University of Virginia Library

CORNARO and the TURK,

A TALE.

Where, mid' Italia's ever Sunny Lands,
Fast by the Streams of Po Ferrara stands,
At Manhood's full Increase now just arriv'd,
In splendid Leisure young Cornaro liv'd;
Of a full Bed the first and best belov'd,
Each Gift kind Nature lent him, Art Improv'd.
He knew and lov'd his City; yet wou'd know
What other Cities diff'rent had to show;
Eager to gratify his stretching Mind,
In One small Realm too narrowly confin'd.
To tell his Sire his Wish, was to succeed;
The Son but hinted, and the Sire agreed.
Then, as became him, full supply'd he went,
And to Livornia first his Way he bent;
On whose fair Shore each distant Nation meets,
And fills, with various Tongues, her Peopled Streets.
Each Object there his strict Attention drew,
Much he observ'd, yet still found something new,
And sought it still, for, Knowledge all his End,
Him, who cou'd that advance, he thought his Friend;
To Rich and Poor alike he cast his Eye,
As 'twas a Treasure they might both enjoy,
And he might teach him who the Vessel steer'd,
What the rich Freighter thought not worth Regard.
Of graceful Presence and inviting Mien,
He in each Place of full Resort was seen,
On the throng'd Quay, or in the busy Hall,
And skill'd in Tongues, seem'd Countryman to all;
To Observation deep Reflection join'd,
And fix'd the gather'd Honey in his Mind.
His Lodging on a large Quadrangle's Side,
To him still Thinking, farther Thought supply'd;
And as each Hour of passing Day went by,
Some Scene, worth Note, still met his curious Eye.
Yet one among the rest he long had weigh'd
And oft'nest seen the stronger Mark it made;
For the sad Sigh that keen Misfortune drew
Still to his Breast an easy Passage knew.
As he each Morn the rising Sun beheld,
E'er yet the moving Square with Crouds was fill'd,
On one same Spot, as still he look'd around,
One solitary Wretch he always found;
A Porter's Garb declar'd his present Yoke,
But his whole Mien a Birth far diff'rent spoke.
In his swoln Breasts, Sighs, spite of Shame, wou'd rise,
And Tears, kept back, flow'd faster from his Eyes,
Which with the knotted Rope he wip'd away,
Sad Ensign of his Fortune's deep decay!
The Youth, who pitying saw the frequent Grief,
Thought Pity blameful carrying no Relief;
So, generously curious, sought to know,
In hopes to ease, the Cause of so much Woe;
And call'd him from his melancholy Stand.
He came—and silent waited his Command;
Thinking some Errand wou'd a Mite afford,
Just to support a Being he abhorr'd,
Which yet he durst not of himself destroy,
Since Heav'n again might change the Grief it sent to Joy.
But other Bus'ness fill'd Cornara's Breast,
And his kind suit in tend'rest Terms he prest,
Wish'd that he wou'd his cause of Grief impart
To one who lov'd to sooth an aching Heart,
And always thought, however low his Sphere,
A Man who felt Affliction worth his Care;
Yet here believ'd the Stroke of fickle Fate
Was fall'n on one had known a happier State.
“Then speak, he said, nor let false Shame conceal
“Whate'er with Truth a Suff'rer may reveal,
“And, if my happier Lot may ease thy Woes,
“Whate'er a Stranger's Ear may learn, disclose.
The list'ning Wretch each Word with wonder heard,
Perceiv'd 'em Virtue's Dictates, and was chear'd,
Ventur'd to throw his slavish Badge aside,
And thus with Manly Confidence reply'd.
“I was not always what I now appear;
“But Truths, thy Nobleness has challeng'd, hear.
“First I'm a Mussul-man, yet here confin'd
“Must wish thee, as thy milder Doctrines, kind.
“Oh! Love thy Faith, yet hate not me for mine,
“Which had, hadst thou been born a Turk, been thine.
“Next know, e'er fall'n to this most abject State,
“Smyrna once saw me happy, tho' not great;
“By Merchandize with sumptuous Affluence blest,
“And sweet Content, which great ones seldom taste.
“But Oh! to have been blest brings no Relief,
“But adds a stronger Bitterness to Grief;
“Forgive my Tears that utter, as they flow,
“A Son's, a Father's, and a Husband's Woe;
“To swell each Sigh these various Sorrows join,
“For all those dear Relations once were mine.
