd serenely bright.
The rosy Bloom deserts her Cheeks alone,
And her cold Limbs are stiffen'd into Stone.

As the fair Tree, with youthful Blossoms gay,
That curls and wantons to the Breath of May,
Perfumes each Breeze that skims along the Plain,
Inchants each Virgin, and delights each Swain;
If chance the Ax her tender Sides should wound,
The strengthless Beauty sinks upon the Ground;
Fair in their Fall the leafy Ruins spread,
And all her blooming Honours deck her Head:
So look'd the Maid; and had the Hand of Death
Smooth'd her to Peace, and stop'd her lab'ring Breath,
She had been happy; but the Fates deny,
Still must she bear a Load of Misery;
Once more she wakes to feel the Stings of Pain,
And thus pours forth the lamentable Strain.

“Unjust Siffredi, does paternal Care
“Instruct thy cruel Hands to arm Despair?
“Say, did thy former Kindness only flow
“To make me feel a treble Weight of Woe?
“When ev'ry Wish seem'd tending to it's Goal,
“And full Possession open'd on my Soul,
“O'erturn'd, alas, soon flies the air-built Scheme,
“Like the gay Promise of a Morning-Dream.

“Just Heav'n, with Pity view an injur'd Maid,
“Assert her Cause, and lend the Helpless Aid;
“Pour your sharp Curses on the perjur'd Head,
“Remorse and Grief ascend the Royal Bed;
“Dash all their Joys with Horror and with Strife,
“O let him hate the Day, and curse his Life.

“Truth, thou fair Cherub, than the Sun more bright,
“Thou Emanation of eternal Light!
“Say, hast thou left the Earth? a welcome Guest,
“I thought thou once hadst fix'd in Henry's Breast.
“Take the gaunt Wolf, the brindl'd Lion stroke,
“Or bid the spotted Tiger feel the Yoke,

“For gentle Treatment tames the savage Mind,
“But Man, nor Oaths nor sacred Vows can bind.
“Thou dear Perfidious, have not Belmont's Woods,
“Her Bow'rs of Myrtle and her rolling Floods,
“Hear'd thee to Blanche attune the golden Lyre?
“Her wounded Trees attest thy warm Desire,
“Their faithful Barks a lasting Impress bear;
“Search Henry's Heart, you find Constantia there.
“Yet in thy Breast if but one Spark remain
“Of former Love, 'twill be some little Pain
“For thee to hear the proud Rodolpho led
“Thy once-lov'd Mistress trembling to his Bed.
“Welcome Revenge, I bow before thy Shrine,
“Receive that Heart which, Henry, once was thine;
“Search thro' my Breast, each tender Thought remove
“And proudly trample on neglected Love.

“Then haste, prepare me for the nuptial Rite;
“Sun, smile not on to-morrow with thy Light;
“The Bat and Raven Hymenæals sing,
“And ev'ry Bird ill-omen'd spread his Wing;

“Ghastly Dismay shall at the Board preside,
“And Death attend a melancholy Bride.”

She said; then weeping, on her Couch reclin'd
The sweetest Maid that ever charm'd Mankind.

Now purple Morning from the sprinkled Lawn
Exhal'd the Dew, and chas'd the Twilight Dawn,
With beamy Lustre gilds the azure Hills,
And faintly quiv'ring gleams along the Rills,
When old Siffredi at the cheering Ray
Leap'd from his Couch, and hail'd the rising Day,
And oh! (he cry'd) on this auspicious Hour
Shed balmy Blessings, thou Eternal Pow'r,
Protect the Moments of a virtuous Pair,
Honest the Youth, and innocent the Fair.

Now hapless Blanche condemns the rapid Flight
Of Time, and wishes for eternal Night,
When soon her Father calls her to her Doom,
So closely stands the Altar and the Tomb.
Eager Rodolpho, on the Wings of Love
Outstrips the Wind, and reaches Belmont's Grove;

He came uncumber'd by the pompous Train,
For so Siffredi wish'd, nor wish'd in vain:
Nor long he enter'd e'er his Blanche appears,
Pale were her Cheeks, her Eyes bedew'd with Tears,
So looks the Lilly in her fragrant Bed,
Oe'rcharg'd with Dew, thus hangs her silver Head.
Her Grief is constru'd Modesty and Shame,
This adds fresh Fuel to the Bridegroom's Flame;
Dispatch, Siffredi cries, let Valour yield,
When more prevailing Beauty takes the Field,
To warlike Laurel gentler Myrtle join,
And may they flourish in connubial Twine.
Th' instructed Chaplain acts his Lord's Commands,
Repeats the settl'd Form, and joins their Hands.
Whom shall we pity in this mournful Strife,
The love-sick Husband, or unhappy Wife?
Now, now, rash Maid, thou art indeed undone;
The fairest Mourner that e'er saw the Sun.

