National Epics Part 48

Thus Pyrrhus, burning with unmanly ire, Fulfilled the mandate of his furious sire; Disdainful of the frantic matron's prayer, On fair Polyxena, her last fond care, He rush'd, his blade yet warm with Priam's gore, And dash'd the daughter on the sacred floor; While mildly she her raving mother eyed, Resigned her bosom to the sword, and died.

Thus Inez, while her eyes to heaven appeal, Resigns her bosom to the murd'ring steel: That snowy neck, whose matchless form sustain'd The loveliest face, where all the graces reign'd, Whose charms so long the gallant prince enflam'd, That her pale corse was Lisbon's queen proclaim'd, That snowy neck was stain'd with spouting gore, Another sword her lovely bosom tore.

The flowers that glisten'd with her tears bedew'd, Now shrunk and languished with her blood embru'd.

As when a rose ere-while of bloom so gay, Thrown from the careless virgin's breast away, Lies faded on the plain, the living red, The snowy white, and all its fragrance fled; So from her cheeks the roses died away, And pale in death the beauteous Inez lay: With dreadful smiles, and crimson'd with her blood, Round the wan victim the stern murd'rers stood, Unmindful of the sure, though future hour, Sacred to vengeance and her lover's power.

O Sun, couldst thou so foul a crime behold, Nor veil thine head in darkness, as of old A sudden night unwonted horror cast O'er that dire banquet, where the sire's repast The son's torn limbs supplied!--Yet you, ye vales!

Ye distant forests, and ye flow'ry dales!

When pale and sinking to the dreadful fall, You heard her quiv'ring lips on Pedro call; Your faithful echoes caught the parting sound, And Pedro! Pedro! mournful, sigh'd around.

Nor less the wood-nymphs of Mondego's groves Bewail'd the memory of her hapless loves: Her griefs they wept, and, to a plaintive rill Transform'd their tears, which weeps and murmurs still.

To give immortal pity to her woe They taught the riv'let through her bowers to flow, And still, through violet-beds, the fountain pours Its plaintive wailing, and is named Amours.

Nor long her blood for vengeance cried in vain: Her gallant lord begins his awful reign, In vain her murderers for refuge fly, Spain's wildest hills no place of rest supply.

The injur'd lover's and the monarch's ire, And stern-brow'd Justice in their doom conspire: In hissing flames they die, and yield their souls in fire.

_Mickle's Translation, Canto III._

THE SPIRIT OF THE CAPE.

Vasco de Gama relates the incidents of his voyage from Portugal to the King of Melinda. The southern cross had appeared in the heavens and the fleet was approaching the southern point of Africa. While at anchor in a bay the Portuguese aroused the hostility of the savages, and hastily set sail.

"Now, prosp'rous gales the bending canvas swell'd; From these rude sh.o.r.es our fearless course we held: Beneath the glist'ning wave the G.o.d of day Had now five times withdrawn the parting ray, When o'er the prow a sudden darkness spread, And, slowly floating o'er the mast's tall head A black cloud hover'd: nor appear'd from far The moon's pale glimpse, nor faintly twinkling star; So deep a gloom the low'ring vapor cast, Transfix'd with awe the bravest stood aghast.

Meanwhile, a hollow bursting roar resounds, As when hoa.r.s.e surges lash their rocky mounds; Nor had the black'ning wave nor frowning heav'n The wonted signs of gath'ring tempest giv'n.

Amazed we stood. 'O thou, our fortune's guide, Avert this omen, mighty G.o.d!' I cried; 'Or, through forbidden climes adventurous stray'd, Have we the secrets of the deep survey'd, Which these wide solitudes of seas and sky Were doom'd to hide from man's unhallow'd eye?

Whate'er this prodigy, it threatens more Than midnight tempests, and the mingled roar, When sea and sky combine to rock the marble sh.o.r.e.'

"I spoke, when rising through the darken'd air, Appall'd, we saw a hideous phantom glare; High and enormous o'er the flood he tower'd, And 'thwart our way with sullen aspect lower'd: An earthy paleness o'er his cheeks was spread, Erect uprose his hairs of wither'd red; Writhing to speak, his sable lips disclose, Sharp and disjoin'd, his gnas.h.i.+ng teeth's blue rows; His haggard beard flow'd quiv'ring on the wind, Revenge and horror in his mien combin'd; His clouded front, by with'ring lightnings scar'd, The inward anguish of his soul declar'd.

His red eyes, glowing from their dusky caves, Shot livid fires: far echoing o'er the waves His voice resounded, as the cavern'd sh.o.r.e With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar.

Cold gliding horrors thrill'd each hero's breast, Our bristling hair and tott'ring knees confess'd Wild dread, the while with visage ghastly wan, His black lips trembling, thus the fiend began:--

"'O you, the boldest of the nations, fir'd By daring pride, by l.u.s.t of fame inspir'd, Who, scornful of the bow'rs of sweet repose, Through these my waves advance your fearless prows, Regardless of the length'ning wat'ry way, And all the storms that own my sov'reign sway, Who, mid surrounding rocks and shelves explore Where never hero brav'd my rage before; Ye sons of Lusus, who with eyes profane Have view'd the secrets of my awful reign, Have pa.s.sed the bounds which jealous Nature drew To veil her secret shrine from mortal view; Hear from my lips what direful woes attend, And, bursting soon, shall o'er your race descend.

