Classic Poem

Canto the Fifth

Through royal blood to level that dark way
Which rebels pass unto the injured throne,
Pharonnida is now condemned to pay
A debt for crimes that none durst call her own.

When near the last step, brave Argalia, who
In close disguise truth's secrets had betrayed,
When most did doubt 'twas now too late to sue
To Heaven for pity, brings a timely aid.

If on those vanished heroes that are fled
Through the unknown dark chasms of the dead,
To rest in regions so remote from hence —
'Twixt them and life there 's no intelligence,
Whene'er thou look'st through time's dim optics, then
Brave emulation of those braver men
Rouses that ray of heaven — thy soul, to be
A sharer in their fame's eternity;
Thou 'st then a genius fit to entertain
A muse's flight: which may be raised again
To sing thy actions, when there 's left no more
Of thee, but what by life, whilst passing o'er
Nature's short stage, had either scattered been
By careless youth, or firmly planted in
Maturer age; whose wasted talent spent,
Those were his friends — This is his monument
Is all, except some muse thy life records,
That to thy worth the unthankful world affords.
But if thy uninspired soul do bear
A lower sail, which, flagging with the care
Of humid pleasures, ne'er is swelled into
Sublimer thoughts, then such as only view
Earth for its object, which ne'er yet did len
Her favorites more than what they here do spend
To improve her barren wants, may none rehearse
Thy name — beneath the dignity of verse,
But trivial flatterers, such as strive to gain
Thy favor from ephemeras of the brain,
Unsalted jests! Pleased at whose painted fire
I leave fond thee in vapor to expire,
Whilst from thy living shadow I return
To crown the dust in brave Argalia's urn.
From common Fame, that wild impostor,
Had often heard what love denied should be
For truth admitted — his Pharonnida
Accused for sins which envy strove to draw
Objects for Heaven's severest wrath; and now,
Ere his considerate judgment would allow
Report for real, secret messengers
To Corinth sends; who, ill-informed, transfers
His further trouble, in confirming what,
Whilst others wept for, he, transported at
So sad a change in her whose virtue had
Inflamed his thoughts, by passion near unclad
His soul of all his robes of flesh, which now
So loosely hung, as if she practised how
To strip herself, should unexpected death
To heaven's hard course call forth the nimble breath.
Could earth here conquer, or had it within
The power of whatsoe'er is mortal been,
T' have wrought disorders of amazement, where
The noble soul such true consent did bear
With the harmonious angels, (he in all
His acts like them appears, or, ere his fall,
Perhaps like man, that he could only be
Distinguished from some hallowed hierarchy,
By being clothed in the specific veil
Of flesh and blood), this grief might then prevail
Over his perfect temper, but he bears
These weights as if unfelt; on his soul wears
The sable robes of sorrow, whilst his cheek
Is dressed in scarlet smiles; no frown his sleek
And even front contracts — like to a slow
And quiet stream, his obscured thoughts did flow,
With greater depths than could be fathomed by
The beamy lines of a judicious eye.
Whilst those good angels, which fond men call wit
Reformed by age, did all in council sit,
To steer those thoughts by which he did attend
Pharonnida's escape, they to this end
At length reduced his counsels: — That he must
To succour her leave groveling in the dust
His kingdom, which being by domestic strife
Late wounded, was but newly rubbed to life:
Yet since that there to her redemption lay
In all the progress of his thoughts no way
Less full of danger, such of 's lords as he
Honored for age, and praised for loyalty,
Called to a secret council, he discovers
His fixed resolves; which they, though now no lovers,
With such consenting souls did hear, that though
They knew his danger might e'en fear outgrow,
They, to oppose that score of cowards, brings
His vows, his sacred vows, those sceptred kings
Which justly rule the conscience, that awed by
Usurping fear submits to tyranny.