Siffredi guest the Cause of all her Grief,
Yet doubted not but Time would bring Relief;

For Wounds of Love are like a Lightning's Blast,
They deeply strike us, but are quickly past.

Now sober Evening in her gray-spun Robe
Outspreads her Veil, and shadows half the Globe;
The glitt'ring Stars the Firmament adorn,
And the pale Moon displays her Silver Horn:
Rodolpho burnt with Fires till then unknown,
Languish'd for Bliss, and long'd to be alone.

Blush not, ye Maids, nor deem my Song too bold,
If all the Secrets of the Night be told;
The Bridegroom press'd, but press'd to be deny'd,
Deaf to Intreaty was the lifeless Bride;
Or if the feeble Signs of Life appear,
'Twas in the moving Sigh and falling Tear.
At length Rodolpho, miserable Man,
Thrice smote his Breast, and anxious thus began.
‘Thou lovely Maid, thou Hopes of all my Life,
‘My charming Mistress, and my more than Wife,
‘If still debarr'd to taste those heav'nly Charms,
‘And fold thee yielding in my longing Arms,

‘I will submit me to the harsh Decree,
‘Since the dread Sentence is pronounc'd by thee;
‘Yet as the Blast that taints the Midnight Air,
‘With Wings unhallow'd may offend my Fair,
‘Yield to my Wish, and taste the Sweets of Sleep,
‘While I will watch your Slumbers, wake and weep;
‘I own I'm conquer'd by your Tears and Sighs,
‘Enjoy your Will, a spotless Virgin rise.’
His Pray'rs prevail; and now unknown to Love
They seek the Covert of the proud Alcove.
In Tears they pass the melancholy Night,
Foe to soft Joy, and Stranger to Delight.
Rodolpho found he but provok'd her Scorn,
Curs'd his hard Fate, and wish'd the Rise of Morn;
And rightly thought some Lover shar'd his Part,
And reign'd unrivall'd in her am'rous Heart.

'Twas now of Night the solemn deepest Noon,
Sunk was each Star, and overcast the Moon,
Darkness sate brooding o'er the gloomy Scene,
And not a Sound disturbs the black Serene,

Save what the Scritch-Owl with prophetick Throat
To Mortals sings, and Fate's in ev'ry Note.
Now Sleep, that greatest Blessing to Mankind,
That gentle Solace of the human Mind,
Sheds his soft Balm; the Labours of the Plain
The Hind forgets, nor feels the Slave his Chain;
Ev'n Guilt a while a gentle Slumber knows,
The Wretched only never taste Repose.

'Twas now Rodolpho heard, or thought to hear,
A gentle Tread, which reach'd his list'ning Ear,
And soon a Voice slow-floating in the Air,
“Where is my Blanche? oh speak, thou lovely Fair!
“Now the lost Tapers sink in thickest Night,
“The Torch of Love shall dart it's purer Light.”

‘What hellish Fury has thy Heart possess'd,
‘To force the Room where Beauty lies to rest?
‘Thou midnight Russian, whosoe'er thou art,
‘Deep sink my Faulchion in thy bleeding Heart.’

Thus spoke Rodolpho, and inflam'd with Ire,
Pursues the Voice, he hears his Steps retire,

Feels on his pointed Steel a meeting Blade,
But all was wrap'd in Darkness' deepest Shade;
Now starts surpriz'd that he no more can feel
The solid Substance of opposing Steel;
Groping he seeks, and finds the Door at last,
There all was safe, the bolted Door was fast.
‘Where lurks this Thief that would defile my Bed?
‘Again he cries; where hide his treach'rous Head?
‘He shall not long escape my jealous Eyes:
‘Lights here with speed, the impious Villain dies.’

Rais'd by his Voice, with Torches in their Hands,
To know his Will each ready Servant stands,
And good Siffredi waking at the Sound,
Ran to the Chamber, and Rodolpho found.

