Classic Poem

Canto the First

Whilst noise and tumult fill the court, the sad
Orlinda, to lament alone retired,
Finds the brave Cyprian in death's symptoms clad,
Whose perfect health her friendly care acquired.

The scouts with an unwelcome emptiness
Of news returned; the princess' secret flight
Yet well succeeds, but now in sad distress
Finds a black morning to that dismal night.

When Fear, like an unskilful pilot in
A storm distracted, long in vain had been
Placed at the helm of Action, whilst those rude
Waves raised by greater winds, the multitude,
Swelled with uncertain counsels, all met in
A thick and dangerous confluence; those within
The castle, by a hotter passion to
A high-wrought fury startled, did undo
Those links of counsel, which the other broke
With corrosives of fear, by the rude stroke
Of heedless anger; whose uncivil strife
Had robbed revenge of justice, and each life
That here was in death's inundations spilt,
Shed but to aggravate a private guilt,
Had not the prince, whose anger's flame they feared
More than grim death, to appease the storm appeared.
Beat from the out-works of their hopes, all in
A busy tumult are employed within
The princess' lodgings; but there only find
Their knowledge by her secret flight struck blind,
Stumbled on errors. No characters, but what
The wasteful hand of death had scattered at
The guard, inform them; and even those seem left
The weak opposers of successful theft,
Dropt as their foe's victorious fate flew by,
To show his fortune and their loyalty.
Leaving which late warm tenements of breath,
Without once throwing up that bed of death,
Their grave-clothes o'er them, every active friend
Hastes toward her search, whilst suffering females spend
The hours (grown slow since burdened by their fears)
In prayers, whose doubts they numbered by their tears.
But amongst all of those that sacrificed
Tears to her loss, sorrow had most disguised
Lovely Orlinda, the fair sister to
The vexed Messenian; who, with love that grew
From equal attributes of honor, in
The parallels of beauty placed, had been
In this restraint of liberty so long
Her pleased companion, that her grief too strong
For comfort grown, to mourn her absence she,
Forsaking all her friends' society,
Whilst seeking of some shady grove, is brought
To one whose veil, black as her darkest thought,
Appeared so much a stranger to the light,
That solitude did thither soon invite
The pensive lady: who, whilst entering, by
A deep groan's sound diverted, turns her eye
Toward one, who, near the utmost ebb of life
Disguised in's blood, was with the latest strife
Of death contending. At the dreadful view
Of which sad object she retreating to
Some of her maids, who, fearing to intrude
Whilst she appeared intending solitude,
A distance kept; made bold by number, now
Return to see if life did yet allow
A room for help, or, if his soul were fled,
To let their care entomb the helpless dead.
Arrived so near, that through the rubric veil
Of's blood they saw how life did yet prevail
O'er death's convulsions, they behold one lie,
Whose wounds, an object for their charity,
Soon drew them nearer in such trembling haste,
As if they feared those lavish springs would waste
Life's stock too fast. Where come, with linen soft
And white as were those hands that thither brought
That blessing, having gently wiped away
His blood, his face discovered did betray
Him to their knowledge. For the Cyprian prince
All soon conclude him, whose desert e'er since
That court she knew, had to Orlinda proved
A dear delight; yet she ne'er knew she loved,
Till her soft pity and his sad distress,
Conspiring to betray that bashfulness
Whose blushes scorched that tender plant, did now,
Even in their fortune's roughest storm allow
It leave to grow safe, since yet passing by
No other name but noble charity.
By all the nimblest stratagems which art
E'er learnt from nature, striving to impart
The best of mortal blessings, health, unto
Her royal patient, praised Orlinda grew
So high in his deserved esteem, that, though
Posterity doth to his friendship owe
For their most perfect copy, knowing she
Too much adored Pharonnida to be
Her base betrayer, when his health's advance
Gave way for language, every circumstance
Declares which was in that so fatal night
The sad preludiums to her secret flight.
By which when she, whose love (though full of fire)
Yet lay raked up in a remote desire,
Unstirred by hope, with joy had learned that he,
More than what friendship patronized, was free
From all affection to the princess; in
Her eyes, which until then had clouded been,
Love, with as bright and pure a flame as e'er
Did in the shades of modesty declare
Passion, breaks forth. Which happy signs by him
Whose heart her eyes, e'en whilst they shone most dim,
With mutual flames had fired; — that loyal love,
Which fate in vain shall struggle to remove,
Begins with flames as innocently bright
As the first rays of new created light.