“Nor was it Hopes of adding to my Store,
“By lawless Plunder sent me from my Shore,
“To gain in bleeding Fields a cruel Name,
“Or wish on slaughter'd Heaps to build my Fame.
“'Twas Duty bid me watch the fav'ring Gale,
“And filial Love that hoisted ev'ry Sail.
“'Twas to a Father's fond Embrace I went,
“E'er yet his Lamp of Life was wholly spent;
“While still a kneeling Son might please his Eye,
“And swell his aged Heart with tender Joy.
“For Cyprus then I sail'd—what since befel
“Let these hard Chains, and this vile Habit tell;
“Which with for-ever growing Grief I bear,
“And now the fourth sad Winter sees me wear;
“And Years may roll on Years, unstopp'd my Grief,
“Till welcome Death shall bring his last Relief,
“In whose cold Arms, by some dire chance betray'd,
“My Friends may long e'er this believe me laid.
“My fond old Sire perhaps, my Fate unknown,
“Wailing my ravish'd Life, consum'd his own;
“And oh! what Pangs my orphan Children feel,
“Hast thou a tender Parent, thou canst tell.
He stopp'd,—Tears drown'd his Accents, and the rest
A Silence far beyond all Words exprest.
Nor spoke Cornaro more—he too was mute,
Nor Language found his Fellow-grief to sute;
But struggling with a Tear-attended Sigh,
Just mutter'd out—“Friend, take this small supply,
“'Twill give thee some Relief—and were it mine
“To give, Freedom and Happiness were thine.
He took the Gold and bow'd, and slow return'd,
And, as was wont, in hopeless Sadness mourn'd.
“Yet, oh! my great Deliverer, he cry'd,
“Can such amazing Worth in Man reside?
“Or can it be that Christian Doctrines teach
“Virtues beyond our sacred Prophet's Reach?
“But oh! whate'er the won'drous Cause, receive
“As much of Gratitude as Words can give;
“Nor let these bursting Tears its Force destroy,
“Slaves late of Grief, soft Offspring now of Joy.
“And how my Deeds shall with my Words agree,
“Let me once reach my Country, thou shalt see,
“And find thy mighty Bounty is not lost.
“I scorn to ask thee what my Freedom cost,
“That to my Gratitude has no regard,
“Up to thy Worth I'll measure the Reward.
“Yet can that be”? “Stop there, Cornaro said,
“If thou art happy, I am more than paid.
“But that thy Happiness meet no delay,
“There's Gold wherewith to speed thee on thy Way.
“If grateful thou wou'dst be, at thy Return,
“Amid the Crouds that there in Bondage mourn,
“Search out some Christian from the wretched Band
“Who best shall merit Freedom at thy Hand,
“Then think 'tis in thy Pow'r to pay my Debt,
“By showing him the Mercy thou hast met.
He said, and to his Lodging back return'd,
(Honour's bright Lamp within him gently burn'd)
Felt and enjoy'd the Riot of his Breast,
While Conscience furnish'd out the noble Feast.
As free as Air from Prison just broke out,
The Turk with rapid speed the Harbour sought,
There found a Ship all trim with spreading Sails,
And just prepar'd to catch the coming Gales,
Smyrna her Port; with prosp'rous Winds she flies,
And gives him to his Home and former Joys.
Livornia now, as his Ferrara known,
Her Trade, her Arts, her Pleasures all his own,
Where next for Knowledge was Cornaro flown?
For a Soul's Banquet far he need not fly,
Venice, old Ocean's fairest Child, so nigh;
O'er the proud Adriatick where she stood,
That swells unenvious of the Tuscan Flood,
Tho' Naples, Florence on his Banks he names,
And to him Tiber pours from Rome his Streams.
When o'er the Continent fell Slav'ry flew,
Hither the Goddess Liberty withdrew;
Here plac'd her Cap, her Staff, her Armour here,
And, as her own fierce Sparta, held it dear.
Each Art and Science this their Dwelling own,
As Guardians to their Goddess Freedom's Throne;
And as her Hand-Maid busy Commerce toils,
Her Sister Goddess Plenty chearful smiles.