Each secret Corner they in vain explore,
But tir'd at length the fruitless Task give o'er.
No sooner was retir'd th' attendant Train,
Than the griev'd Husband utters all his Pain,
Relates the bold Intruder's tender Words,
And the loud clashing of opposing Swords;

‘Tho' artful Words thy perjur'd Thoughts conceal,
‘Thro' all Disguise I spy the venom'd Steel;
‘Then leave me here abandon'd and alone,
‘Constantia waits thee on Sicilia's Throne.
She said and wept. The King, impatient, spoke,
And from his ardent Eyes keen Flashes broke.
“Mistaken Virgin, more my Soul's Delight
“Than Guides to Pilgrims thro' the Gloom of Night;
“I swear to thee by Heav'n's eternal Shrine,
“Tho' Constance had my Word, my Heart was thine;
“And still I will enjoy those matchless Charms,
“Tho' Throngs oppose, and Nations rush to Arms;
“My Pow'r shall crush who dare oppose my Course,
“More fierce and rapid than a Torrent's Force.
“My Nobles I have sounded one by one,
“The Young approve, and make my Cause their own;
“'Tis now determin'd that thy Charms shall bless
“Sicilia's Monarch, happy to excess.
“Should Age condemn, or draw th' avenging Steel,
“My Friends are near, and will their Strength repel.

“Then let the Tempest rise, while I, like Jove,
“Amid the Din of Arms enjoy my Love,
“Snatch the dear blooming Maid, and bear her far
“From the hoarse Clangor of tumultuous War.”

‘Curst be the Star that open'd on my Birth,’
Cry'd wretched Blanche, and sunk upon the Earth;
At length reov'ring: ‘Much-wrong'd Prince, she said,
‘Fly far from hence, and leave a wretched Maid.
‘I heard thy Promise to Constantia giv'n,
‘And thought the Vow was ratify'd in Heav'n;
‘Push'd by Revenge, I hurry'd to my Fate,
‘And gave my Person to the Man I hate.
‘Behold me faithless, and Rodolpho's Bride,
‘Our Hands are plighted at the Altar's side:
‘Yet hence to Sorrow I'll devote my Life,
‘A sable Mourner, and a Virgin Wife.

‘Then since the Pow'rs upon our Union frown,
‘Let happier Constance share Sicilia's Crown;
‘Forget me, hate me, strike me from thy Heart,
‘For Heav'n has order'd we must ever part;

He therefore issu'd thro' the secret Door,
Left Belmont's Woods, & sought the Town once more,
There on his Couch reviews the motley Scene,
Nor can devise what all these Riddles mean;
He vow'd next Day should solve each ling'ring Doubt,
Untie the Knot, and trace th' Inchantment out;
And therefore order'd by the Break of Morn
To free the coupl'd Hounds, and wind the jovial Horn.

The Day arose, the Dogs salute the Dawn
With chearful Voice, and brush the dewy Lawn;
From Slumber's Bands the gay Attendants freed,
Start from the Couch, and mount the gen'rous Steed:
The youthful King receives the golden Rein,
And his proud Courser neighing seeks the Plain.

See from his brown Retreat the Stag arise!
To their loud Shouts each neighb'ring Hill replies,
The following Hounds send forth a joyful Cry,
And the Field rings with rural Melody.
Now while the Youth whom nervous Sinews brace,
Spur their fleet Coursers, and pursue the Chase,

Thro' a Bye-path of this sequester'd Wood
Th' impatient King where Belmont's Castle stood
Directs his Speed, his Speed quick Progress made,
Well vers'd in all the Windings of the Glade.

Beneath an Oak (whose venerable Boughs
Safe from the Sun defend the Shepherd's Brows)
He spy'd two Females; but with what Surprize
His Soul's bright Idol met his ravish'd Eyes!
A fav'rite Maid indulg'd her Lady's Moan,
Wept at her Fate, and gave her Groan for Groan.
At sight of Blanche he vaulted from his Seat,
Press'd her resisting Hand, and trembl'd at her Feet,
Then thus address'd the Maid: “The Pow'rs incline
“At length to bless my Pray'rs, & make thee mine;
“And tho' Suspicion may my Acts pursue,
“Yet shalt thou find thy Henry always true.”

To whom thus Blanche, when frequent Tears & Sighs
Afforded leave to speak, aghast replies:
‘Perfidious Prince, forbear this soothing Strain,
‘Smooth is the Courtier's Tongue, but false & vain;

Then wonders how he could escape his Ire,
How enter in the Room, and how retire.

