Moonlight :: :: University of Virginia Library

TO ROBERT BANKS, EARL OF LIVERPOOL, WHOSE WISDOM AND ELOQUENCE HAVE PLACED HIM AMONG THE GREATEST, AND WHOSE INTEGRITY AMONG THE MOST VIRTUOUS, OF THE MINISTERS OF GREAT BRITAIN, THIS POEM, AS A SLIGHT TESTIMONY OF RESPECT AND HONOUR, IS DEDICATED BY HIS OBEDIENT SERVANT, THURLOW.

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I have written this poem, as it were, upon the eve of those memorable occurrences, which have saved Europe from despotism. Certainly, under the auspices of His Majesty, and of his illustrious Son, the Prince Regent, this Country has attained to an excellence of glory, which has no precedent in history. The illustrious Prince, under whose gentle sway we live, is the Defender of Religion, the Protector of Liberty, and the Arbiter of the Destinies of the World.

It may appear presumptuous, in the brilliant prospect, which opens before us (upon which the minds of men are naturally intent,) to suppose, that any attention should be paid to so slight a poem. Undoubtedly, it would have been more appropriate, to have celebrated the events of

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the last year in heroick song: but every man has not the power of Pindar or Cowley. Whoever contributes his share, however small, to the stock of publick amusement, may deserve some approbation: and now that the sound of the clarion, and the bugle have ceased to awaken to war, the ear of Nature may, perhaps, be delighted with the reed of the shepherd.

I have, however, one allusion to passing events, in the last page of my poem; which, although I have noticed it in a work of fiction, I hope may prove to fulfil the expectation of the world, with all the real blessing of truth.

London, May 19, 1814.

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ARIADNE.

I. PART THE FIRST.

The level sun was shining low,
And gave the waves a golden glow,
The mermaid with her lullaby
Sung to rest the troubled sea,
And in the beam of Phœbus sate
Amphitrite in her state,
Enthron'd within a pearly cave;
Around the shore great Proteus drave
His scaly herds, and Tritons blew
A song, that those huge monsters knew,

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Oft heard, ere Neptune's sliding car:
Now, ere the small and twinkling star,
That is a liegeman to the west,
In the glassy wave exprest,
Had, like the eye of ev'ning shone,
And the moon's brave wain anon
Was climbing o'er the upward brine,
Great Neptune's wife, with voice divine,
Amid th' attending deities,
That are of rivers and of seas,
Call'd Ariel to her silver chair:

Amphitrite speaks.
Do thou, my spirit, make repair,
O'er the surface of the deep,
Flying down the western steep,
Swifter than the thoughts of love:
So thy faith shalt thou approve,
And affection due to me,
That from night have set thee free,
Fetter'd in the lowest cave,
Underneath the crystal wave,

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Where the sea-wolf around thee howl'd,
And the sea-horse appalling scowl'd,
And the sea-bear, with fangs of woe,
Was thy keeper and thy foe,
And oft Leviathan would glide,
And the least glimpse of nature hide,
With his vast unwieldy side,
Slumb'ring at thy prison'd door,
That thou, not then as heretofore,
Plunging in the lib'ral sea,
Or at the gate of Phœbus free,
Glancing on the beams of morn,
Didst thy hapless being scorn,
And thought'st thyself to winter sold,
Shiv'ring in that icy hold;
Till to my soft and partial ear
Thy voice of moaning and of fear
Came upward from the drowned sea;
So may thy faith be pure to me,
As I from that delivered thee,
Taking Neptune to my cave,
In the front of Corinth brave,

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Where, underneath the wat'ry swell,
I entertain'd his passion well,
Nor had he to this day got free,
But that he gave thy fate to me:
There on a bed of silken leaf,
And flowers of ocean, spare and chief,
Which the Sea-Nymphs had cull'd, I lay,
And with the God had am'rous play,
Till by my hair and eyes he swore,
He lov'd me better than before,
When, all his votive courtship o'er,
He first untied my saffron belt,
And taught my maiden thoughts to melt.
Believe it, Ariel, thrice the Sun
Had to his western manger run,
And thrice his yoke had made a stand
On the coral-paved sand,
And thrice the sea-nymphs chanted free,
Ere I with love could win for thee
Thy charter and thy liberty.
My Ariel, is this fable true?

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Ariel sings.

Mistress mine, and votive queen,
Born the marriage sheets between
Of the old Oceanus,
When unzoned Tethys lay,
Budding like the purple May,
I will prove my fealty thus:

To the spicy Indian isles,
Or where throned Summer smiles,
In the twinkling of an eye,
Ere a maid can sigh, heigh ho,
To the Morning I will go,
To the cavern'd Pluto fly.

Mistress, I to thee am true,
As the grasshopper to dew,
As the swallow to the Spring,
As the squirrel to the nut;
Now, thy message, queen,—tut, tut,
Answer lingers on my wing.