Their first proposals, whence their judgment sought
To hide his absence, to conclusion brought,
They thence proceed to level him a way
Through that thick swarm of enemies that lay
Circling the walls; where reason stays awhile
In various censure, ere 't could reconcile
Their differing judgments; but at length in this,
As that which in this danger's dark abyss
Seems to lend fear most of the helpful light
Of hope, concludes — That when succeeding night
With strength of age was grown so gravely staid,
That dark designs feared not to be betrayed
B' the wanton twilight, he in close disguise,
Whilst some of 's troops diverted by surprise
His watchful foes, might pass their guards; which done,
Their care might be with 's further march begun.
In dismal darkness — that black throne of fear,
Night's silent empress awed the hemisphere;
When now Argalia's ready troops, with slow
And noiseless marches issued through their low
Close salliports, are swiftly rallied by
Such as had long taught valour how to die
For honor's rescue — captains that had been,
From youth's first bud till age was reverenced in
Her honored scars, such strict disciples to
War's hardest precepts, that their fame outgrew
Their power, which that had so authentic made,
Where fear was scorned, they were for love obeyed.
By these brave heroes, which had often led
Armies to sleep in honor's purple bed,
The prince assisted, was with secret haste,
By ways where fear no sentinel had placed,
Drawn near the leaguer; which, the alarum took
From a stormed fort, had with such speed forsook
Their huts, that haste, which was intended to
Preserve, being now to wild confusion grew,
Helps to destroy. In undistinguished sounds,
Which not inform, but frighted sense confounds
With wild amazement, the unnoted words
Even of command are lost; no ear affords
Room for advice, nor the most serious eye
A place for order; ensigns vainly fly,
Since unperceived, through the dark air, which in
A storm ne'er knew more tumult than had been,
Since first their fear on this alarum fled
From reason, through the troubled leaguer spread.
In this loud horror, whilst they need no lamp
To guide them more than their own flaming camp,
His frighted foes, fled from their quarter, lend
The prince some hope this sudden charge might end
Their slow-paced siege; yet since approaching day,
Persuading haste, denies his longer stay,
The power to those commanders left, which he
For valour knew might force from victory
Unwilling laurels, though their judgment such,
Those hallowed wreaths they ne'er durst rashly touch,
He leaves (when first his sword, which none did spare
Within its reach, had of his being there
Left bloody marks) the conquered foes, to find
Out sterner foes in his afflicted mind:
Which, since usurping doubt with peaceful love
For empire strove, taught passion how to move
In spheres so differing from his reason's right
Ascension, that his cares' protracted night
From this oblique position caused, had made
His sorrow tedious as those nights which shade
Cold arctic regions, when the absent sun
Doth underneath the antarctic tropic run.
This passage forced through his obstructed foes,
That now the treacherous day might not disclose
Him, whilst unguarded, to their view that might
In larger troops pursue a baser flight,
Through deep dark paths, which ne'er t' the sun had shown
Their uncouth shades, being to all unknown
Save neighbouring rurals, he, conducted by
A faithful guide, directs his liberty
Towards stately Corinth. Near whose confines, ere
Six morning dews had cooled the hemisphere,
Arrived in safety, that kind heaven might bless
His future actions with desired success
To seek to them, he first sought those that in
The wane of's blood had life's supporters been,
Those holy hermits, to whose art he owed
For life, next heaven, which first that gift bestowed.
Come to their quiet cell, where all receive
Him with a wonder that did hardly leave
A room for welcome, till their fear had, in
A full relation of his fortune, been
Changed for as much of sanguine mirth as they
Could know, that had religion's cool allay
To check delight. He being retired with him,
Whose first discoveries in his fortunes' dim
Imperfect light directed him to know
His royal offspring, lets his language flow
With so much freedom as discovers what,
Whilst he by active war was aiming at
His kingdom's safety, called him thence to save
Sweet virtue from an ignominious grave.
The fatal story heard by him, whose love
Fixed by religion, passion could not move,
Although he pitied all the afflicted, to
More softness than what had its offspring drew
From Heaven's strict precepts, which are then misspent
When easy man mistakes the innocent;
Since what permits hypocrisy to win
Remorse, by mercy doth but cherish sin.