Siffredi soon suspects th' unwelcome Guest,
Yet hides the Struggles of his lab'ring Breast.
“Believe me, Son, your Jealousy deceives,
“She paints those Terrors which the Wretch believes;
“Slave to those Fears that nightly Dreams renew,
“He wakes with Dread, and thinks the Vision true.
“Nor deem it Scorn that caus'd thy blooming Bride
“To lye a Virgin by her Husband's side:
“No, 'tis the Sex's Virtue to deny;
“Oft they refuse when most the Pulse beats high,
“Yet soon they feel their frozen Bosoms burn,
“Wake to the Flame, and grant a just Return.

“Thus the young Vine beneath the Poplar's Shade,
“Coy at the first disdains her Consort's Aid,
“In time the Tendrils spread their silken Arms,
“And when the vital Sap the Wanton warms,
“Round the strong Tree her curling Branches wind,
“For ever constant, and for ever kind.”

This said, he left Rodolpho to his Woe:
Where shall he turn, or whither shall he go?
Blanche might resolve his Doubts, but who to her
Concern'd so deeply would the Cause refer?
And she who knew this fatal Action's Spring,
Still more condemns the wretched love-sick King,
Who, as she thought, with wicked Purpose came,
To guess too easy, tho' too gross to name.

Now Henry's Mind was fill'd with vast Surprize,
Deep in his Heart his Blanche's Image lies;
'Twas he, that instant from Palermo come,
To ease her Doubts had gain'd the well-known Room;
Thro' the form'd Passage sped his secret Way,
But little dreamt it was her Bridal Day;
The Voice he knew not, nor could e'er have guess'd
Whose guilty Sword was pointed at his Breast.
Oft had he thought to pour his mighty Rage
Upon the Slave who durst his Prince engage;
Yet Blanche's Honour o'er his Wrath prevail'd,
And all the Rigor of his Purpose fail'd;

‘Tho' all I wish for, all I love is thee,
‘Yet rigid Virtue reads the harsh Decree,
‘Forbids me longer in this secret Grove
‘To vent my Sorrows, or indulge my Love;
‘Some envious Spy may forge a Tale of Shame,
‘And blind to Truth and Justice spot my Name.
‘I dare not stay, yet here could ever dwell,
‘The ruin'd Blanche now takes her last farewell.

Unhappy Henry, fatal are thy Fires,
And Cupid frowns, and all the young Desires
To fairer Regions bend the rosy Wing,
And shun the Sorrows of a love-sick King.
No longer Reason's Call his Passion tames,
But fell Revenge his angry Soul inflames;
Mad with Despair, he sends to Belmont's Shade
To seize the Husband of the hapless Maid,
In Chains to bring him to Palermo straight,
As a known Foe to Henry and the State.
Mean while he might the vacant Hours improve,
And talk with beauteous Blanche, and talk of Love.

A chosen Guard the King's Commands obey,
And with them bring their unresisting Prey,
Led to a Dungeon for imputed Crimes,
And left to rail at the degen'rate Times.
But soon Siffredi hears the sad Report,
And hastes from Belmont to Palermo's Court,
And spite of all th' opposing Royal Train,
Insists to see the King, nor prays in vain.
Swift down his Cheeks the copious Torrent ran,
And thus to Henry spoke the good old Man.

‘If the wrong'd Subject may his Grief make known,
‘And vent his Sorrows when so near the Throne,
‘Why does thy Arm oppress the Brave and Just?
‘Say, is it thus that Kings discharge their Trust?
‘Yet thou methinks should'st kindest Influence shed,
‘Not drive Affliction on my aged Head.
‘Did I not form thee with a Parent's Care,
‘And taught thee to deserve the Crown you wear?
‘Have you forgot, when scorching in the Flame,
‘A burning Fever parch'd thy tender Frame?