Here glad Cornaro fix'd; and hop'd to find
Whate'er might please a Knowledge-loving Mind,
Or where the Columns rose with beauteous Wreath,
Or Sculpture seem'd to speak, or Paint to breath;
And tho' each Day increas'd his curious Store
Thought his capacious Soul had room for more;
And little deem'd the Moment was so nigh,
When all these Pleasures of his Breast should die,
The Beams of Science from his Soul retire
And fade, extinguish'd by a nobler Fire,
As kindled Wood, howe'er its Flames may rise,
When the bright Sun appears, in Embers dies.
Minerva sudden from his Soul was fled,
And Venus reign'd successive in her stead.
A thousand fair ones of her frolick Train,
Long at the Youth had aim'd their Shafts in vain;
Lanc'd from the wanton Eye they sought his Heart,
But Virtue's Temper still repuls'd the Dart,
Nor all their Force nor Poison need he fear,
Virtue must tip the Point that enter'd there;
As Diamonds scorn the Pow'r of keenest Steel,
And touch'd alone by Fellow-Gems can feel.
One Glance at last an easy Passage found,
And undirected made the deeper Wound;
From Modesty's bright Quiver it was sent,
Nor knew its beauteous Owner where it went.
From chaste Delphina's pow'rful Eye it came,
Malta to Venice lent the charming Dame;
Malta, blest Isle! Whose Daughters all are fair,
Whose Sons to Manly Fortitude are dear,
So properly do Love and Glory meet,
And Valour still with Beauty holds his Seat.
Soon as his Breast receiv'd the potent Ray,
Whate'er possest it, instantly gave way;
As in the Wood before the Lightning's Beam,
Perish the Leaves, and the whole Tree is Flame.
To Venice by a noble Father sent,
Some pleasing Months the Fair one there had spent,
Beneath a tender Uncle's careful Eye;
Where but to him should then Cornaro fly?
To him he did each Circumstance unfold,
His Country, Riches, Parentage he told,
At last confess'd his honourable Flame,
Begg'd his Permission to address the Dame,
And did his Leave obtain; nor long he su'd
E'er the coy Maid was in her turn subdu'd,
Nor Chastity itself a Blush put on,
To be by such a Lover quickly won.
Smoothly thus far to Happiness he went,
Nought now was wanting but tho Sire's Consent,
Which one, endow'd as he, was sure to gain,
And needed only see him to obtain.
Th'observing Uncle mark'd the wond'rous Youth,
Fathom'd his Love, his Virtue, and his Truth;
Said—to her Father, pleas'd he, they wou'd speed.
He said, and strait th'enamour'd Youth agreed.
Lo! with its precious freight the Vessel stor'd,
Cornaro and his Happiness on Board;
Blest with chaste Beauty he such Trifles scorn'd,
As Jason stole, or Menelaus mourn'd.
Can Gold the Heart like piercing Beauty move?
Or what is Lust compar'd with sacred Love?
And now for Malta with full Sails they stand—
Saw, knew, and all but trod the wish'd for Land;
When oh! sad Proof of Fortune's al'tring Brow,
False as the Skies above, and Seas below!
A Turkish Galley mark'd 'em from a-far,
Pursu'd the Vessel unprepar'd for War,
Resistance vain with Numbers overbore,
And led them wretched Slaves to Smyrna's Shore.
Can Words, what Thought can scarce conceive, express,
The Uncle's, Virgin's, Lover's deep Distress?
Compar'd with which the mangling Knife wou'd please,
And the fierce Rack's severest Pain be Ease.
Death in his horrid'st Form had met their Pray'rs,
But that was Liberty, and so not theirs.
And now to publick Sale expos'd they stood,
Amid the chaff'ring Turks insulting Croud,
Immortal Souls, the Property decreed
Of the best Bidder, like the grass-fed Steed.
E'en this the Lovers bore, each other near,
And, yet unparted, knew not full Despair.
But see! at length accomplish'd Woe arrive,
To deal the last, worst Wound she had to give;
Her sable Store she cull'd the Dart to find,
Nor left one half so venom'd Shaft behind.
Amongst the Dealers at this cruel Fair,
Traffick accurst, that makes Mankind its Ware!
A youthful Turk pass'd poor Cornaro by,
Health flush'd his Cheek, and Lust enflam'd his Eye;
And to the Female Slaves his Way he bent;
'Twas there his Gold must have its wanton Vent.
How should Delphina 'scape his prying Sight?
Too fatally, in spite of Anguish, bright!
