Dryden's Palamon and Arcite Part 5

The vanquished isle our leisure must attend, Till the fair blessing we vouchsafe to send; Nor can we spare you long, though often we may lend.

The dove was twice employed abroad, before The world was dried, and she returned no more.

Nor dare we trust so soft a messenger, New from her sickness, to that northern air; Rest here awhile your l.u.s.tre to restore, That they may see you, as you shone before; For yet, the eclipse not wholly past, you wade Through some remains and dimness of a shade.

A subject in his prince may claim a right, Nor suffer him with strength impaired to fight; Till force returns, his ardour we restrain, And curb his warlike wish to cross the main.

Now past the danger, let the learned begin The inquiry, where disease could enter in; How those malignant atoms forced their way, What in the faultless frame they found to make their prey, Where every element was weighed so well, That Heaven alone, who mixed the ma.s.s, could tell Which of the four ingredients could rebel; And where, imprisoned in so sweet a cage, A soul might well be pleased to pa.s.s an age.

And yet the fine materials made it weak; Porcelain by being pure is apt to break.

Even to your breast the sickness durst aspire, And forced from that fair temple to retire, Profanely set the holy place on fire.

In vain your lord, like young Vespasian, mourned, When the fierce flames the sanctuary burned; And I prepared to pay in verses rude A most detested act of grat.i.tude: Even this had been your Elegy, which now Is offered for your health, the table of my vow.

Your angel sure our Morley's mind inspired, To find the remedy your ill required; As once the Macedon, by Jove's decree, Was taught to dream an herb for Ptolemy: Or Heaven, which had such over-cost bestowed As scarce it could afford to flesh and blood, So liked the frame, he would not work anew, To save the charges of another you; Or by his middle science did he steer, And saw some great contingent good appear, Well worth a miracle to keep you here, And for that end preserved the precious mould, Which all the future Ormonds was to hold; And meditated, in his better mind, An heir from you who may redeem the failing kind.

Blessed be the power which has at once restored The hopes of lost succession to your lord; Joy to the first and last of each degree, Virtue to courts, and, what I longed to see, To you the Graces, and the Muse to me.

O daughter of the Rose, whose cheeks unite The differing t.i.tles of the Red and White; Who heaven's alternate beauty well display, The blush of morning and the milky way; Whose face is Paradise, but fenced from sin; For G.o.d in either eye has placed a cherubin.

All is your lord's alone; even absent, he Employs the care of chaste Penelope.

For him you waste in tears your widowed hours, For him your curious needle paints the flowers; Such works of old imperial dames were taught, Such for Ascanius fair Elisa wrought.

The soft recesses of your hours improve The three fair pledges of your happy love: All other parts of pious duty done, You owe your Ormond nothing but a son, To fill in future times his father's place, And wear the garter of his mother's race.

PALAMON AND ARCITE;

OR, THE KNIGHT'S TALE.

FROM CHAUCER.

BOOK I.

In days of old there lived, of mighty fame, A valiant Prince, and Theseus was his name; A chief, who more in feats of arms excelled, The rising nor the setting sun beheld.

Of Athens he was lord; much land he won, And added foreign countries to his crown.

In Scythia with the warrior Queen he strove, Whom first by force he conquered, then by love; He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame, With whom her sister, fair Emilia, came.

With honour to his home let Theseus ride, With Love to friend, and Fortune for his guide, And his victorious army at his side.

I pa.s.s their warlike pomp, their proud array, Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on the way; But, were it not too long, I would recite The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight Betwixt the hardy Queen and hero Knight; The town besieged, and how much blood it cost The female army, and the Athenian host; The spousals of Hippolyta the Queen; What tilts and turneys at the feast were seen; The storm at their return, the ladies' fear: But these and other things I must forbear.

The field is s.p.a.cious I design to sow With oxen far unfit to draw the plough: The remnant of my tale is of a length To tire your patience, and to waste my strength; And trivial accidents shall be forborn, That others may have time to take their turn, As was at first enjoined us by mine host, That he, whose tale is best and pleases most, Should win his supper at our common cost.

And therefore where I left, I will pursue This ancient story, whether false or true, In hope it may be mended with a new.