But stay, rash reader! think not they are led
Through these smooth walks unto their nuptial bed;
But now, behold that their misfortune prove,
Which thou hast wept for if thou e'er didst love,
A separation. The suspicion, that
Sparta's vexed king (when first distempered at
His daughter's loss) did of this stranger prince
Justly conceive, persuades him now, that since
Not found within the Cyprian court, that he
Who had been vainly sought abroad might be
Yet lodged at home. Which supposition bred
So strict a search, that, though the silent dead
Not silenter than her attendants were,
Yet kind Orlinda, whom a pious care
Prompted to save what she did yet possess,
Whilst seeking with a lover's tenderness
How to secure him, doth at length convey
Her roving fancy to this hopeful way. —
Not long before, though now 'twere silenced in
Domestic ills, report had busied been
In the relating of the sad distress
Of a brave Lybian prince; whom Heaven, to bless
With an eternal crown, in midst of all
His youth's fresh glories, by a powerful call
Summons to serve her: and that faith, which he
Had from the early dawn of infancy
Sucked from the great Impostor of the East,
Though now by time opinion's strength increast,
Spite of a people's prayers or father's threats,
Wholly forsaking; which revolt begets
So much aversion, pity could invent
Nought easier than perpetual banishment,
To punish what their faith, mistaken in
Its object, terms a black apostate's sin.
Disguised in such a dress as pity might
Expect to encounter so distressed a wight
As was that wandering prince, attended by
No train but what becomes the obscurity
Of such a fortune, to the Spartan court
Amindor comes; where, though the thick resort
Of well known friends might justly make him fear
Some treacherous eye, knowledge could ne'er appear
Through that black veil his happy art had took,
To make him like a sun-burnt Lybian look.
Yet what engaged them more than safety in
Prayers to Heaven, his person had now been
Not long the wonder of the court, before
His fairer virtues, which adorned him more
Than the other could disguise, did justly prove
The happy object of the prince's love:
Whose influence, whilst it him to power did raise,
Taught by reflex the people how to praise
That fair election, till the pyramid,
Raised to his fame, had fixed its lofty head
Above the clouds of fortune. Yet not this
Fate's fairest smile, a lover's best of bliss —
A free commerce (which unsuspected might,
Though long and pleasant as the summer's light,
Be ne'er disturbed) with fair Orlinda, gives
Content such fulness, that although he lives
To all unknown but her alone, in that
Enjoyed more than ambition e'er aimed at.
And now from all the fruitless diligence
Of inquisitions, and the vain expense
Of time, returned were every troop that had
Through forlorn hopes been active in the sad
Search of Pharonnida; which ending in
A just despair, some that till then within
The castle walls had (though as vainly) sought,
Their sorrow forth before the grieved prince brought
Brumorchus; whom they in a small lodge, where,
Secured by solitude, the household care
Of locks and bolts were vain, unsought, they found
In the soft bands of grief's best opiate bound,
Sleep; who, though throned within her ebon seat,
From lust's hot field appears but his retreat
When tired with action; for besides him they,
Where's poison's antidote, Amphibia, lay
Locked up in 's arms, beheld. The air, with all
Their voices struck, at length had raised a call
That drowned their sleeping thunder; from the bed
Brumorchus starting struggles to have fled
The shameful danger, whilst Amphibia creeps
Beneath her sheets' protection, but nought keeps
Pursuing vengeance back. They 're took and brought
Before the prince; who, startled at the thought
Of such a complicated crime, refers
Their punishment to death's dire messengers
The yet successful lovers, long ere this
Safely arrived at their first stage of bliss —
Florenza's low and envied roof, did there,
Since speed was now the fairest child of care,
Stay only to exchange their horse, and take
With her a guide whose practic skill could make
Their untrod paths familiar. Through a low
Dark vale, where shade-affecting weeds did grow
Eternal strangers to the sun, did lie
The narrow path, frequented only by
The forest tyrants, when they bore their prey
From open dangers of discovering day
Passed through this desert valley, they were now
Climbing an easy hill, where every bough
Maintained a feathered chorister to sing
Soft panegyrics, and the rude winds bring
Into a murmuring slumber; whilst the calm
Morn on each leaf did hang her liquid balm,
With an intent, before the next sun's birth,
To drop it in those wounds which the cleft earth
Received from 's last day's beams. The hill's ascent,
Wound up by action, in a large extent
Of leafy plains, shows them the canopy
Beneath whose shadow their large way did lie.
Which being looked o'er, whilst thankful praise did pay
Their debts to Heaven, they thence with a convey
Of prayers — those swift ambassadors, did send
A hopeful glance toward their large journey's end.