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I shall hear, ere yet I go,
The cocks at Sybaris to crow,
Sure the maids at Corinth scold—
Mistress, can you doubt of me?
Ere the cock-shut I shall be,
Piping in my happy fold.

Moppet, Moppet, I am gone,
Ere thy pleasure well is known:—

Amphitrite speaks.

Well then, my delicate Ariel, this is true;
And, like a falling star, go down the west,
Skirting the rear of day, till by the belt,
That girdles this o'er-swelling world you see,
A month's good voyage to a winged ship,
A fragrant isle, upon whose yellow sands
You may remember we have often sate,
The while the winds were hist, and Phœbe reign'd;
Marking the fairies track their ringlets quaint,
While Summer laugh'd, and shook her golden hair.
For, if my art be true, a maid there sits,

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And with her tears augments the briny flood,
Love's prodigal, and widow of despite:
Young Ariadne, who first saw the light
Within a winged bark, whose ears were lull'd
With wat'ry surges, and the mermaid's song,
Singing her fables on a dolphin's back.
For so her mother bore her on the wave,
Ascending to pale Troy, from Corinth come,
Her native seat, and with her ducal spouse,
Good Menelaüs, seeking there to reign.
What have the winds now done, or fortune's spite,
By wat'ry evil, that the maiden stands,
Disconsolate, upon that yellow shore?
For there my art is hid.

Tell me, Nereus, tell me now,
By what headland's steepy brow,
Dancing in th' Ægean wave,
With thy fifty daughters brave,
Born of Doris, tell me now,
If at Helen's lovely prow
Rising up, thou told'st the fates,
Or unlock'd the garden gates,

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Blazing on the final wave,
That to Alcmena's offspring gave,
(The watchful dragon proto-slain,)
The apples of the western main,
Tell me, O Nereus, by thy fealty tell,
Into what evil Ariadne fell,
Since Aurora's saffron reign.

And, O Æolus, tell thou,
In what cavern reigning now,
On Æolia's briny coast,
Thou, that mak'st thy stormy boast,
That the stars are at thy beck;
Thou, that speed'st the winged deck,
Inventor of the bellyed sail;
And, to make Ulysses fail,
Heaped'st up the winds, that he
Wander'd still in jeopardy,
At what point the compass stood,
While the chaste Icarian brood,
Hemm'd in by domestick war,
Wept down the Moon, and matin star,

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With her thick web, array'd in vain,
Beguiling the false suitor train:
O Æolus, on thy sole fealty tell,
Into what evil Ariadne fell,
Since Aurora's saffron reign.

Tell me both, I am your queen,
And of Jupiter well seen,
Tell me, or I'll bind you both,
(By the Styx, a fatal oath,)
Underneath the cavern'd sea,
Where for winters, summers three,
You shall pine in fancy free,
Or for that time three times three,
If you fail to answer me,
Chain'd down to the rocky floor;
And, to plague your madness more,
I will send you mermaids sweet,
Singing, to your lone retreat,
That with tales, and mock, and mow,
And with voices piping low,
Shall your lacking duty show;

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Tell me, if you Neptune dread,
For by Neptune's sable head,
I will bind you, or 't may be,
Hurl you through the fickle sea,
Or disperse you through the air,
Pining with immortal care,
So dear is Corinth's house to me:

Ariel sings.

See they quake: but let me go,
Ere the twinkling star-light glow,
Ere the fairies sip the dew,
Overspread with Dian's hue:
Mistress, am I dear to you?

Let me go, or let me fly
Underneath the wrinkled sky,
To the brave and yellow sand,
There to trip it, hand in hand,
With the fairies gentle band:
Mistress, do you understand?

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Amphitrite sings.

Go, my Ariel, this shall be,
On the margin of the sea,
Take kind words and airs with thee:
And let my gentle Ariel say
That the purple buds of May
Are not to Hebe's kiss more dear,
Than, in this our wat'ry sphere,
Ariadne, now alone,
Shall be dear unto our throne.
Tricksey spirit, haste away,
Shaking from your wings delay,
Link ye to the glist'ning car,
That Apollo drives afar,
That with the daylight you may set
On that isle, the cabinet
Where the world's brave gem is stor'd;
Then, as daylight shall afford,
Come to me upon those lands,
Where the two-mouthed Corinth stands,

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There, beneath the moon's pale eye,
In a cowslip you shall lie,
Fann'd by od'rous winds to sleep,
Fuming from the charter'd deep.

Couch'd within it, you shall dream
By the margin of the stream,
Where the bat shall not come nigh,
Nor the owl with staring cry,
But the bird of Tereus' hate
Shall be thy night-loving mate,
Singing the wild winds to sleep;
'Till above the Eastern deep,
The lamp of twilight shall appear,
To thy fringed lids thrice dear,
And the cocks begin to crow,
And the saffron morn to flow,
My Ariel, shall these things be so?

