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 brest 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.
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 brest 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.