Which to avoid, ere his consent approve
Of the design, neglecting all which love,
Prompted by pity, could allege to draw
Him to the combat, though he in it saw
Nought to defend but innocence, since in
That shape deluded, charity hath been
Too oft deceived; that his victorious sword
Might not, but where fair justice could afford
Victory, be drawn, he, like a Pharos placed
'Mongst rocks of doubt, thus rectifies his haste: —
" Take heed, brave prince, that, in this doubtful way
'Twixt love and honor, thy bright virtues stray
Not from religion's latitude into
More dangerous stations; reason's slender clew
Is here too short to guide thee, and may in
Its conduct but obliquely lead to sin.
Be cautious then, and rashly venture not
On unknown depths, where valour seems begot
By vain presumption. Mortal beauty, that
Imperfect type of heaven, though wondered at,
Yet may not be so much adored to make
Our passions heaven's directing road mistake.
" Though thy affections were legitimate
As man's first choice, since in that happy state
Of innocence frail woman then found out
A way to fall, still let thy reason doubt
The same deceit, since that affected she
Which thou ador'st, yet wears mortality;
A garment which, since man first wore, hath been
But once cast off without some spots of sin.
Yet, know, my counsel strives not to prevent
Thy sword's assisting of the innocent;
As much of mercy on neglect being spilt,
As there 's got vengeance from presumptuous guilt.
Only, before thy valour dares to tread
This rubric path, whose slippery steps have led
So oft to ruin, let religion be
Thy prompter unto so much policy
As may secure thy conscience; which to do,
Claim my assistance as thy virtue's due. "
The grateful prince with lowly looks had paid
His thankful offerings, when, that promised aid
Might not fall short of expectation, he,
Whose words, like vows that hold affinity
With heaven, breathed nought but constant truth, did thus
Proceed towards action: — " Whilst, loved prince, with us
Of this poor convent, you, by wounds restrained
From action, lived; you know that what 's contained
In our calm doctrine, gives us leave to be
So intimate with each society,
No secret, though masked in the clouds of sin,
Flies those discoveries which inform us in
Their last confessions; by which means you may
Know whether justice calls your sword to pay
These bloody offerings, as a victim to
The appeasing of an inward virtue due. "
By this advice instructed to convince
What love suggests, the apprehensive prince,
Since this includes nothing but what 's too just
To disobey, although he all mistrust
Of her, like sin, avoids, consents to be
Ruled by his counsel, whose assistance he
So oft successful found. Which, that delay,
That slow-paced sin, might not obstruct the way
With time's too oft neglected loss, he now
So fast toward action hastes, they could allow
The night scarce time to steal a dark retreat,
Ere, having left that melancholy seat,
Devotion's dark retiring place, he goes
To see how much her frowns did discompose
That city's dress, of whom he'd ne'er a sight
Before, but when 'twas polished with delight.
His arms, bright honor's burnished robes, into
Such weeds as showed him to the public view
A coarse monastic, changed; attended by
His aged friend, soon as the morning's eye
Adorned the east, the prosperous prince began
His pious journey; which, before the sun
Blushed in the west, found a successful end
In clouded Corinth. Where arrived, they spend
The hours of the succeeding night to find
How, in that factious troubled sea, inclined
The city stood; whose shallow sons dare vent
By nothing but their tongues, that discontent
Their hands might cure, were not those useful parts
Restrained from action by unmanly hearts,
Which being at once with grief and fear opprest,
Durst do no more but pity the distrest;
Which gentle passion, since so general, lends
Some light of hope to her inquiring friends.
To usher in that dismal day, whose light
Designed to lead into eternal night
As much of beauty as did e'er give place
To death, the morning shows her gloomy face
Wrapped up in clouds, whose heavy vapors had
Hung heaven in black; when, to perform the sad
And serious office of confessors to
Those royal sufferers, whom harsh fates pursue
To death's dark confines, through their guard of foes
Argalia and his grave assistant goes.
Where he, whose love to neither did surmount
His zeal, to take the Cyprian's last account
Himself addressed; whilst his kind passions lead
Argalia from Pharonnida, to read
Her life's last story, made authentic by
The near approach of her eternity.