Her Breast took Beauty from the heaving Sigh,
Nor cou'd the Tear, that drown'd, eclipse her Eye,
But falling on her damask Cheek it stood,
Like the Pearl Dew-drop on the Morning Bud.
He quickly saw the too-distinguish'd Fair,
And thought his Prophet's Paradise was there.
Her Price at once unquestioning he paid,
The fatal Veil around her Beauties spread,
And led exulting off the swooning Maid.
'Twas then Cornaro felt Despair compleat,
And knew the worst Extreme of tort'ring Fate.
Furies to plague him more had strove in vain,
And gnawing Vultures not encreas'd his Pain,
Too fierce for human Nature to sustain.
He sunk beneath his Sorrow's wondrous Load,
And senseless from Excess of Pain he stood.
And now one graver Turk amongst the rest,
And more distinguish'd by his richer Vest,
A nicer Curiosity exprest.
Each Slave examin'd as he went along,
And on each Circumstance attentive hung;
He ask'd their Country, Parentage, and Name,
And how each mournful Wretch a Slave became,
Behold him to Cornaro then apply;
Full on his Face he fix'd his stedfast Eye,
Then ask'd his Heart if what he saw was true,
And that it was from sure Reflection knew.
His Nerves all trembling with the glad Surprize,
To Heav'n he stretch'd his Hands, and rais'd his Eyes,
And then—“I thank thee, Mahomet, he said,
Hither by thy divine Direction led
Sounds struck Cornaro's Ear he ought to know,
And wak'd him from his dismal Trance of Woe,
He saw the Turk prepar'd for his Embrace,
Mark'd the glad Transport sparkling in his Face,
Saw 'twas the very Slave he once set free,
And cry'd aloud—Great God of Hosts, 'tis he!
Then folded in each others Arms they stood,
And Voice was lost in Joy's o'er-bearing Flood.
The Turk at length recov'ring rear'd his Head—
“And now he cry'd, my mighty Debt be paid;
“Which, wert not Thou the Slave I here survey,
“Peruvian Mines were much too poor to pay.
To the Man-Merchant then he stretch'd his Hand,
“And take, he said, whate'er thy Wants demand;
“Quick set my Friend, and his Companions free,
“Name you the Price, unbart'ring I agree.
The Ransom'd home he led in bounteous State,
His swelling Soul with Godlike Joy elate,
Joy such as fill'd the great Creator's Breast,
When Adam in his Paradise he plac'd.
And now he calls his houshold all in View,
To give his Freemen Guests their welcome due.
His lofty Hall with richest Sophas grac'd,
His Wives, his Children all in Order plac'd,
(Such was his Will tho' hidden his Intent)
Sate in mute Wonder waiting the Event.
Amidst 'em all he then Cornaro led,
And wip'd away a Tear of Joy, and said,
“Ye of my licens'd Bed the Partners fair,
“Who my divided Love yet equal share;
“With whom so many pleasing Moons I've spent,
“Nor known one shaded yet by Discontent:
“And ye, lov'd Issue of our honest Joys,
“If ought my Precepts did, ye gen'rous Boys:
“My Children, and my Wives, to whom I ne'er,
“But by my dismal Exile, caus'd a Tear;
“If, since from that sad Bondage I arriv'd,
“Your Griefs all perish'd, and your Joys reviv'd,
“If, in my Absence, ye not falsely mourn'd,
“If your vast Joy was true when I return'd;
“If Alha knew ye without Guile rejoice,
“And his great Prophet heard your real Voice,
“Now more adore them, prostrate praise their Pow'r,
“Admire their Bounties still encreasing Show'r;
“But now from Chains I freed this Captive's Hands,
“And here—Cornaro, my Deliv'rer, stands.
All prostrate at that sacred Name they fell,
How touch'd, great Gratitude alone can tell;
Great Gratitude that dictated their Joy,
Smil'd on each Cheek, and spoke from ev'ry Eye.
The Turk with Rapture saw the pleasing scene,
The Home-felt Joy ran warm thro' ev'ry Vein.
Their Gratitude his inmost Soul approv'd,
That loudly told how much himself was lov'd.
“Come then, he said, the sumpt'ous Feast prepare,
“My Wives, to deck the Banquet be your Care,
“As if great Ottoman himself was here.
“For know th'Imperial Crescent's sacred Flame,
“Can ne'er more Homage than Cornaro claim.