‘Thy Infant Years could scarce support it's Pow'r,
‘But bent beneath it like a with'ring Flow'r.
‘Then did I not prepare the cooling Bowl,
‘That pour'd soft Comfort on thy thirsty Soul?
‘Did not my Cares a tedious Vigil keep?
‘These Eyes were Strangers to the Balm of Sleep;
‘And when the Pangs thy little Heart oppress'd,
‘Weeping I held thee to my aged Breast,
‘Kiss'd off thy Tears, and lull'd my Prince to Rest.
‘And lo, the great Reward of all my Pains!
‘My Daughter's Husband groans beneath his Chains,
‘His Merit slighted, and his Worth forgot,
‘Unjustly tax'd with foul Rebellion's Spot.
‘Yet thro' the Veil the real Cause appears,
‘'Tis Henry's Love that dictates, not his Fears,
‘That prompts him vainly to unloose a Tie,
‘Which at the Altar Heav'n did ratify.
‘O warn'd by Justice, take a nobler Aim,
‘Suppress the Ardour of a lawless Flame;
‘Nurst up for Empire, scorn to be a Slave,
‘And draw some Profit from the Rules I gave;

‘From thy fond Bosom pluck this fiery Dart,
‘And let Constantia share thy Throne and Heart.’

“Curs'd be the Man, the furious King reply'd,
“Who seeks to join me to so soul a Bride.
“Matilda robb'd my Father of his Life,
“And shall her Daughter then be Henry's Wife?
“First may Palermo and her gilded Spires
“Sink to the Dust, or gleam with hostile Fires;
“Let big Destruction o'er the Island brood,
“And all these flow'ry Fields be drench'd with Blood;
“Peace take her Flight from our Sicilian Shore,
“And War's grim Terrors fright the Land once more.

“On such a Union, Heav'n itself would frown;
“On these Conditions I disdain the Crown.
“But say, what Right had Tancred's Will to bind
“A lawful Soveraign, and a freeborn Mind?
“Know, I reject the Terms, and will maintain
“My Throne unshaken, and my lawful Reign.
“Who e'er oppose me with rebellious Might,
“Shall feel my Ardour in the glowing Fight.

“Till bright-ey'd Conquest shall her Laurels bring,
“And great Revenge attend an injur'd King.

“The low-born Peasant makes his willing Choice,
“And Nature's Sanction ratifies his Voice;
“While I, depriv'd of what the Meanest find,
“The common Privilege of all Mankind,
“Must strew sharp Thorns upon my Chair of State,
“And wear a Crown to sink beneath it's Weight.
“And you, unkind Siffredi, when you saw
“My Soul disdains the harsh, the rigid Law;
“When your Prince stood upon a Mountain's Brow,
“And foaming Oceans spent their Rage below,
“You push'd him headlong down the fatal Steep,
“Dash'd on the Rocks, and bury'd in the Deep.
“Too well thou knew'st my Heart was not my own,
“And Blanche was dearer than Sicilia's Throne.
“Yes, let me glory in the honest Flame,
“Which Time can ne'er efface, or Absence tame,
“But as the Beaming of the Vestal Fire,
“Still finds fresh Fuel, and can ne'er expire.

“Yet when I think how much I owe thy Age,
“Respect and Fondness melt my glowing Rage;
“I kiss the Hand that aim'd the fatal Dart,
“Whose bloody Point lies bury'd in my Heart.
“Then back to Belmont when thou wilt, repair,
“As soon as thou, Rodolpho shall be there.”

Siffredi left him, and expects to see
That very Night the wretched Captive free:
Yes, thou shalt see him roll his dying Eyes,
Nor fall alone, an humble Sacrifice.

Now beam'd the Sun athwart the op'ning Glade
With gentle Force, and lengthen'd ev'ry Shade;
Now from the Field returns the whist'ling Swain,
And Nature's Musick ceas'd throughout the Plain,
When Henry speeds to Belmont's shady Grove,
To tell his Suff'rings, and lament his Love.
And lest the Husband should his Hours molest,
A bold, intruding, and unwelcome guest,
Determin'd not to free the injur'd Peer,
Till Day's broad Beam the following Morn should clear.

Now let the Muse review Rodolpho's Woes,
Whose weighty Wrongs deny the least Repose:
No more he wonders whence proceeds the Noise,
The whisp'ring Lover, and the Midnight Voice;
Conviction flashes with redoubl'd Ray,
And each mysterious Doubt grows bright as Day.
‘Perhaps to-night (the much-wrong'd Husband cries)
‘The Love-sick Tyrant to his Mistress flies,
‘Then shall be safely rifle all her Charms,
‘And give Pollution to my circling Arms;
‘But be it mine to crush his fond Desires,
‘With speedy Vengeance quench these guilty Fires;
‘May my good Sword assert her Master's Cause,
‘And smite that King who violates the Laws.’