"'With every bounding keel that dares my rage, Eternal war my rocks and storms shall wage, The next proud fleet that through my drear domain, With daring search shall hoist the streaming vane, That gallant navy, by my whirlwinds toss'd, And raging seas, shall perish on my coast: Then he, who first my secret reign descried, A naked corpse, wide floating o'er the tide, Shall drive--Unless my heart's full raptures fail, O Lusus! oft shall thou thy children wail; Each year thy s.h.i.+pwreck'd sons thou shalt deplore, Each year thy sheeted masts shall strew my sh.o.r.e.

"'With trophies plum'd behold a hero come, Ye dreary wilds, prepare his yawning tomb.

Though smiling fortune bless'd his youthful morn, Though glory's rays his laurell'd brows adorn, Full oft though he beheld with sparkling eye The Turkish moons in wild confusion fly, While he, proud victor, thunder'd in the rear, All, all his mighty fame shall vanish here.

Quiloa's sons, and thine, Mombaz, shall see Their conqueror bend his laurell'd head to me; While, proudly mingling with the tempest's sound, Their shouts of joy from every cliff rebound.

"'The howling blast, ye slumb'ring storms prepare, A youthful lover and his beauteous fair Triumphant sail from India's ravag'd land; His evil angel leads him to my strand.

Through the torn hulk the das.h.i.+ng waves shall roar, The shatter'd wrecks shall blacken all my sh.o.r.e.

Themselves escaped, despoil'd by savage hands, Shall, naked, wander o'er the burning sands, Spar'd by the waves far deeper woes to bear, Woes, e'en by me, acknowledg'd with a tear.

Their infant race, the promis'd heirs of joy, Shall now, no more, a hundred hands employ; By cruel want, beneath the parents' eye, In these wide wastes their infant race shall die; Through dreary wilds, where never pilgrim trod Where caverns yawn, and rocky fragments nod, The hapless lover and his bride shall stray, By night unshelter'd, and forlorn by day.

In vain the lover o'er the trackless plain Shall dart his eyes, and cheer his spouse in vain.

Her tender limbs, and breast of mountain snow, Where, ne'er before, intruding blast might blow, Parch'd by the sun, and shrivell'd by the cold Of dewy night, shall he, fond man, behold.

Thus, wand'ring wide, a thousand ills o'er past, In fond embraces they shall sink at last; While pitying tears their dying eyes o'erflow, And the last sigh shall wail each other's woe.

"'Some few, the sad companions of their fate, Shall yet survive, protected by my hate, On Tagus' banks the dismal tale to tell, How, blasted by my frown, your heroes fell.'

"He paus'd, in act still further to disclose A long, a dreary prophecy of woes: When springing onward, loud my voice resounds, And midst his rage the threat'ning shade confounds.

"'What art thou, horrid form that rid'st the air?

By Heaven's eternal light, stern fiend, declare.'

His lips he writhes, his eyes far round he throws, And, from his breast, deep hollow groans arose, Sternly askance he stood: with wounded pride And anguish torn, 'In me, behold,' he cried, While dark-red sparkles from his eyeb.a.l.l.s roll'd, 'In me the Spirit of the Cape behold, That rock, by you the Cape of Tempests nam'd, By Neptune's rage, in horrid earthquakes fram'd, When Jove's red bolts o'er t.i.tan's offspring flam'd.

With wide-stretch'd piles I guard the pathless strand, And Afric's southern mound, unmov'd, I stand: Nor Roman prow, nor daring Tyrian oar Ere dash'd the white wave foaming to my sh.o.r.e; Nor Greece nor Carthage ever spread the sail On these my seas, to catch the trading gale.

You, you alone have dar'd to plough my main, And with the human voice disturb my lonesome reign."

"He spoke, and deep a lengthen'd sigh he drew, A doleful sound, and vanish'd from the view: The frighten'd billows gave a rolling swell, And, distant far, prolong'd the dismal yell, Faint and more faint the howling echoes die, And the black cloud dispersing, leaves the sky.

High to the angel-host, whose guardian care Had ever round us watch'd, my hands I rear, And Heaven's dread King implore: 'As o'er our head The fiend dissolv'd, an empty shadow fled; So may his curses, by the winds of heav'n, Far o'er the deep, their idle sport, be driv'n!'"

With sacred horror thrill'd, Melinda's lord Held up the eager hand, and caught the word.

"Oh, wondrous faith of ancient days," he cries, "Concealed in mystic lore and dark disguise!

Taught by their sires, our h.o.a.ry fathers tell, On these rude sh.o.r.es a giant spectre fell, What time from heaven the rebel band were thrown: And oft the wand'ring swain has heard his moan.