The Prince I mentioned, full of high renown, In this array drew near the Athenian town; When, in his pomp and utmost of his pride Marching, he chanced to cast his eye aside, And saw a quire of mourning dames, who lay By two and two across the common way: At his approach they raised a rueful cry, And beat their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and held their hands on high, Creeping and crying, till they seized at last His courser's bridle and his feet embraced.

"Tell me," said Theseus, "what and whence you are, "And why this funeral pageant you prepare?

Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds, To meet my triumph in ill-omened weeds?

Or envy you my praise, and would destroy With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy?

Or are you injured, and demand relief?

Name your request, and I will ease your grief."

The most in years of all the mourning train Began; but swounded first away for pain; Then scarce recovered spoke: "Nor envy we "Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory; 'Tis thine, O King, the afflicted to redress, And fame has filled the world with thy success: We wretched women sue for that alone, Which of thy goodness is refused to none; Let fall some drops of pity on our grief, If what we beg be just, and we deserve relief; For none of us, who now thy grace implore, But held the rank of sovereign queen before; Till, thanks to giddy Chance, which never bears That mortal bliss should last for length of years, She cast us headlong from our high estate, And here in hope of thy return we wait, And long have waited in the temple nigh, Built to the gracious G.o.ddess Clemency.

But reverence thou the power whose name it bears, Relieve the oppressed, and wipe the widows' tears.

I, wretched I, have other fortune seen, The wife of Capaneus, and once a Queen; At Thebes he fell; cursed be the fatal day!

And all the rest thou seest in this array To make their moan their lords in battle lost, Before that town besieged by our confederate host.

But Creon, old and impious, who commands The Theban city, and usurps the lands, Denies the rites of funeral fires to those Whose breathless bodies yet he calls his foes.

Unburned, unburied, on a heap they lie; Such is their fate, and such his tyranny; No friend has leave to bear away the dead, But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are fed."

At this she shrieked aloud; the mournful train Echoed her grief, and grovelling on the plain, With groans, and hands upheld, to move his mind, Besought his pity to their helpless kind.

The Prince was touched, his tears began to flow, And, as his tender heart would break in two, He sighed; and could not but their fate deplore, So wretched now, so fortunate before.

Then lightly from his lofty steed he flew, And raising one by one the suppliant crew, To comfort each, full solemnly he swore, That by the faith which knights to knighthood bore, And whate'er else to chivalry belongs, He would not cease, till he revenged their wrongs; That Greece should see performed what he declared, And cruel Creon find his just reward.

He said no more, but shunning all delay Rode on, nor entered Athens on his way; But left his sister and his queen behind, And waved his royal banner in the wind, Where in an argent field the G.o.d of War Was drawn triumphant on his iron car.

Red was his sword, and s.h.i.+eld, and whole attire, And all the G.o.dhead seemed to glow with fire; Even the ground glittered where the standard flew, And the green gra.s.s was dyed to sanguine hue.

High on his pointed lance his pennon bore His Cretan fight, the conquered Minotaur: The soldiers shout around with generous rage, And in that victory their own presage.

He praised their ardour, inly pleased to see His host, the flower of Grecian chivalry.

All day he marched, and all the ensuing night, And saw the city with returning light.

The process of the war I need not tell, How Theseus conquered, and how Creon fell; Or after, how by storm the walls were won, Or how the victor sacked and burned the town; How to the ladies he restored again The bodies of their lords in battle slain; And with what ancient rites they were interred; All these to fitter time shall be deferred: I spare the widows' tears, their woful cries, And howling at their husbands' obsequies; How Theseus at these funerals did a.s.sist, And with what gifts the mourning dames dismissed.

Thus when the victor chief had Creon slain, And conquered Thebes, he pitched upon the plain His mighty camp, and when the day returned, The country wasted and the hamlets burned, And left the pillagers, to rapine bred, Without control to strip and spoil the dead.

There, in a heap of slain, among the rest Two youthful knights they found beneath a load oppressed Of slaughtered foes, whom first to death they sent, The trophies of their strength, a b.l.o.o.d.y monument.