He said, then speeded to the watchful Guard,
And begs with Promise of a high Reward
To grant his Freedom for that single Night,
And vow'd returning e'er the Morning Light.
The Keeper knew few Days would set him free,
So granted his Request, and took the Fee.

Now hot with Rage, Rodolpho speeds away,
And reaches Belmont e'er the Close of Day,
When unobserv'd by all, himself convey'd
Within the Chamber of the hapless Maid;
Conceal'd he lay, that at convenient Time
Revenge might reach the Monarch for his Crime.
Unhappy Blanche could well the Reason find
That anger'd Henry, and her Lord confin'd,
Nor could believe, tho' by Siffredi told,
That he that Night should Belmont's Tow'rs behold;
Right well she judg'd the King would still detain
His much-wrong'd Captive, meerly to obtain
A long, uninterrupted Interview;
Nor only thought the Thing, but wish'd it true.

While thus her Mind the pleasing Scene runs o'er,
Back slides the Column, and reveals the Door,
The secret Door, and now the Prince appears,
Falls at her Feet, and thus begins with Tears.

“O much-lov'd Blanche, yet lov'd, alas, in vain!
“At once the Object of my Joy and Pain,

“Behold, I come my latest Leave to take,
“And offer up a Heart that soon will break.
“If you would know what Fury made me wrest
“Thy happy Husband from thy struggling Breast,
“'Twas but to see thee at this secret Hour,
“And vent my Grief while Time is in my Pow'r;
“To-morrow's Sun shall set Rodolpho free,
“Rejoice the World, and only lowr on me.
“Thy fatal Rashness, O unthinking Maid,
“First wrong'd my Love, and then my Bliss betray'd.
“Now what is State? will Purple Pomp give Ease,
“Sooth the sick Heart, and cure the Mind's Disease?
“Or while applauding Crouds their King surround,
“Will Flattery's Balm asswage the raging Wound?
“Cast one kind Look upon a Royal Slave,
“And grant him Pity e'er he seeks the Grave.”

To whom the Maid. ‘Long has this anxious Breast,
‘Ally'd to Grief, receiv'd the weeping Guest;
‘I own my Rashness hurry'd on my Fate,
‘And dread Conviction comes, alas, too late!

‘Yet pale, and trembling at the Altar's Side,
‘When my faint Tongue spoke me Rodolpho's Bride,
‘And tho' thy Image black with Guilt appear'd,
‘(Wrong'd and deluded by the Words I heard)
‘Yet thy lov'd Form did all my Fury tame,
‘And my charm'd Soul still murmur'd Henry's Name:
‘I doated to excess. That still I love,
‘I call to Witness ev'ry Pow'r above:
‘To trace my Ardour, Language is too faint;
‘A Woman's Passion who in Words can paint?

‘Deep in some cloister'd Cell, the Seat of Woe,
‘Far from Mankind, from Henry far I'll go,
‘To Caves where Cypress spreads her baleful Shade,
‘And ghastly Spectres haunt the dreary Glade,
‘On my bare Head the whistling Storm shall beat,
‘And hoary Billows dash against my Feet;
‘While thro' the Gloom dread Sounds transpierce the Air,
‘And loudly houl despair, thou wretch, despair;
‘Till Death shall ease me of the Load I bore,
‘And my pale Coarse extend upon the Shore;

‘No Friend to see my Eyes in Anguish roll,
‘Or speak soft Comfort to my struggling Soul;
‘No pious Maid to shed the pitying Tear,
‘Give Earth to Earth, or stretch me on the Bier;
‘While Kites rapacious wing their airy Way,
‘And flutt'ring Vultures scream around their Prey.
‘Take, take this last Farewell, unhappy Youth,
‘Pattern of Love, of Innocence, and Truth.
She said, and weeping did the King embrace,
When fierce Rodolpho, from his secret Place,
Indignant starts. “Come forth, thou honest Sword,
“The Noble crys, and right thy injur'd Lord;
“May my bold Arm chastise this impious Boy,
“And drive him trembling from th' expected Joy.
“Thou spotted Tyrant, tho' whole Legions round
“A while should guard thee from the destin'd Wound,
“My swift Revenge from off thy Head should tear
“Th' imperial Crown thou ill deserv'st to wear:
“Destruction be thy Doom.” No sooner said,
Than valiant Henry drew his vengeful Blade;

Revenge and Anger mingle on his Face,
And from the Features drive each softer Grace.
The gleaming Faulchions by the Taper's Light
Like Light'ning flash, and gild the Gloom of Night.
Now wretched Blanche attests the pitying Skies,
And Belmont's Castle echoes to her Cries,
And now, alas, her quickest Shrieks resound,
Rodolpho bleeds, he sinks upon the Ground!
For Henry's Sword had pierc'd his hapless Breast,
And the red Streams distain'd his silken Vest.