While o'er the wave the clouded moon appears To hide her weeping face, his voice he rears O'er the wild storm. Deep in the days of yore, A holy pilgrim trod the nightly sh.o.r.e; Stern groans he heard; by ghostly spells controll'd, His fate, mysterious, thus the spectre told:

"'By forceful t.i.tan's warm embrace compress'd, The rock-ribb'd mother, Earth, his love confess'd: The hundred-handed giant at a birth, And me, she bore, nor slept my hopes on earth; My heart avow'd my sire's ethereal flame; Great Adamastor, then, my dreaded name.

In my bold brother's glorious toils engaged, Tremendous war against the G.o.ds I waged: Yet, not to reach the throne of heaven I try, With mountain pil'd on mountain to the sky; To me the conquest of the seas befell, In his green realm the second Jove to quell.

Nor did ambition all my pa.s.sions hold, 'Twas love that prompted an attempt so bold.

Ah me, one summer in the cool of day, I saw the Nereids on the sandy bay, With lovely Thetis from the wave advance In mirthful frolic, and the naked dance.

In all her charms reveal'd the G.o.ddess trod, With fiercest fires my struggling bosom glow'd; Yet, yet I feel them burning in my heart, And hopeless, languish with the raging smart.

For her, each G.o.ddess of the heavens I scorn'd, For her alone my fervent ardor burn'd.

In vain I woo'd her to the lover's bed, From my grim form, with horror, mute she fled.

Madd'ning with love, by force I ween to gain The silver G.o.ddess of the blue domain; To the h.o.a.r mother of the Nereid band I tell my purpose, and her aid command: By fear impell'd, old Doris tried to move, And win the spouse of Peleus to my love.

The silver G.o.ddess with a smile replies, 'What nymph can yield her charms a giant's prize!

Yet, from the horrors of a war to save, And guard in peace our empire of the wave, Whate'er with honor he may hope to gain, That, let him hope his wish shall soon attain.'

The promis'd grace infus'd a bolder fire, And shook my mighty limbs with fierce desire.

But ah, what error spreads its dreadful night, What phantoms hover o'er the lover's sight!

"The war resign'd, my steps by Doris led, While gentle eve her shadowy mantle spread, Before my steps the snowy Thetis shone In all her charms, all naked, and alone.

Swift as the wind with open arms I sprung, And, round her waist with joy delirious clung: In all the transports of the warm embrace, A hundred kisses on her angel face, On all its various charms my rage bestows, And, on her cheek, my cheek enraptur'd glows.

When oh, what anguish while my shame I tell!

What fix'd despair, what rage my bosom swell!

Here was no G.o.ddess, here no heavenly charms, A rugged mountain fill'd my eager arms, Whose rocky top, o'erhung with matted brier, Received the kisses of my am'rous fire.

Wak'd from my dream, cold horror freez'd my blood; Fix'd as a rock, before the rock I stood; 'O fairest G.o.ddess of the ocean train, Behold the triumph of thy proud disdain; Yet why,' I cried, 'with all I wish'd decoy, And, when exulting in the dream of joy, A horrid mountain to mine arms convey?'

Madd'ning I spoke, and furious sprung away.

Far to the south I sought the world unknown, Where I, unheard, unscorn'd, might wail alone, My foul dishonor, and my tears to hide, And shun the triumph of the G.o.ddess' pride.

My brothers, now, by Jove's red arm o'erthrown, Beneath huge mountains pil'd on mountains groan; And I, who taught each echo to deplore, And tell my sorrows to the desert sh.o.r.e, I felt the hand of Jove my crimes pursue, My stiff'ning flesh to earthy ridges grew, And my huge bones, no more by marrow warm'd, To horrid piles, and ribs of rock transform'd, Yon dark-brow'd cape of monstrous size became, Where, round me still, in triumph o'er my shame, The silv'ry Thetis bids her surges roar, And waft my groans along the dreary sh.o.r.e.'"

_Mickle's Translation, Canto V_.

THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED.

The Gerusalemme Liberata, or Jerusalem Delivered, was written by Torquato Ta.s.so, who was born at Sorrento, March 11, 1544. He was educated at Naples, Urbino, Rome, Venice, Padua, and Bologna. In 1572 he attached himself to the court of Ferrara, which he had visited in 1565 in the suite of the Cardinal d'Este, and by whose duke he had been treated with great consideration. Here his pastoral drama "Aminta" was written and performed, and here he began to write his epic. The duke, angry because of Ta.s.so's affection for his sister Eleanora, and fearful lest the poet should dedicate his poem to the Medicis, whom he visited in 1575, and into whose service he was asked to enter, kept him under strict surveillance, and pretended to regard him as insane. Feigning sympathy and a desire to restore his mind, he had the unfortunate poet confined in a mad-house.

Ta.s.so escaped several times, but each time returned in the hope of a reconciliation with the duke. During his confinement his poem was published without his permission: first in 1580, a very imperfect version; in 1581, a genuine one. This at once brought him great fame; but while its publishers made a fortune, Ta.s.so received nothing. Neither did the duke relent, although powerful influences were brought to bear on him. Ta.s.so was not released until 1586, and then, broken in health, he pa.s.sed the rest of his life in Rome and Naples, living on charity, though treated with great honor. He died in Rome, April 25, 1595, just before he was to have been crowned at the capitol.