Go then, now, my Ariel, go,
Faster than the throned moon,
Or the swallow's flight in June,

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Down the bright and curved sea,
To that wild forsaken lea,
And bring me, ere the darkness steal,
Word of Ariadne's weal.

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II. PART THE SECOND.

Ariel speaks.

By Amphitrite's most divine command,
Upon the marge of ocean here I stand;
And, see, before, young Ariadne weeps
Her crystal tears into the briny deeps:
Such beauty might delay the fleeting moon,
To do her service; I'll be with her soon:
But in some shape of good intelligence,
That may not startle her afflicted sense.
As a young shepherd with my country tongue,
My staff, and scrip over my shoulder flung,

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Will I approach her; now assist me, Jove,
That I may worthy of my message prove.

But 'tis well, Jove is not here,
Looking on this beauty dear,
Though in tears, she might persuade
Jove himself to give her aid,
And do service to a maid.
Then, translated to the sky,
Above Hebe she would fly,
And crown'd Juno dispossess,
Making all Olympus less:
What a stature for a queen!
Love her snowy paps between,
Purple love hath spread his wings;
And her eyes are crystal springs
Of persuasion and delight,
Flowing, like the morning bright:
What hath Hebe to compare
With her cheeks of crimson fair?
And her vermeil lips a pair
Of sweet mounds of roses are.

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Passion here, and here alone,
Is thy kingdom and thy throne:
And a God he sure must be,
Who shall make young Cupid free
Of that empire, there to reign,
And in God-ship to remain:
For what shoulders, but her own,
For his yoke can be a throne?
Swelling her thrice-marble neck,
To make duty a plain wreck;
On the which let honour die,
Tasting immortality!

Now I will a garland make
Of bright lilies for her sake,
And of purple violets,
Closing, when Apollo sets,
And of pale Anemone,
Where the streaks of morning be,
And of roses, kiss'd by Love,
To present this child of Jove.

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But, hark! she sings, and the delighted ear
Of silence now is fed; Oh me, what strains,
Would Jupiter were here, that the blithe songs
Of chaste Apollo were a carter's tune,
And Hebe but a chanter for the night!
Nay Philomel's o'er match'd:

Ariadne sings.
Where am I, O Sea-Gods, say,
In what wild forsaken bay,
Where for ages I may weep,
Betrothed to the sullen deep,
And my sad complainings keep?
O, where am I,
Who see around but ocean, and the sky?

Ariel.
Poor pensioner of grief! how dear is this,
That even woe is sweet upon her tongue:
Again, poor Philomel?

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Ariadne sings.

When did spring forsake the world.
And abundant summer's pride,
Into wat'ry darkness hurl'd?
It was when my lover died.

Violets sweet, and daisies trim,
Should have deck'd his sylvan bier,
And the priest's lamenting hymn,
For he was to nature dear.

But his bones are coral made,
Wheresoe'er his spirit be,
And through all the seas are sway'd;
Then, sing, O sing lamentingly, Corydon is dead.

Ariel.

Why this is sweeter than the mermaid's chant,
Beguiling the false wave: if this be woe,
Let me banish'd from the sprightly sun,

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And drop my tears into the pool as fast,
As if I wept for Phaëton: But, hark!
My mistress now goes overthwart the moon,
So spirited her yoke, that at one plunge
They circle the vast globe: I'll to my task:

Lady fair, or Goddess true,
If my soul may trust my view,
From what heaven art thou come,
Making this our isle your home?
Can a Goddess then have woe,
That thy sacred tears should flow?
May thy grief be shortly o'er,
Thou, that deign'st to bless our shore.
And a garland I present,
For my suit and service meant,
That within our yellow meads,
Where the gentle turtle breeds,
By the side of silver springs,
Nature of her bounty flings.

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Fair angel of this soil, and messenger
Of winged light, the Phœbus of our sphere,
I worship, and present thee with this crown.

Ariadne speaks.
No, gentle shepherd, I am earthly born,
And tributary to this mortal realm,
Though somewhat at my state I wonder now,
Forsaken here, and 'plaining to the winds,
That take no heedment of a maiden's woe,
Whence-ever come, to this dejected isle.
But who art thou? for since the beams of morn
Have shown th' horizon, I have scarcely seen
But sea-fowl, and the dolphins of the wave,
And here and there upon the sandy waste,
Some straggler from old Proteus' piped herd.
Ah me, shall eve go down upon the sea,
And I be left to 'plain upon this rock?
This rock, whence I have seen the golden sun
From east to west complete his fine career,
And with my tears have told the lapse of time?
Help, gentle shepherd, for thy face betrays

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A soul of pity, and thou art not hard,
As are the rocks upon this stony isle.
And know beside, that she who asks thee thus,
Is a king's daughter, of the blood of Troy,
Though fortune thus hast cast me here aside.
Say, gentle shepherd.