These short surveys past, since the place assures
A safe repose, to cool the calentures
Of feverish action, down a way that led
From Pleasure's throne unto her fragrant bed,
A rank of laurels, spreading to protect
The flowery path which not unpruned neglect
Robbed of delight, they passed; the slow descent
Soon brings them where her richest ornament
(Although with art unplighted) Nature in
A lovely landscape wore, that once had been
Sacred to the island's fruitful goddess. Here
Whilst they behold the infants of the year
I' the spring's unsullied livery clad, the fair
And large-limbed trees preparing to repair
Autumn's spent stock, from out a humble hill
A tributary fountain did distil
The earth's cold blood, and murmuring conveys
It on a bed of pebbles, till it pays
Her debts to the neighbouring river; near to it
Full choruses of feathered heroes sit
Amidst their willow mansions, to whose ease
Their shrill notes call the sportive Dryades.
Whilst by the brightest glories of that age
This royal robe, worn in a hermitage,
Is seen with such a silent sad delight
As smooths the furrows of an anchorite,
Their solemn walk had brought them to a green
Skirt of that mantle, fairly spread between
Two mossy rocks, that near the crystal flood
Appendices to larger mountains stood.
Near which they saw, with mournful majesty
A heap of solitary ruins lie,
Half sepulchred in dust, the bankrupt heir
To prodigal antiquity, whose fair
Composures did, beneath time's pride sunk low,
But dim vestigia of their beauty show.
Yet that it might unreverend gazers tell
It once was sacred, Ceres' image, fell
From a throne's splendor, did neglected lie,
Sunk with her temple to deformity.
Dark gloomy groves, which holy altars shade
With solitude, such as religion made
Full of an awful reverence, and drew
The ravished soul from the world's wandering view,
Circled the sacred valley: into one
Of which our royal lovers were alone
Retired, in private solitude to pay
Sleep's forfeitures, whilst the bright bloomy day
Sweats the hydroptic earth; but joy denies
That sullen guest an entrance in their eyes.
Their eyes, which now like wandering planets met
After a race of cross aspects, and set
Within a firmament of beauty, thence
On Love's cold region dropped their influence;
Warmed by whose vigor, springs of pleasures had,
Watering their cheeks, those fields in roses clad.
Fear, that till now had made them languish in
A dangerous hectic, or at best had been
But eased with intervals, which did include
Ambiguous hopes in time's vicissitude,
Ceased to usurp; yet (though the throne expelled)
A large command in Reason's empire held,
Leading those parties which wise counsel sent
Close ambuscadoed dangers to prevent:
Nor could the conduct fail, assailed by aught
Within the circuit of extended thought;
Deliberation, the soul's wary scout,
Being still employed to lead fresh parties out
'Gainst the known enemies of hope. But here
Black troops of danger, undiscerned of fear,
Assaults unrallied Fortitude, whilst she
Slept 'mongst the rose-beds of security,
Exalted far above the gross mistakes
Of vulgar love — clothed in such thoughts as shakes
Ripe souls from out their husks of earth to be
Picked up by angels, joy's stenography
In their embraces met; not with less strength
Of love (though yet not to be wrought at length)
Than that which meets in nuptial folds when they
Reap Heaven's first blessing, in their bloods' allay
Met their full seas of passion; yet both, calm
As Virtue's brow, their blood but warmed like balm
To pour in sorrow's wounds, not boiled into
A scum of lust; the world's first man did woo
The blushing offspring of his side, the first
Unpractised virgin, with as great a thirst
Of blood as their's, when, in the safe defence
Of paradise, each act was innocence.
Here whilst their sweet employment was discourse,
Taught in the school of virtue, to divorce
Those maiden brides — their twisted eye-beams — Sleep,
Which flies the open gates of care, did creep
In at their crystal windows, to remove
The lamp of joy filled with the oil of love.
The princess' spirits, fled from the distress
Of action into calm forgetfulness,
Having the curtains drawn, Argalia's head
Softly reposing on her lap, that bed
Of precious odors, there receives awhile
A rest, for sweetness — such as saints beguile
Time with in their still dormitories, till
Heaven's summons shall their hopes on earth fulfil.
Removed from them, feeding his horses in
A well-fleeced meadow, which that age had seen
Till then ne'er lose its summer robe before,
Russet with age he put it off, and wore
A glittering tissue furred with snow, did lie
Their careful guide, secured; till frighted by
A dreadful noise of horse, whose rushing wakes
Him to behold — what seen, with terror shakes
Off sleep's declining weights, in such a strange
Amaze as (forts surprised) the scared guards change
Their swords for fetters: flying he looks back
On the steel-fronted troop, till at his back
Approaching danger, gathering in a cloud
Of death, o'erwhelms him; frighting with its loud
Exalted clamors from their then closed eyes —
Love's altars, sleep's intended sacrifice.