Entered the room, which to his startled sight
Appeared like sorrow sepulchred in night,
So dismal sad, so silent, that the cold
Retreat of death, the grave, did ne'er unfold
A heavier object; by a sickly light,
Which was e'en then to the artificial night
That filled the room resigning 'ts reign, he saw
Grief's fairest draught, divine Pharonnida,
Amidst her tears, fallen like a full-blown flower,
Whose polished leaves, o'erburthened with a shower,
Drop from their beauties in the pride of day
To deck the earth. — So sadly pining lay
The pensive princess, whom an ecstacy
Of passion led to practise how to die,
In such abstracted contemplations, that
Angels forsook their thrones to wonder at.
Wet with those tears, in whose elixir she
Was bathing of the lilies nursery,
Her bloodless cheeks; her trembling hand sustained
A book, which, what Heaven's mercy hath ordained
For a support to human frailty in
Storms of affliction, lay; which, as she'd been
Now so well in repentant lectures read,
That faith was on the wings of knowledge fled
To meditation, her unactive grief
Lets softly fall, whilst time, wise nature's thief,
That all might look like sorrow's swarthy night,
Is stealing forth of the neglected light;
Whose sullen flame, as it would sympathize
With those quenched beams that once adorned her eyes,
After a feeble blaze, that spoke its strife
But vain, in silence weeps away its life.
Come to behold this beauteous monument
Of mourning passion, his great spirits spent
On love and wonder, the astonished prince
Here silent stands, valour could not convince
His wild amazement. To behold her lie,
By rigid laws restrained from liberty,
To whom his soul was captive, troubles all
His reason's guards: but when, how she must fall
From beauteous youth and virtuous life, to be
One of the grave's obscure society, —
Must fall no martyr, whose lamented death
Grows pity's object, but depart with breath
'Mongst ignominious clouds of guilt, that must
Stick an eternal odium on her dust;
That thought transports him from his temper to
Passions, in which he had forgot to do
His priestly office; and, in rage as high
As ever yet inflamed humanity,
Sent him to actions, whose attempt had been
The road his valour must have perished in,
Had not her sorrow's agony forsook
The princess. By whose first unsteady look,
He, being as far as his disguise gave leave
Discovered, is invited to receive
Those last confessions, in whose freedom she
Seeks by absolving comforts how to free
Her soul of all which a religious fear
Like spots on her white conscience made appear.
Having from her unburthened soul learned how
To ease his own, the priestly prince had now,
As far as bold humanity durst dive
Into remission, Heaven's prerogative,
Pronounced that pardon for whose seal there stood
The sin polluted world's redeeming blood:
By which blest voice raised from what did appear
Like sorrow, till her faith had banished fear,
The princess, in such gentle calms of joy
As souls that wear their bodies but to cloy
Celestial flights can feel, to entertain
Her fatal doom with a resolved disdain
Of death, prepares. Whilst he, whom Heaven to her
Had made their mercy's happy messenger,
Forsaking her, repairs to him that had
With the same hand the Cyprian's thoughts unclad.
By whom informed, how that in their defence
His sword protected nought but innocence;
Armed with those blessings which so just a cause
Proclaimed his due, he secretly withdraws
To change those emblems of religious peace,
Monastic robes, for such as might encrease
Their joy and wonder, whose contracted fear
Despaired to see a combatant appear,
Although they knew his sword defended then
The best of causes 'gainst the worst of men.
Whilst he prepares, with near as much of speed
As incorporeal substances that need
But will for motion, to defend her in
The assaults of death, that hour, which long had been
The dreadful expectation of those friends
That pitied her, arrived, in sorrow ends
Fear's cold disease. Those ministers of fate,
The props to all that's illegitimate,
The army, to suppress the weak essays
Of love or pity, guarded had the ways
By which illegal power conducted her
From that dark room, grief's curtained theatre,
To be beheld upon the public stage,
The glory, yet the scandal of the age;
Which two extremes met on the scaffold in
A princess' suffering, and a people's sin.