Ariel.
As the light to morn,
Or as the ev'ning to the welkin'd gloom,
So will I take this honour to my soul,
And be as true, as thou art wise and fair:
A shepherd, lady, on this lonely isle,
I sought a skipping straggler from my flock,
And came here to the sea: but please to tell
Thy sweet commands, that I may haste t' obey.

Ariadne.
Then say, O gentle shepherd, have you seen
A youth, much like Apollo in his mien?
Who left me here, or e'er the morning-shine,
But by what fatal chance I not divine,

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Yet sure unkindness to his heart ne'er came,
Nor can my Marinello so have blame.
A prince, good shepherd, of all virtues heir,
That in this world for praise or envy are;
And could you once but lead me to his sight,
As sure he left me but in fortune's spite,
I would reward you with our mutual love,
And happy Thebes her gratitude shall prove.

Ariel.
Is that his place?

Ariadne.
Yes, of that town the lord.

Ariel.
Believe it, lady, on a shepherd's word,
I have not seen the youth: but yet I think,
That, we here parleying on this forest's brink,
'Tis like, the while you slumber'd, that his feet
Were tangled here, and cannot now retreat.

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Ariadne.
This may indeed have been.

Ariel.
'Tis likeliest so,
But to resolve you to the wood I'll go;
And yet with fear, for I have heard it said
That there ill shapes and ugly fiends are bred,
That with lascivious flute, and fawning tongue,
Have minds ill-judging to perdition sung:
The moon not pierces, nor no twinkling star,
But it's vile depths are from all safety far.
This have I heard, and do in part believe;
Yet, O sweet lady, let not fables grieve,
For fables they may be, your spotless soul;
The thrice-prov'd virtue stands not in controul
Of vice; but Marinell thenceforth shall go,
Uncharm'd, unhurt, as from me you shall know.

Ariadne.
Ah me, unhappy, but the ship is gone.

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Ariel.
What ship is that? for I have look'd on none.

Ariadne.
No, gentle shepherd: but last eve, ere yet
The eye of Hesper was in heaven set,
When owls begin to chant, and day-light done,
The woods' musician through her notes hath run,
Making sweet prologue to black-robed night,
That the world's ear is taken with delight,
Lord Marinell and I, our anchor thrown,
For some brief tenure made this isle our own:
Here by this fountain we talk'd down the night,
And watch'd for great Hyperion's rising light,
To blaze the waters, and renew our flight;
When, ere the bird could the pale skies adorn,
That sings under the eye-lid of the morn,
A slumber took me, and, O shepherd, well
You know the rest; what ills my tongue can tell;
Oh me unhappy!

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Ariel.
Weep, fair lady, weep:
But yet this harvest of thy sorrow reap;
Mere accident thy foe, and no meant ill,
In him, who loves thee, and shall meet thee still:
For so I dream; what say I, dream? I know:
For where truth is, 'bove fortune it will go;
And ere the Morn shall with her rosy smile
The night's sad liv'ry into joy beguile,
Then banish these soft tears, lord Marinell,
Shall worship at your feet, and all be well.

Ariadne.
If this be flatt'ry, as indeed I fear,
Yet is it sweet, O shepherd, to my ear:
I will be comforted, for hope is near.
Lord Marinell indeed, the soul of truth,
Would never prove injurious to my youth;
Nor can it be, his gentleness should fly,
And leave his Ariadne here to die:
Yet have I shed sad tears.

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Ariel.
Forget them now,
And let sweet hope be thron'd upon thy brow;
Doubtless pure truth is unto heav'n so dear,
And constant love, that angels from their sphere,
On pinions of soft service would descend,
To wipe away her sorrows, and befriend.
Make trust of God, sweet lady; and ere morn
These things will be, as they had not been born.

Ariadne.
In that is all my hope.

Ariel.
Awhile I go,
That no fit dwelling for such beauty know
Within this isle; to search, where I may find,
For herbs and racy fruits, of nature kind;
Which, with pure water from the spring, may feed
Your gentle sense, the produce of the mead.

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Ariadne.
Thanks, O good shepherd; what in courts we miss,
We oft-times find under a peasant's weed.
But where is Marinell? O hapless prince,
My beauty and delight, thus torn from thee,
I weep as a poor dove, beguiling morn,
And wakeful eve with my lamenting song:
Flow on my tears, for they are due to him,
Who is the morn, and day-spring of my heart.

Ariadne sings.

O poor Alcyone!
What were thy feelings on the stormy strand,
When thou saw'st Ceÿx borne a corse to land?
O, I could weep with thee,
And sit whole tides upon the pebbly shore,
And listen to the waves' lamenting roar,
O poor Alcyone!

But now thy stormy passion past,
Thou upon the wave at last

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Buildest, from all tempest free:
Thou and Ceÿx, side by side,
Charming the distemper'd tide,
O dear Alcyone!