Shook from their slumber with the first salutes
Of light to meet their ruin, thick recruits
Of brave resolves into Argalia's breast
Had swiftly summoned; but the princess' rest
Exchanged for wild amazement: in which sad
Restraint of spirits, life with beauty had
Fled to the silent region, if not by
Her royal friend supported; who, the high
Pitch of exalted anger, whilst he draws
His sword to vindicate their righteous cause,
Descends to comfort her. Thinking those troops
Her father's messengers, his brave soul stoops
Not to request a favor; but although
Their multitude, in hope's account outgrow
Life, more than those diseases which attend
On age's cold extreme, he dares defend
Love, though, by vigor of supreme commands,
Deprived of favor's mercenary bands.
Prompted by power, that sovereign antidote
'Gainst Nature's poison — baseness, and by rote,
Not art's fair rules, taught lessons of defence,
These dregs of men, not having more pretence
Than what from riot was extorted, in
Unwieldy throngs the conquest strive to win
From single valour. Not the powerful prayer
Of her, whose voice had purified the air
To a seraphic excellence, the sweet
Heaven-loved Pharonnida, could come to meet
Pity in this rude wilderness; her words,
Losing their form in the wild air, affords
Their busy souls no heedful leisure, but
With wilder passions the soul's portals shut.
That sober friend to happy solitude,
Silence, which long those blest shades did include,
By rude noise banished from her solemn throne,
Did in a deep and hollow echo groan;
Whilst the brave champion, whose own worth did bring
Assistance, yet had in a bloody ring
Strewed death's pale triumphs, and in safety stands
The dangerous business of so many hands,
All which had in the grave joined palms, if by
One stroke, that index unto victory,
His sword, had not with sudden breaking proved
Traitor t' the strength by whose command it moved.
Robbed of this safe defence, valour's brave flame
In vain is spent; that pyramid of fame,
Built by his hand o'er Love's fair temple, now
Even in the view of's saint, is forced to bow
Beneath an earthquake. His commanding soul,
In this sharp conflict striving to control
Nature, rebellious to her power, lets fly
In vain the piercing lightning of the eye,
Whose dark lids, drooping in a death-like close,
Forbid high fury thundering on his foes.
He falls, and from each purple sallyport
Of wounds, tired spirits, in a thick resort,
Fly the approach of death; in which wild trance,
His eyes did their declining lights advance
Above their gloom of darkness, to convey
The last faint beam of nature's falling day
To his distressed Pharonnida. But she,
In clouds of sorrow lost, was gone to be
Close mourner for his rigid fate beneath
A pale swoon's shady veil, and could not breathe
One sigh to welcome those sick guests, nor lend
A beam to light them to their journey's end.
Which being deprived of, in death's dark disguise
Forgetful shadows did obscure his eyes.
Branded with an ignoble victory,
His base oppressors, staying not to try
Whe'er fire remain in life's dark lamp, forsake
Their bleeding shame, and only with them take
The trembling ladies; whose amazement yet
Grief's flood-gates shuts in a distracting fit
Of wilder passions: circled in which cloud
She's hurried thence; and, ere that damp allowed
Light through her soul's prospectives, had passed o'er
Much of the desert, and arrived before
A barren rock's proud front; which, being too steep
For the laborious traveller, a deep
Dark vault did pierce, whose dismal black descent
Safe passage to a distant valley lent.
With slow ill-boding steps this horrid way
O'ercome, they meet the beauties of the day
Within the pregnant vale, a place that showed
Some art had pruned what nature's hand bestowed.
No earth-encumbering weeds, but wholesome plants,
Such as relieve the winter of our wants,
Were here in comely order placed; each tree,
Tired with his fruitful burden, stoops to be
Eased by the lowliest hand; for want of which
Their feeble stems had dropped them to enrich
Their pregnant mother. This civility,
Proclaiming more than art had meant to be
The dress of deserts, did at first appear
As if those useful blessings had, for fear
That wasteful man should ravish them to feed
His luxury, fled thither; none that need
Such thrifty joys, in the circumference
O' the valley seeming to have residence.
All whose exalted pride did terminate
The levelled eye, was a round hill that sat
As centre to the golden vale; come near
To which, what did externally appear
A rock in ivy dressed, being entered, shewed
The beauties of a gorgeous palace, hewed
Out of the living stone, whose vaulted breast
Had by the union of each part exprest
The strength of concord. The black rock was all
Tinselled with windows, over which did fall
Thin ivy wreaths, like cobweb veils that shade
The sallyports of beauty, only made
To cool, not darken, and on those that sit
Within bestow a shady benefit.