Which now, joined to the dreadful pomp that calls
His subjects to attend the funerals
Of her loved father, whose life's virtues won
Tears for his death, thus solemnly begun.
Removed no farther from the city then
An hour's short walk, though undertaken when
Sol raged in Cancer, might with ease convey
Scorched travellers, a dismal temple lay,
In a dark valley, where more antient times
Had perpetrated those religious crimes
Of human offerings to those idols that
Their hands made, for their hearts to tremble at.
Yet this, since now made venerable by
Those reverend relics of antiquity,
The Spartan princes' monuments, by those
Of latter times, though altered faith, is chose
For their retreat, when life's extinguished glory
Sought rest beneath a silent dormitory.
Nor stood this fabric all alone; long since
A palace, by some melancholy prince
Which hated light, or loved the darkness, built
To please his humor, or conceal his guilt,
So near it stood, to distant eyes which sent
Thither their beams, it seemed one monument;
Whose sable roof 'mongst cypress shadows fills
The deep dark basis of those barren hills
With such a mournful majesty, as strook
A terror into each beholder's look,
Awful as if some deity had made
That gloomy vale to be the sacred shade,
Where he chose in enigmas to relate
The dark decrees of man's uncertain fate.
Betwixt this temple and the city stood,
In squadrons thick as shows an antient wood
To distant sight, the army, placed to be
In this sad march their guilt's security;
Whose glittering swords shone, as if drawn to light
Day's beauties to the palace of the night.
Toward which the prisoners, yet detained within
The city, in this dreadful pomp begin
Their mournful march, led by that doleful call
By which loud war proclaims a funeral.
Those that had been the common guards unto
The murdered princes, to the people's view
Are first presented; on an ebon spear
Each bore a scutcheon, where there did appear
The arms which once adorned those princes shields,
Sadly displayed within their sable fields.
Next these, some troops, whose prosperous valour in
Their courts, had steps unto preferment been,
Come slowly on; but slowlier followed are
By elder captains, such whom busy war,
Whose victories had their youth in honor died,
As useless now for council laid aside.
I' the rear of these, the officers of state,
Grave as they'd been of council unto Fate,
I' the purple robes of royal mourners clad,
With heavy pace conducted in a sad
And dismal object — two black chariots, drawn
Like hideous night when it assaults the dawn
In dreadful shadows; where, to fright the day
With sadder objects, on black herses lay
The effigies of the murdered princes; in
Whose form those spots of treason that had been
Fate's agents to unravel Nature's law,
In bloody marks the mourning people saw.
At which sad sight, from silent sorrow they
Advanced, had let external grief betray
Their love and loss, if not diverted by
Succeeding objects, which assault the eye
With what, though living, yet more terror bred
Than what they found for the lamented dead.
In such a garb as sorrow strives to hide
The hot effluvia of a sullen pride,
Almanzor next, with slow portentous pace,
Follows the herses; his discovered face
So subtly died in sorrow, as it had
Strove to outmourn the sable arms which clad
His falser breast; whose studied treason knew
No such disguise, as first to meet the view
O' the censuring people, in a dress that shows
Him by their state's maturer council chose,
'Gainst whoe'er durst maintain the prisoners' cause,
By's valour for to vindicate their laws.
But now, to lose these rivulets of tears
In the vast ocean of their grief, appears
Their last and most lamented object, in
The royal captives; whose sad fate had been
Not so disguised in attributes of guilt,
But that the love their former virtue built
In every breast, broke through their fear, to show
How much their duty did to sorrow owe.
In that black train they had beheld before,
Though full of sadness, wearied life passed o'er
The stage of nature, is their darkest text
To comment on; which, since good men perplexed
With life's cares are, finds less regret than now
To living sufferers justly they allow:
Friends, though less near, since death is but that rest
They vainly seek that are in life distrest,
Being pitied more than those whose worst of fate
We have beheld destruction terminate.