The wretched Maid, whose Tears ne'er ceas'd to flow
At bare Relations ev'n of distant Woe,
Now deeply griev'd, sat weeping by his Side:
‘Am I the Cause, the fatal Cause? she cry'd.
‘Eternal Misery must be my Doom,
‘Gape wide thou Earth, and be a Wretch's Tomb.

‘Alas, Rodolpho, thou hast been to blame,
‘Thy Love has much been wrong'd, but not thy Fame;
‘Virtue has always sway'd my Actions past,
‘And Virtue still shall guide me to the last.’

While thus she knelt, and o'er the Savage wept,
Grasp'd in his Hand the deathful Sword he kept,
Watch'd well his Time, then struck the weeping Maid,
And Life's warm Torrents smoak'd upon the Blade.
Young Henry flies to save her, but too late,
The Blow was given, and the Stroke was Fate;
He shriek'd aloud, then with a furious Air,
That shew'd at once Amazement and Despair,
Thus trembling spoke: “Oh horrid, horrid Deed!
“Not Fiends themselves could such a Crime exceed;
“Curst be the fatal Hour, and curst the Place,
“And thou most curst of all the human Race.”

To whom Rodolpho with a ghastly Smile:
‘Monster of Lust, thou Scandal of our Isle,
‘Know, that tho' late I triumph in my Turn,
‘Nor leave the Wanton to disgrace my Urn;
‘Else had my Ashes by thy impious Hands
‘Perhaps been scatter'd on unhallow'd Sands;
‘And when to Bliss you call'd the perjur'd Fair,
‘In Mirth exclaim, “The Husband we can spare.”

‘For her, whose Guilt has wrong'd the Nuptial Bed,
‘Her Sins fall heavy on her impious Head,
‘A dread Example to succeeding Times,
‘Nor may her reeking Blood efface her Crimes.

‘But I am summon'd where no Tyrant reigns,
‘No more I tremble at thy lawless Chains.—
‘Ha! dost thou weep? nay, now 'tis Height of Bliss,
‘My soaring Wishes scarce durst hope for this.
‘Give me awhile to view a Scene so bright,
‘And strain my Eye-balls to enjoy the Sight;
‘No more I grieve at all my Sorrows past,
‘Since just Revenge attends me to the last.’

More had he said, but Fate suppress'd his Breath,
Grim he appear'd, and seem'd to threat in Death.

Not so the Fair; as looks the harmless Lamb
Seiz'd from the Fold, and ravish'd from her Dam,
She mourns her Sufferings in the softest Note,
The fatal Steel just pointed at her Throat;
Yields to the Blow, and rolls her Eyes around,
To view the Murd'rer, and forgive the Wound:

So virtuous Blanche a beauteous Victim lay,
While Death stood ready to receive his Prey;
Pale (as the Poets feign) Pygmalion's Wife,
E'er the cold Substance soften'd into Life.

She look'd around, then with a feeble Voice:
‘Alas, Rodolpho, 'twas a fatal Choice
‘Thy Passion made; and may the Pow'rs above
‘Like me forgive the rash Effects of Love;
‘In happier Mansions we may meet again,
‘And mix uncensur'd with the blissful Train,
‘Where brighter Suns their genial Beams display,
‘And Angels grow more perfect in the Ray.
‘For you, my Henry, long enjoy your Throne,
‘Not more by Birth-right than by Worth your own;
‘And be Constantia at thy Royal Side
‘Before the States avow'd thy chosen Bride;
‘Else shall the Crown hang heavy on thy Brows:
‘Behold the dire Effect of broken Vows!

‘Amid the pompous Revelry of Courts,
‘The Midnight-dances, or the splendid Sports,

‘Let not one gloomy Thought offend thy Breast,
‘Then Sorrow comes a rude unbidden Guest;
‘But when the Soul delights to seek Relief
‘In pensive Numbers and majestick Grief;
‘When high-wrought Woe enraptur'd Bards rehearse
‘In all the Charms of Heart-pervading Verse,
‘Confess thy Blanche's Fate was more severe,
‘Think how I lov'd, and drop one honest Tear.