But this is idle for another's woe,
And that too but a story of old date,
To weep, when I at home am so possess'd:
O Marinell, my lord!

Ariel returns, and speaks.
Behold, what I have brought: O lady sweet,
These herbs and native fruits, fed by the dew,
And kiss'd of the hot sun, shall more delight,
The pantler being temperance, than feasts,
Dish'd up with kingly musick, and the pomp
Of golden service, and the fuming wine
Blushing to surfeit in their crystal cups.
Is not this crystal? and the marble rock
Shall be thy table; and the warbling bird,
That chants beneath the moon, shall give thee voice,
T' outdo their stringed instruments. Be pleas'd,

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Fair lady, to accept what duty brings,
O'erlooking all defect.

Ariadne.

Shepherd, thy kindness
Is more than I can pay: but listen now,
And I will tell thee why from Troy I came
With flight upon the wave to this lone isle,
Where yet I find the courtesy of kings;
For I perceive thee curious to know.

My name is Ariadne: I am born
Of Troy, upon the wave th' espoused queen,
My mother bringing forth: what time the duke,
My father, from sweet Corinth led her home
Then did the wave swell underneath the beam
With plenteous duty: and the mermaid's chant
Beguil'd the orbed Dian at her height.
So was my birth eventful; and the term
Of all my life but theme of accident,
Dependent on her pale, and crescent horn.
Well, I grew up, and not the air might breathe

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On me too roughly, and the poets sung
That Hebe on their meadows walk'd again.
Much learn'd I of my mother's bounteous care,
To walk, to dance, to touch the silv'ry lute,
And with a charmed voice to melt the soul,
Though it were cased in an iron front,
And grown as rugged as the wolf or bear:
Much too of herbs, and of the purple flowers,
Their virtues, and estate: of beaming stars,
Whose influence may be read with fine delight,
And many beauteous fables thence deriv'd
To the pure soul, of moral wisdom store.
Much too of sweet and feminine employ,
That ever held me most: to paint the web
Of Iris' bow, and with the slender warp
Deduce the story of chaste women's love.
But love she bade me shun; a fearful boy,
Whose arrows and whose wings alike are dread:
And love I knew not, nor I car'd to know.
So fifteen summers warbled o'er my head,
And I, beneath my mother's careful eye,
Like a young bird, that must be taught her tune,

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Liv'd happy, and suspecting of no change.
The sixteenth summer, and, O shepherd, then
My mother died; and I remember well,
'Twas when the almonds blossom, and a bird,
She lov'd and fed, died first upon the eve,
And then she follow'd, innocent and sweet.
Forgive me if I weep; I oft have wept,
Though many years have pass'd: but tears are vain.
My mother died, and then my father sought
Another love; and thence came all my woe.
Now when the May first blossom'd, to delight
His youthful wife, and grace his marriage too,
My father held a tournament of knights,
That from all countries to the barrier came,
Many, and brave, and full of beauteous pride.
But none affected me: or if they did,
'Twas but a passing look: true they were brave,
And in despiteful arms accomplish'd fair;
Their crested helmets nodding in the wind,
Their lances in fine rest, their horses fresh,
As he struck out by Neptune, drinking up
The brazen musick of immortal war:

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And women, as you know, are Mars's fools,
Being themselves so weak, and timorous.
But had they been as num'rous as the sands
Of fretful ocean, as the summer brave,
Fresh as the wave, and orient as the day,
They had not touch'd my heart, which inly wept,
And for my mother mourn'd; so that I sate
Amid' the musick, hiding in a mask
Of plenteous joy an elegy of woe.
At length, good shepherd, the fine engines blew
A blast of expectation, like the roar
Of brawny Tritons on the curved wave,
When summer from their wreathed shells is told.
All hearts were open'd; mine awaken'd then:
For sure I saw the portals of the Morn,
And great Hyperion coming forth in state,
All armed to the prodigal essay.
He stood, like Mars, amid' the thronged shore
Of ladies, and great knights: his massy coat
Out-heralding the flowers of the spring,
That Tempe was despoil'd, inlaid with gold:
And on his head, that temple of great thought,

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A mighty lion, finned for the sea,
Made air to tremble with his shaggy mane:
It seem'd his shield, capacious as the moon,
Had ample verge for the embattled spears
Of all Troy's warriors, had all Troy been there:
His spear a mighty mast, with which men sail
From Crete beyond the pillar'd Hercules:
Thrice his horse neigh'd, and the reverberate hills
Gave back the image of his voice, the sea
Replying brave: Troy was astonish'd then,
But more to see his feats: for ere an hour
Had told the fleeting time, his kingly spear
Twelve knights had from their cruppers borne to earth:
And Menelaüs, rising from his throne,
Gave him great welcome; and th' espoused hand
Of that false queen, for so to me she prov'd,
Amid the musick reach'd to him a crown
Of woven laurel, and her lips essay'd,
O cruel lips, though worthy was the cause,
In words, like spring, to speak him first of men.
Where now is Marinell?