That nought might in this scene of sorrow be
Wanting to perfect grief's solemnity,
The kingdom's marshal, who supported in
His hand a sword, which, glittering through a thin
Wreathed cyprus, through the sad spectator's eye
Struck such a terror, as if shadowed by
Death's sooty veil; conducting after, goes
The undaunted Cyprian, with a look that shows
A soul whose valour was of power to light
Such high resolves as by their splendor might
Make death look lovely; on his upper hand
Her sex's glory, she whose virtues scanned
Her actions by Heaven's strictest rules, the sweet
Pharonnida, unmoved, prepares to meet
The ministers of death, her train being by
Florenza, who must in that tragedy
Act her last part, sustained. The garment which
The beauteous princess did that day enrich,
Was black, but cut on white, o'er which the fair
Neglected treasure of her flowing hair
Hung loosely down; upon her head she wore
A wreath of lilies, almost shadowed o'er
With purple hyacinths, on which the stains
Of murder yet in bloody marks remains;
Over all this, a melancholy cloud
Of thick curled cyprus from the head did shroud
Her to the feet, through which those spots of white
Appeared like stars, those comforts of the night,
When stole through scattered clouds; in her right hand
She held a watch, whose next stage should have spanned
The minutes of her life; her left did hold
A branch of myrtle, which, as grown too old
To live, began to wither; — for defence
O' the falling leaves, as death and innocence
Had both conspired to save 't, the bough was round
In mystic wreaths of black and silver wound.
Near to the royal prisoners, many peers
Of either kingdom, men o'the gravest years
And loyalest hearts, did with a doleful pace
Bring up the rear; each melancholy place
Through which they passed being with those pensive flowers
That wait on funerals strewed. The lofty towers
Of chequered marble had their stately brows
In sables bound, their pinnacles with boughs
Of dismal yew adorned, as if their knell
Should next be rung; a solemn passing bell
In every church was tolled, whose doleful sound,
Mixed with the drum and trumpet's dead march, drowned
The people's cries, whose grief can ne'er be shown
In 'ts native dress, till loud and clamorous grown.
In this black pomp the mourning train had left
The sable city, which, being now bereft
Of all her sad and solemn guests, did bear
The emblem of an empty sepulchre, —
So full of silence, all her throng being gone
With heavy pace to be attendants on
Those funeral rites, which ere performed must have
More virtue for attendants to the grave
Than e'er they could again expect to see,
Whose hopes of life lay in minority.
Come to the desert vale, which yet had kept
A solitary loveliness — that slept
There in untroubled rest, a levelled green,
Chose for the lists, which nature lodged between
Two barren hills; upon whose bare front grew,
Though thinly scattered, here a baleful yew,
And there a dismal cypress, placed as they
Had only chose that station to display
The people's passions; who, with eyes fixed in
Full orbs of tears, ere this had sorrowing seen
The pitied prisoners to those scaffolds brought,
Where those lamented lives whom treason sought
To ruin, must be sacrificed to please
Ambitious man, not angry heaven appease.
This curds their bloods, which soon inflamed had grown,
Had not the varied scene of sorrow shown
The murdered princes; who, produced as they
Had been reserved as opiates to allay
Their anger's flame, are both exposed unto
The satisfaction of the public view,
Mounted on herses, which, on either side
O' the temple gate, with death's most dismal pride
On ebon pillars stood, as raised to show
What justice did to their destruction owe.
Placed near to these, their sorrows' sad records,
Almanzor's tent, to show that it affords
For red revenge a close reception, stood
Like a black rock; from whence in clouds of blood
The sanguine streamers through the thickened sky
Did waving with unconstant motion fly.
In view of which, though at the other end,
If any durst appear that could defend
Their cause, whom Heaven alone knew innocent,
There to receive him stood an empty tent;
Whose outside, as if fancied to deter
His entrance, there appeared a sepulchre.
Over whose gate her false accusers had
Transcribed those crimes which so unjustly clad
In purple sins those candid souls; which seen
In their bright virtue's spotless robes, had been
The hated wonders of those foes, whose ends
Now find success i' the pity of their friends.