Both fair, and both of royal blood they seemed, Whom kinsmen to the crown the heralds deemed; That day in equal arms they fought for fame; Their swords, their s.h.i.+elds, their surcoats were the same: Close by each other laid they pressed the ground, Their manly bosoms pierced with many a grisly wound; Nor well alive nor wholly dead they were, But some faint signs of feeble life appear; The wandering breath was on the wing to part, Weak was the pulse, and hardly heaved the heart.

These two were sisters' sons; and Arcite one, Much famed in fields, with valiant Palamon.

From these their costly arms the spoilers rent, And softly both conveyed to Theseus' tent: Whom, known of Creon's line and cured with care, He to his city sent as prisoners of the war; Hopeless of ransom, and condemned to lie In durance, doomed a lingering death to die.

This done, he marched away with warlike sound, And to his Athens turned with laurels crowned, Where happy long he lived, much loved, and more renowned.

But in a tower, and never to be loosed, The woful captive kinsmen are enclosed.

Thus year by year they pa.s.s, and day by day, Till once ('twas on the morn of cheerful May) The young Emilia, fairer to be seen Than the fair lily on the flowery green, More fresh than May herself in blossoms new, (For with the rosy colour strove her hue,) Waked, as her custom was, before the day, To do the observance due to sprightly May; For sprightly May commands our youth to keep The vigils of her night, and breaks their sluggard sleep; Each gentle breast with kindly warmth she moves; Inspires new flames, revives extinguished loves.

In this remembrance Emily ere day Arose, and dressed herself in rich array; Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair, Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair: A ribband did the braided tresses bind, The rest was loose, and wantoned in the wind: Aurora had but newly chased the night, And purpled o'er the sky with blus.h.i.+ng light, When to the garden-walk she took her way, To sport and trip along in cool of day, And offer maiden vows in honour of the May. 190

At every turn she made a little stand, And thrust among the thorns her lily hand To draw the rose; and every rose she drew, She shook the stalk, and brushed away the dew;

Then party-coloured flowers of white and red She wove, to make a garland for her head: This done, she sung and carolled out so clear, That men and angels might rejoice to hear; Even wondering Philomel forgot to sing, And learned from her to welcome in the spring.

The tower, of which before was mention made, Within whose keep the captive knights were laid, Built of a large extent, and strong withal, Was one part.i.tion of the palace wall; The garden was enclosed within the square, Where young Emilia took the morning air.

It happened Palamon, the prisoner knight, Restless for woe, arose before the light, And with his jailor's leave desired to breathe An air more wholesome than the damps beneath.

This granted, to the tower he took his way, Cheered with the promise of a glorious day; Then cast a languis.h.i.+ng regard around, And saw with hateful eyes the temples crowned With golden spires, and all the hostile ground.

He sighed, and turned his eyes, because he knew 'Twas but a larger jail he had in view; Then looked below, and from the castle's height Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight; The garden, which before he had not seen, In spring's new livery clad of white and green, Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady walks between.

This viewed, but not enjoyed, with arms across He stood, reflecting on his country's loss; Himself an object of the public scorn, And often wished he never had been born.

At last (for so his destiny required), With walking giddy, and with thinking tired,

He through a little window cast his sight, Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty light; But even that glimmering served him to descry The inevitable charms of Emily.

Scarce had he seen, but, seized with sudden smart, Stung to the quick, he felt it at his heart; Struck blind with overpowering light he stood, Then started back amazed, and cried aloud.

Young Arcite heard; and up he ran with haste, To help his friend, and in his arms embraced; And asked him why he looked so deadly wan, And whence, and how, his change of cheer began?

Or who had done the offence? "But if," said he, "Your grief alone is hard captivity, For love of Heaven with patience undergo A cureless ill, since Fate will have it so: So stood our horoscope in chains to lie, And Saturn in the dungeon of the sky, Or other baleful aspect, ruled our birth, When all the friendly stars were under earth; Whate'er betides, by Destiny 'tis done; And better bear like men than vainly seek to shun."

Nor of my bonds," said Palamon again, Nor of unhappy planets I complain; But when my mortal anguish caused my cry, The moment I was hurt through either eye; Pierced with a random shaft, I faint away, And perish with insensible decay: A glance of some new G.o.ddess gave the wound, Whom, like Actaeon, unaware I found.

Look how she walks along yon shady s.p.a.ce; Not Juno moves with more majestic grace, And all the Cyprian queen is in her face.