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Ariel.

I thought 'twas so:
For only such a knight, as this, could prove
Worthy, O princess, of such peerless love.

You weep, fair lady, yet are these pure tears
But as the dripping of an April show'r,
From which the sun more brightly shall emerge:
But, pray you, grace your story to an end.

Ariadne.
To make an end, good shepherd, this brave lord,
This brave and virtuous lord, for whom I weep,
Conceiv'd for me affection, and besought
My father, Menelaüs, for my hand:
My father overjoy'd; and I, who knew
How true he was in nature and in thought,
How gentle too, besides, was pleas'd to hear
The words of true affection from his lips.
Great was he in his speech, and fit for kings
In awful council, had they known his worth;

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And with me, simple maiden, would he sit,
And take occasion from the acts of men,
And beauteous works of nature, to discourse
Of wisdom, in which goodness was the soul.
O, he was dear, for why should I conceal
My harmless thoughts, most dear he was to me:
And but the queen, that had too well perceiv'd
His great perfection, and was caught by it,
Had by vile artifice beguil'd the king
Of his good thoughts, and turn'd them from his child,
Our lives had been a race of happiness.
But love has ever been the foe of chance,
And not a shore of this o'er-braving globe
But tells the story of some lover's woe.
So then the queen, to rid her of her fear,
Abusing with a wicked forgery
The over-credulous ear of the good king,
Persuaded him, that I and Marinell
Had purpose to o'ersway the watchful guard,
And, over-ruling Troy's ambitious state,
To dispossess him of his crown and life:
This work'd like fire in Menelaüs' mind.

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And then she purpos'd, when my lord was laid,
In durance of the king, to break his bars,
And offer to him liberty and love.
This was her mean: but for an underplot
She thought to snare me with Marsaces' love,
A knave of council, ever cramm'd with ill,
And much obsequious to her changeful mind.
Well, the plot took; for what a woman says,
A wife too, to the fond believing age,
Though it be false, as canker-blooms in spring,
Having some semblance of the nat'ral truth,
Though here was none, O shepherd, shall have rule,
Washing away all old fidelity.
Our ruin had been sure, but friends arose,
Which innocence e'er finds, and sav'd us both
From our distressful fate; the prison doors
Were open'd by the king's unflatt'ring friends,
Who serv'd him as he was, and ought to be,
Ere his compact with ill, and led us forth
Beneath the moon to the hoarse-murm'ring flood.
There lay a bark, a suitor to the wind,
And many tears we shed, and wrung their hands,

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And had not voice to speak our gratitude.
Believe it, shepherd; in this orbed world,
This brave inheritor of day and night,
Not all the min'ral kingdoms, nor the fruits
Of all it's shores, can equal one true friend,
One old, one faithful, one substantial friend.

Ariel.
Or this is true, sweet lady, or the morn
Is not the fount of light.

Ariadne.
What then had we,
Who had so many, and so perfect friends,
That from this sudden danger we escap'd?

Ariel.
Great praise in this: but virtue has its meed;
And when it speaks in such an angel's voice,
And claims our pity, he that would not die,
And brave the tyrant, let him live, base wretch,
With his thrice-grinning honour, 'till he shame

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The marble, that shall lie upon his bones.
Forgive me, lady, for my homely speech,
For I had breeding in a shepherd's stall.

Ariadne.
O thou good shepherd, it were well indeed,
If they who hold the sceptre, had a tongue
To speak the dictates of so pure a mind.
What is in stalls, but what in courts might be,
If rightly understood, of all this life,
So blown abroad by heralds? 'tis a charge
Immediately from God, to tend their sheep,
To fence them from sharp hunger and the wolf,
To feed them, and protect them in all ills,
Like a good shepherd, and their gratitude,
Which is as true, as flowers to the sun,
Is more than musick of a poet's mind;
But this is understood by all but kings.
Yet I not say so: for my theme is drawn
From one example: and ill counsel reign'd,
Led by false love, throughout my father's house.

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Ariel.
Your words are like the honey of the spring,
Sweet and nutritious: lady, it is loss
To the brave world, when such a flow'ring mind
Lies idle and neglected, as the weed:
But this but for short time: I read it now,
That you, the unfather'd orphan of the winds,
Were by them blown to this our marble rock,
Your keel last come from Ilium?

Ariadne.
Shepherd, yes,
After long chase, until the stars grew pale,
From vile Marsaces, like a hungry hound,
That thinks to track down the o'er-chased deer.

Ariel.
Ill things are ever hasty to their fall.
Dear lady, now farewell; awhile I go,
With the sure hope to save you, ere the morn:
Sleep then, and doubt not the lord Marinell

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Will be the lark, to wake you at your rise.
Farewell, sweet lady.

Ariadne.
Shepherd, too farewell,
That have been true to me, a true farewell.

Ariel.