Near this black tent, on mourning scaffolds, where
Death did to encounter innocence prepare
His heaviest darts, such as were headed by
That more than mortal plagues, foul infamy,
The prisoners mounted. At the other gate,
Almanzor, like the messenger of fate,
Fraught with revenge, appears; his dreadful form,
More full of terror than a midnight storm
To straitened fleets, appearing to the view
O' the multitude; who, whilst their prayers pursue
The prisoners' safety on the flagging wings
Of sickly hope, his sure destruction brings,
Since from their knowledge more remote to cure,
Unto their hates' impatient calenture.
Thrice had the trumpet sadly sounded been,
And thrice a herald's voice had summoned in
Some bold defendant; but both yet so vain,
As if just Heaven neglected to maintain
That righteous cause: which sadly seen of all,
The sorrowful but helpless people fall,
Since hope of life was shrunk into despair,
To be assistant by their private prayer
At death's distracting conflict. In a brief
Effectual speech, which answered to the chief
Heads of's indictment, in those powerful words
Conceived his last, the Cyprian prince affords
Their sorrow yet a larger theme. Which done,
Being first to die, having with prayer begun
That doubtful road, he now a short leave takes
Of all his mourning friends, then calmly shakes
Off each terrestrial thought; and, heightened by
The speculations of eternity
Above those damps, which Nature's hand did weave,
Of human fear, submitting to receive
The fatal stroke, that centre to a crown,
But orb of wit — his sacred head, lays down.
Fled to the dark cell of their utmost fears,
With eyes whose lids were cemented in tears,
Each still spectator's thoughts did now repair
To the last refuge of a silent prayer;
In which close parl, from that deep lethargy
They are to joy and wonder wakened by
A trumpet's voice, which from the other gate
Sounds a defiance. 'Twas not yet so late
In hope's dim twilight, but they once more may,
In expectation of a glorious day,
Dare look abroad; which done, unto their view,
A Cyprian herald being designed unto
That office, they, leading a stranger knight
Into the lists, behold; whose welcome sight
Was entertained with acclamations that
Raised thunder for his foes to tremble at.
This valiant hero, whose brave gesture gave
Life to that hope which told them Heaven would save
Such suffering virtue, now drawn near unto
The tent, is taking a disdainful view
Of that accursed inscription; whilst all eyes,
Centred on him, see through his steel disguise
A goodlier shape, though not so vastly great
As that cursed lump nature had made the seat
Of 's enemy's black soul. The armour which
He wore, they knew not whether for more rich
Or rare to prize. The ground of it, as he
For those had mourned which now from infamy
His sword sought to redeem, was black, but all
Enamelled o'er with silver hearts, let fall
From flaming clouds; which hovering above
Them, looked like incense fired by heavenly love:
'Mongst these, in every vacant place, was found
A death's head scattered; some of which were crowned
With laurel, others on their bare fronts wore
A regal diadem. In 's shield he bore,
In a field argent, on the dexter side
A new-made grave, to which a lamb, denied
Succour on earth, to shun the swift pursuit
Of a fierce wolf, was fled; but ere one foot
Was entered there, from a red cloud, that charged
The field in chief, a thunderbolt, enlarged
By Heaven's just wrath, from 's sulphury seat was sent
So swiftly, that what saved the innocent
The guilty slew; which now in 's blood doth lie,
A precedent for powerful tyranny.
Those short surveys o' the people hardly took,
Ere, having now the unuseful tent forsook,
The brave defendant with a loud salute
Had passed the scaffold in the bold pursuit
Of glorious victory; whom his angry foe,
Whose valour's flame ne'er an allay did know
So cold as fear, in that wild flame which rage
Opposed had kindled, hastens to engage
Him with so high a storm of fury, that,
Each falling stroke, others did tremble at
What they sustained. Strength, valour, judgment, all
Which e'er made conquerors stand, or conquered fall,
Here seemed to meet. As if to outrun desire,
Each nimble stroke, quick as aetherial fire
When winged by motion, fell; yet with a heft
So full of danger, most behind them left
Their bloody marks, which in this fatal strife
Seemed like the opened salliports of life.