They being drawn near, a sad old man that sat
Unwilling porter, from the spacious gate
Withdrew the verdant curtain. — She is now
Entered the castle, where, could fear allow
Her eyes that liberty, she had surveyed
Buildings, whose strength with beauty joined, betrayed
Time's modern issues to contempt, and by
A lasting glory praised antiquity.
But pleasure spreads her baits in vain; she sat
Beneath the frozen arctic of her fate,
Whilst he, from whose aspect she only felt
Delightful heat, in 's winter-solstice dwelt.
More to depress her sinking spirits, she
Too soon finds cause to think that gravity
She met in the entrance but the reverend shade
Of injured worth, which accident had made
Stoop to that bondage; — virtue drooping in
His furrowed cheeks, as if disposed, she 'd been
Thither confined within the walls, to let
Imperious vice her painted banners set.
A troop of wild bandits, villains whose guilt
Shunned public haunts, Heaven's private blessings spilt
There in luxurious riot, which, grown bold
By toleration, durst t' the light unfold
Vice's deformedst issues; nought b' the name
Of sin being known, but sin's betrayer, shame:
In such a loose intemperance as reigns
In conquered cities, when the soldier's pains
With spoils of peace is paid, they lived. 'Mongst these
Some few unhappy women, kept to appease
Lust's tumults, she beheld; whose looks betrayed
A sickly guilt, and made the royal maid,
Amidst her grief's cold symptoms, blush to see
How pale they looked with lust's deformity.
Whilst these are viewed, with such a change as that
Poor village drunkards are enforced to at
An officer's approach, when the night grows
Deep as their draughts, she sees them all compose
Their late wild looks; nor was this dress of fear
In vain put on, Almanzor did appear —
Dreaded Almanzor, who on them had built
A power, which though by unsuccessful guilt
Banished t' the desert, forced their wants to be
The helpless sufferers of his tyranny.
Passed through the fear-dispersed throng, he 's to
The princess come; where, startled at the view
Of majesty, shrinks back. Unsteady haste,
Which brought him there but to view beauties placed
Within the reach of's lust, assaulted by
Objects that both to love and loyalty
Had proved him an apostate, to retreat
Within a blush attempts; but that 's too great
A friend to bashful virtue, in that face,
Whose heart deposes her, to sprinkle grace.
Ruffled with this recoil of spirits, in
Such troubled haste as novices begin
New conned orations, he himself applies
To the injured lady; whose brave spirit flies
Not what she feared, but with the brave defence
Of scorn opposes blushless impudence,
Crushing the embryoes of that language, in
Whose guilty accents he attempts to win
Opinion's favor, and by that redeem
What former guilt had lost in her esteem.
Contemned with such a look as princes cast
On over bold usurpers, he is past
The first encounter of her eye, and she
Turned in disdain, to show her great soul free
From low submission; by which fired into
A sullen anger, he resolves to mew
The royal eaglet, until freedom grow
A favor, whose fair streams might overflow
Those barren fields of indesert, in which
His fortune pines — least this fair prize enrich
The cursed soil, and on its surface place
The long abstracted beams of princely grace.
She to the narrow confines of a room
Restrained, to let his ruffled thoughts resume
Their calm composure — counsel's throne, he goes
Aside, and on that doubtful text bestows
The clearest comment of his judgment; yet
Falls short of truth, and must contented sit
To know her there, though not the accident
Which from her father's glorious court had sent
Her so ill guarded: but referring that
To time's discovery, he, transported at
What was a truth confirmed, within the wide
Arms of his hope, grasps what aspiring pride
Or lust's loose rhetoric, when youth's vigorous fire
Beauty hath kindled, prompts him to desire.
Yet by two several paths to tread that way,
His crimes' dark roads, lust and ambition, lay,
The poor Florenza, that long since had been
The trembling object of the baser sin,
To make his sly access to either free
From the other's thoughts, must from her lady be
In this dark storm removed; he fearing less
That counsel aiding virtue in distress,
Though wanting strength the battle to maintain,
Might countermine the engine of his brain.
To this sad separation leaving them,
Whom innocence had licensed to condemn
Fortune's harsh discipline, Almanzor goes,
Fate's dark enigmas, by the help of those
That took her, to unveil; but 'twas a work
Too full of subtle mystery: — A Turk,
Her brave defender, by those garments which
Rash fear had only rifled to enrich
Nice inquisition, seemed. By which betrayed
To dark mistakes, his policy obeyed
Domestic counsels; and by subtle spies,
Whose ears were more officious than their eyes,
Soon from the love-sick lady's close complaints
His wiser knowledge with their cause acquaints.