‘I can no more; farewel, thou much-lov'd Youth,
‘And happier Days attend thy matchless Truth;
‘Earth, and her Joys, contented I resign:
‘Henry, adieu, this latest Sigh is thine.’

Eternal Slumber seal'd her swimming Eyes,
The tow'ring Soul regains her native Skies.

Just then Siffredi burst the op'ning Door,
And saw his Blanche expiring on the Floor;
Speech quite forsoook his Tongue, he stood aghast,
As scorch'd and wither'd by a Light'ning's Blast.

A solemn Pause succeeds, till Henry broke
The lengthen'd Silence, and thus sternly spoke.

“Behold yon Coarse that bleeds upon the Ground,
“View that fair Face, survey the fatal Wound;
“Of all these Woes thyself hast been the Spring,
“Hast slain thy Daughter, and destroy'd thy King.
“Is this the good old Man for Virtue fam'd,
“The first in Wisdom thro' the Island nam'd?
“No; this is he who cross'd a virtuous Flame,
“Big with false Hopes, and panting after Fame;
“Who, deaf to Nature, play'd the Tyrant's Part,
“Nor felt the Father's Struggles in his Heart.

“Oh, 'tis the Curse of Age, to look on Joy
“With envious Eye, and rising Bliss destroy!
“The wayward Mind to Prudence still pretends,
“The sharpest Censors, but the coldest Friends;
“Ready to deal their Curses round the Land,
“But shed their Bounties with a sparing Hand;
“Stubborn as wrong, they scorn to be advis'd,
“By Children dreaded, and by Youth despis'd.
“Hence, hoary Ruffian, and my Presence shun,
“And proudly glory in the Ills you've done.

“But hark! what Musick floats along the Air?
“On beds of Roses lies my gentle Fair;
“I come, my Blanche, to fold thee, in my Arms,
“And save thy Virtue from all future Harms.
“Recline, my Love, upon my panting Breast,
“Rodolpho shall not interrupt thy Rest;
“Thy King shall shield thee from insulting Foes,
“And ease thy Bosom of it's Load of Woes:
“Say, shall we fly Trinacria's hated Shore,
“And view Palermo's Palaces no more?
“In rural Garb our high-born Race disguise,
“And thus avoid Siffredi's watchful Eyes?
“On the unshelter'd Down our Sheep we'll feed
“Or in the Grove attune the rustick Reed;
“Then in the Cot which flow'ry Olives shade,
“Where bubbling Waters freshen all the Glade,
“The humble Board the sun-burnt Swain shall spread,
“Nor balmy Sleep avoid the home-spun Bed;
“And when the tow'ring Lark with dewy Wings
“His early Hymn unto the Morning sings,

“O'er fragrant Meads together we will stray,
“And purple Vi'lets mark our happy Way.

“What says my Blanche? what, not a single Word,
“No, nor a Smile can my coy Maid afford?
“Oh, 'tis Rodolpho that prevents my Bliss,
“Grasps her fair Hand, and steals a rapt'rous Kiss.
“Provoking Traitor! to thy Sorrow know,
“A King and Lover gives this fatal Blow.”

With that he drew a Dagger from his Side,
And the keen Point did in his Bosom hide;
Then sinks where Blanche lay breathless on the Ground,
And Life's warm Spirit issu'd at the Wound.
Still like a Marble Form the Sire remains.
Nor Tears would flow, nor Speech express his Pains;
But when reviving, much of Blanche enquir'd,
And where the stern Rodolpho was retir'd:
His Reason sunk beneath this Load of Care,
And all his wand'ring Senses fly in Air.

Young Pedro's Right the willing Nobles own,
And made Constantia Partner of his Throne,

While Henry's Coarse with Regal Pomp they bear,
And by his Side interr the hapless Fair;
Nor brave Rodolpho wanted Honours due,
Whose Wrath was fatal, as his Passion true.

Such harsh Revenge be banish'd from our Isle,
May Love and Freedom e'er on Britain smile;
No cruel Father with tyrannick Sway
Compel a trembling Daughter to obey;
And may the Fair that grace this happy Land,
Bestow the Heart to whom they give the Hand;
So shall transporting Joy reward their Youth,
Their Age be bless'd with Friendship, Peace & Truth.

FINIS