Farewell, sweet lady.

Now my scrip, and staff are gone,
And again I am my own,
On a moon-beam I will ride,
To the brave Corinthian tide,
Where the queen of Neptune dwells,
And they ring the twilight bells,
One, two, three, four, five, six, sev'n, eight,
To preserve their houses bright
From the ugly witch of night:

Who will, may follow me
O'er the bright and curved sea,

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For I go,
To let Amphitrite know,
With my pretty yes and no,
That these things are so and so:

But for Ariadne's sake,
Dew of cowslip I will take,
And with seeds of poppy slake,
Which into her porched ear
May dispel the ugly fear,
Pregnant with a maiden's dream,
Of which marriage is the theme.
Oaths, and vows, and kisses sweet
In her dainty fancy meet,
Prologue to the marriage sheet;
And white gloves, and knots, and rings,
And such pretty gawdes, and things,
As queen Mab in plenty flings:

Who will, may follow me
O'er the bright and curved sea;

200

For I go,
To let Amphitrite know,
With my pretty yes and no,
That these things are so and so.

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3. PART THE THIRD.

Amphitrite speaks.
How well has my bright Ariel play'd his part!
Now, if the leaves be green, when Procne pipes
Amid' the clouds with foretaste of the spring,
And Philomel her summer musick chants;
If dolphins in the purple wave pursued
Arion's ship, enamour'd of his song,
And carried the sweet soul to Tænarus;
I will compel Enceladus, who lies
Fast bound beneath the centre of the sea,
A thousand fathom down, the bolt of Jove

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Yet hardly sleeping, to declare what shore,
Or haven of this over-murm'ring sea
Contains Lord Marinell: for so his eye,
That never sleeps in ill captivity,
May have well traced; and my art is hid,
I know not by what greater power than mine;
Or evil else permitted for a while.
But what is this, sweet Ariel?

Ariel speaks.
'Tis a scrap
Of measur'd passion; for the truth more shines
In antick musick, so our lovers think,
Than in more homely prose. I pick'd it up,
Unseen of Ariadne, as she wept
Upon the marble rock; mistress, her tears
Undoing April in her fickle woe.

Marinell to Ariadne.
To live is but to love thee: thou art one,
Whom virtue may grow mad, and dote upon:
My goddess is thy soul; and, Oh! before
Her beauteous temple I fall down, t' adore:

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Thy only image, if in marble wrought,
Had all our nymphs into extinction brought;
How much more then, when we astonish'd hear
Thy words, that musick to our hallow'd ear,
Wherein all goodness, and all wisdom glows,
That earth expects, and great Olympus knows.
Think not this praise: 'tis but the simple part
Of thy perfection, wanting poets' art:
For he, who feels thy loveliness, must know
How much above thou art, and we below:
'Tis not in nature to express thy worth,
Or the complete production of thy birth,
But when I die with gazing and despair,
Men, in my heart, shall read thy image there.

Marinell to Ariadne.
The Gods, that pour'd so many graces on thee,
O Ariadne, making thee divine,
Let them with some compassion look upon me,
Else in this fortune I my soul resign.
The fire ambitious would to heav'n arise,
And ever hopes, yet never gains the skies,

204

Then from your true Olympus may you come,
And deign to build upon our earth your home.

Amphitrite.
I know not what he means, but that he loves,
And love oftimes confounds the finest wits,
Making what else were luminous and clear,
As is Aurora, like the misty eve.
But if it work in Ariadne's mind,
He is a poet, and young Love not blind.

Marinell to Ariadne, calling her Flora.

Sweet thy breath, as violets are,
When the balmy south-wind blows,
And like ruddy corn thy hair,
That no band or cincture knows,
Save one ribband, simply round,
From the which depends a pearl,
Kings, then, to this port be bound,
To admire this lovely girl.

And her eyes are like the star,
That in dewy morn is set,

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Ere Aurora's saffron car
With the Indian wave is wet;
And her bosom, spicy-sweet,
Like the Parian marble swells;
Kings, then, at this centre meet,
For love here has plac'd his spells.

And her waist is taper, fine
As the chalice, silver-wrought,
To contain the sacred wine:
But, O stay, my daring thought;
Let no tongue profane the sweets,
That in this fair temple be;
'Tis enough: in Flora meets
Love and immortality.

When she walks in female state,
Like Diana, O my soul,
Shall I die, or bless my fate,
That have liv'd in her controul?
Were my empire from the morn,
To where chaste Apollo dips,

206

That fine empire I would scorn,
But to die upon her lips.

Aye, this is love: and sure sweet Philomel
Has taught this passion'd poet half her art.

To Ariadne, calling her Flora.

How awful she, like Juno, looks,
That no least encroachment brooks,
Perfect Goddess of her state:
If I have offended her,
Then farewell the lightsome sphere—
I am wedded to my fate.