Sadly expecting whom by fate would be
This day chose favorite unto destiny,
The people in such silent ecstacies,
As if their souls only informed their eyes,
Sat to behold the combat; when, to give
Their faith assurance — justice yet did live
Unchained by faction, from a fatal blow
Struck near his heart, Almanzor fallen so low
From hopes of victory they beheld, that in
His ruin, what before their fear had been,
Grew now their comfort. When, that speedy death
Might not transport his soul ere his last breath
Confessed his guilt, the noble champion stays
His just raised rage, whilst his own tongue displays
His thoughts' black curtains, by discovering all
Those crimes, beneath whose burthen he did fall,
Heavy as curses which from heaven are sent
For th' people's plague, or prince's punishment.
In which short close of life, to ease the grief
Of late repentance, that successful thief,
Whose happiest hour his latest proved, being took
For precedent, he in a calm forsook
That world, which, whilst his plots did strive to build
Ambition high, he had with tempests filled.
The multitude, whose universal voice
Had taught even such, though distant, to rejoice,
As age or sickness had detained within
The city walls, forced those that yet had been
Her foes, converted by the general votes
For joy, to change their envy's ill-set notes
To calm compliance; in whose concord they,
With as much speed as duty did convey
Her best of subjects, to congratulate
Her freedom haste. Who, in this smile of fate,
Whilst all her friends strove to forget those fears
Whose form they lately trembled at, appears
Shadowed in grief; on whose joy could reflect
No beam of comfort, the supposed neglect
Of her Argalia, whose victorious sword
Did in her fears' extremity afford
Some hopes of comfort, which to opinion lost,
More sorrow than the assaults of death had cost;
Had not, whilst she did in dark passion stray,
His full discovery glorified the day.
Amidst the people's acclamations, she,
Though from a scaffold now conveyed to be
Raised to a crown, all that vain pomp beholds
With eyes o'ercast in grief, till he unfolds
Her further comfort, by discovering what,
Whilst each spectator was admiring at,
Becomes to her so much of joy, that in
This calm, that courage which before had been
Unshook in tempests, now begins to move;
And what scorned hate, submits to powerful love.
From whose fixed centre, with as swift a flight
And kind a welcome, as the nimble light
Salutes the morning, pleasure now imparts
Her powerful beams, until those neighbouring hearts
That lived by hope's thin diet, drew from hence
Substantial lines to joy's circumference.
Her innocence unveiled by his success,
And both by that black foil of wickedness,
Almanzor's guilt, more glorious made, is now
The only volume wonder could allow
Those that before her worst of foes had been,
Sadly to read repentant lectures in.
Which seen by her observant peers, that all
Succeeding discords in that tyrant's fall
Might find a tomb, him, being their princess choice,
The Spartan army's universal voice
Salutes their chief. Which precedent affords
A pattern to the wise Epirot lords;
Who had a law, age made authentic, which
Prohibited their diadem to enrich
A female brow: on him, whose title stood
Nearest of all collateral streams of blood,
They wisely fix a choice, which proves to be
Their glory and their state's security.
And now raised from that lowly posture in
Which fear had left them, the vast rout begin
Their motion toward fair Gerenza; where
The varied scene did such proportion bear
With joy's exalted harmony, which in
Their rescued princess dwelt, all that had been
Their sorrow's dismal characters they now
Obliterate, and her late clouded brow
Crown with delights. The solemn bells, whose sad
Toll, when they left their mourning city, had
Frighted the trembling hearer, now are all
Rung out for joy, as if so loud a call
Only became a love which could not be
Expressed until the full solemnity
Of their approaching nuptials did unite
Their hearts or crowns, not with more full delight
Than what did near as great a blessing prove,
Discording subjects, in your bonds of love.
Thus, after all the wild variety
Through fate's dark labyrinths, now arrived to be
Crowned with as much content as e'er was known
By any that death did enforce to own
The frailties of mortality, we leave
Our celebrated lovers to receive
Those blessings which Heaven on such kings showers down,
Whose virtues add a lustre to the crown.