“And ye, my Sons, whate'er my Wardrobe boast,
“What Crimson, Gold, or Gems can have of cost
“Bring forth; but oh! however rich the Dress,
“How faintly will it his Soul's worth express!
“Come then, my Friend, but why that downcast Eye,
“That Cheek yet pale, and that still heaving Sigh!
“Freedom thou hast, and what else Wealth can give,
“Is my blest Task—Yours only to receive.
Cornaro blush'd and sigh'd, and would have spoke,
But as he strove, Grief still his Accents broke.
The Uncle saw, yet silent, his Distress,
And what he could not, ventur'd to express;
Told the whole Tale of Love—the Fair pourtray'd,
Pencil'd the semblance of the charming Maid,
E'er that perhaps some Turk's abandon'd Prey,
Torn from Cornaro's Arms for e'er away;
Cornaro doom'd no farther joy to prove,
But Life's and Freedom's Slave bereft of Love.
The Turk with Anguish heard the fatal Tale,
Fearing his utmost Bounty here must fail;
Fearing he never could the Maid restore,
Already Slave to some lewd Tyrant's power;
Immers'd already in some cruel Grove,
Where brutal Lust usurps the Name of Love;
Some close Seraglio's Gloom, from whose sad Bourn
No Maid did e'er inviolate return.
But as this Thought perplex'd his working Brain,
And ev'ry Hope that rose he still found vain;
His Son all sudden smil'd, and rear'd his Head,
(The eldest Blessing of his fruitful Bed)
Then bow'd again, and smote his Breast and said.
“Thee first, Creator Alha, I adore,
“Untrac'd, mysterious, Wonder-working Pow'r,
“How could thy lowest Servant's untry'd Noon
“Of useless Life deserve so vast a Boon?
“Be hush'd, all Grief, and open'd ev'ry Ear,
“My Words with Rapture let Cornaro hear;
“Let too my Sire his genuine Offspring own,
“While I, nor vainly boast I am his Son.
“My Heart how moulded let my Actions prove,
“And rise victorious Gratitude o'er Love,
“If my exulting Soul aright divine,
“To make Cornaro blest is only mine.
“For know these Walls contain the pictur'd Fair,
“Chaste yet as Snow, and pure as Spring-tide Air.
Then, Go ye Slaves, he said, and quick return,
With the fair Christian whom I bought this Morn.
Return'd—Delphina bless'd their eager Eyes,
And on each Breast shed wild extatic Joys,
Bright as the Sun, with stronger Light array'd,
When rescu'd from the Moon's eclipsing Shade.
Then thus again the Turk, with gracious Air,
(As to her Lord he led the blushing Fair)
“My Friend, in this blest Moment be it mine,
“Taught by thyself, to show a Soul like thine;
“Forgive a Vaunt, 'tis Virtue sends it forth,
“A Soul that strives with e'en Cornaro's Worth.
“In thy gay Paradise, great Prophet, hear,
“By Mecca's ever sacred Shrine I swear;
“Were all the Treasures now before my Sight,
“That fill'd Damascus' glitt'ring Plains with Light,
“When in fierce Triumph furious Caled rode,
“And drench'd the Syrian Soil with Grecian Blood,
“Wou'd some great Sultan say, That Maid resign,
“And the whole Wealth of all the East is thine;
“From him unhesitating wou'd I turn,
“And look upon his trifling Bribe with Scorn.
“Beauty like this, which wond'ring we survey,
“'Tis Virtue only in Exchange can pay.
“'Tis thee, great Goddess Virtue, I pursue,
“To thy bright self I raise th'aspiring View;
“Thus kneeling thy almighty Pow'r I own,
“And sacrifice my Passions at thy Throne;
“To thy Cornaro lo! this Hand restores
“What most, Thyself except, his Soul adores.
So saying, with a Smile their Hands he join'd,
And his rich Prize without a Sigh resign'd.
Virtue was pleas'd, and own'd in Heav'n above,
How Deeds like these e'en Gods with Pleasure move;
Gentle Compassion shed a Tear of Joy,
And Gratitude loud shouted thro' the Sky.
What Joy the Lovers ravish'd Souls possest,
How all around their vast Delight exprest,
What conscious Pleasure touch'd the Father's Breast,
Lest in th' Attempt the falt'ring Muse prove weak,
Let Children, Parents, Lovers, Virtue speak.