But again soft pity flows,
And from lips that breathe of rose,
Sweetest accents I have heard:
Now 'tis May, and Phœbus smiles
On the bright Hesperian isles—
I am to a God preferr'd.

Flora, my delight and love,
In whose praise the planets move,

207

Lighting this o'er-shady globe,
While the sea shall kiss the strand,
Or divine Hymettus stand,
I am vassal to thy robe.

Lay it again upon the rock, sweet bird.

Ariel.
Thou art obey'd, ere yet thy voice is heard.

Amphitrite speaks.

Awake, ye elements, for now I call
Enceladus to lift his monster head
Above the deep profound; and tell the truth,
All that he knows of Marinell.

Arise from out the briny deep,
Where for ages thou did'st sleep,
While the flood above thee roll'd,
Being to endless prison sold:
Arise, O monster, from thy hopeless state,
Lest greater ill be added to thy weight,
And worse damnation heap'd upon thy fate.

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Lest the polar winds should blow
From the lands of ice and snow;
Lest the fire from Ætna come,
To consume thee to thy doom;
Lest the mournful ocean flow
In all sounds of wat'ry woe,
And wash thy senses to and fro;
And the sky-pitched mountains frown,
And threat to break thy prison down;
Lest these, the warring elements,
Confound thee in their ill events,
And thou freeze, and burn, and rave
At the ever-doleful wave,
And the rocks, that threat thy grave;
Lest these dreadful things should be,
List, O monster, list to me,
And tell me, who am Neptune's wife,
What ill has darken'd Marinello's life.

Ariel speaks.
See, mistress, how he rears his horrid head,
Like endless Night, above the mournful wave;
And, hark, he speaks: thunder to this is calm.

209

Enceladus speaks.
Why am I troubled? can no wretch, but I,
Requite thy question, I, who hate thy house?
Oh, oh, accursed Jove! Marsaces took him,
As by the fountain in your isle he slept,
And chains him now aboard a furlong off:
For Ariadne, she was left to die.
Oh, oh, accursed Jove! now let me sleep.

Amphitrite speaks.
Sleep, and descend to everlasting sleep,
Or rather, wretch, to everlasting woe.
Descend, descend.

Ariel speaks.
The monster doth descend.

Amphitrite speaks.
I now perceive, my Ariel, that my foes
Have done me wrong, and evil arts have been,
Throwing dark clouds upon my orbed sight,
That with an eagle eye could pierce the world:

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Such agency has been, permitting Jove:
But to repair it; feather now your wings,
And over-fly the kite, that leads the wind,
Down flying to his prey; be falcons lame,
And the fleet antelope a drowsy wretch,
Compar'd with thee, my Ariel. To the isle
Be gone, be present where Marsaces floats;
Bid the keen light'ning quiver round his bark,
The frowning thunder howl, as earth had burst:
Flame on his masts, and on his rigged sides,
And in a sheet of fire involve his sails,
As if the gen'ral ruin had o'erta'en
The soul of his perdition: split his ship,
And hurl the wretch upon the rocky beach,
That he may taste the woe himself had plann'd,
And pine for food upon the marble marge.
But let the rest be safe: and see you lead
The ducal Thebes to Ariadne's side,
There join their hands, and give them gentle airs,
And summer seas to their espousal rites:
Do this, and I shall love thee.

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Ariel.
I will go
More fleet, than light'ning, to my loved task:
For I perceive, sweet mistress, there shall come
From this dear union all the world thinks good,
Peace, and true laws, and equal liberty:
Am I prophetick, O beloved queen?

Amphitrite speaks.
Thou art, my Ariel, and the world shall bless
The name of Ariadne, and her lord.
Go to thy task.

Ariel sings.

To please thee, my mistress dear,
I will skim the crystal sphere;
Or my flagging pinions steep
In the fountains of the deep;
I will fly from morn to eve,
Or till night the world deceive,
From the furthest pole to pole,
With a bright and joyous soul.

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Let the bells of Thebes be rung,
And the marriage hymn be sung,
And the house and palace vie
With the purple tapestry,
And the steer be free from yoke,
While the marble altars smoke,
And the maidens strew their flowers,
To delight these blissful hours.

Then will I,
In a bell of cowslip lie,
Happy with a twinkling eye,
And make all my pleasures meet
In my mistress' favour sweet.

Ariel's Song.

I dance upon the curled sea,
Come, follow me,
Ye tripping elves, and fairy bands,
Sporting on the chequer'd sands:
In the moon's brave sphere I ride,
Laughing at the fickle tide;

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Or on beds of sea-weed lie,
By king Neptune's courtesy.

Come, follow me,
And we will sweet Moppets be,
With the sea-duck we will dive,
With the queen-bee we will hive,
And when Sol is in the west,
And the May-bird gone to rest,
With the cuckoo we will nest.

Come, follow me,
O'er the bright and curved sea,
Ye, that elves and fairies be,
After summer merrily.