Classic Poem

Canto the Third

From treachery, which two princes' annals stained,
The brave Argalia by protecting fate
Delivered, land on Rhodes' fair isle attained,
Being there elected champion for their state.

In which design, although with victory blest,
The common fate him soon a prisoner makes
To a proud Turk, beneath whose power distressed,
His virtue proffered liberty forsakes.

Through the dark paths of dusty annals, we,
Led by his valour's light, return to see
Argalia's story; who hath, since that night
Wherein he took that strange distracted flight
From treacherous Ardenna, performed a course
So full of threatening dangers, that the force
Of his protecting angel trembled to
Support his fate, which cracked the slender clew
Of destiny almost to death. His stars,
Doubting their influence when such horrid wars
The gods proclaimed, withdrew their languished beams
Beneath heaven's spangled arch. In pitchy streams
The heavy clouds unlade their wombs, until
The angry winds, fearing the flood should fill
The air, the region where they ruled, did break
Their marble lodgings; nature's self grew weak
With these distemperatures, and seemed to draw
Toward dissolution; her neglected law
Each element forgot — the imprisoned flame,
When the clouds stock of moisture could not tame
Its violence, in sulphury flashes break
Thorough the glaring air; the swoln clouds speak
In the loud voice of thunder; the sea raves
And foams with anger, hurls his troubled waves
High as the moon's dull orb, whose waning light
Withdrew to add more terror to the night.
When the black curtain of this storm that took
The use of art away, had made them look
For nought but swift destruction, being so vain
For th' mariners to row that the proud main
Scorned to be lashed with oars, to ease distress,
The night forsook them: but a day no less
Dreadful succeeds it; by whose doubtful light
The wretched captives soon discover right
Near them a Turkish navy; to whose aid
The renegadoes (having first displayed
Their silver crescents) join. Nor did they meet
That help untimely; a brave Rhodian fleet
Set forth from those, the Christian bulwarks, to
Obstruct the Turks invasions, was in view.
To meet the threatening danger, which 'twas then
Too late to wave, that miracle of men,
The brave Argalia, chained unto an oar,
Is with a thousand noble captives more
Forced to assist damned infidels. And now
The well armed fleets draw near, their swift keels plough
The ocean's angry front. First, they salute
Each other with their cannon; those grown mute,
Come to more desperate fight; unfriendly bands
Unite their vessels; the fierce soldier stands
Firm on his hatches, whilst another boards
His active enemies, whose ship affords
No room for such unwelcome guests, but sends
Their scattered limbs into thin air; each bends
His strength to 's foe's destruction. Plunging in
Which bloody sweat, the Rhodians' hopes had been
Lost with their fleet, had not kind fortune smiled
Thus on their fear. — Whilst action had beguiled
Each soul of passive cares, Argalia sees
A way to unlock his rusty chain, and frees
Himself and fellows from their bank; which done,
Those that continued at their oars did run
The vessel from the rest, and, ere unto
Their sight betrayed, the trembling pirates slew.
Then, closing with their unsuspicious foes,
I' the vigor of the fight, they discompose
Their well ranged fleet, and such confusion struck
Into the van, to see their rear thus shook
With an unlooked for hurricane, that in
A fearful haste the numerous Turks begin
To stretch their fins and flee. But all their speed
Was spent in vain, Argalia's hand had freed
So many captives, that their gallies must
Unto the winds' uncertain favor trust,
Or else, becalmed, but feebly crawl before
Their eager foes, who both with sail and oar
Chaced them to ruin. Glorious victory
Thus to the Christian party being by
A stranger purchased, with such high applause
As those that rescue a declining cause
From the approach of ruin, welcomed, he
Is now received into th' society
Of the brave Christian order. But they not
Long joyed in victory, ere the Turk, to blot
The stains of being conquered out, had made
A mighty army ready to invade
The valiant Rhodians; where Argalia shows
So brave a spirit, their whole army owes
His valour for example. The Turks had oft
Made desperate onslaughts on the isle, but brought
Nought back but wounds and infamy; but now,
Wearied with toil, they are resolved to bow
Their stubborn resolutions with the strength
Of not-to-be-resisted want. The length
O' the chronical disease extended had
To some few months, since, to oppress the sad
But constant islanders, the army lay
Circling their confines. Whilst this tedious stay
From battle rusts the soldier's valour in
His tainted cabin, there had often been,
With all variety of fortune, fought
Brave single combats, whose success had brought
Honor's unwithered laurels on the brow
Of either party; but the balance now,
Forced by the hand of a brave Turk, inclined
Wholly to them. Thrice had his valour shined
In victory's refulgent rays, thrice heard
The shouts of conquest, thrice on 's lance appeared
The heads of noble Rhodians, which had strook
A general sorrow 'mongst the knights. All look
Who next the lists should enter; each desires
The task were his, but honor now requires
A spirit more than vulgar, or she dies
The next attempt, their valour's sacrifice;
To prop whose ruins, chosen by the free
Consent of all, Argalia comes to be
Their happy champion. Truce proclaimed until
The combat end, the expecting people fill
The spacious battlements, the Turks forsake
Their tents, of whom the city ladies take
A dreadful view, till a more noble sight
Diverts their looks. Each part behold their knight
With various wishes, whilst in blood and sweat
They toil for victory. The conflict's heat
Raged in their veins, which honor more inflamed
Than burning calentures could do; both blamed
The feeble influence of their stars that gave
No speedier conquest; each neglects to save
Himself — to seek advantage to offend
His eager foe. The dreadful combat's end
Nought but their loss of blood proclaims; their spirits
In that reflux of heat and life inherits
Valour's unconquered throne. But now so long
The Turks' proud champion had endured the strong
Assaults of the stout Christian, till his strength
Cooled — on the ground, with 's blood, he fell at length
Beneath his conquering sword. The barbarous crew
O' the villains, that did at a distance view
Their champion's fall, all bands of truce forgot,
Running to succour him, begin a hot
And desperate combat with those knights that stand
To aid Argalia, by whose conquering hand
Whole squadrons of them fall: but here he spent
His mighty spirit in vain, their cannons rent
His scattered troops, who for protection fly
T' the city gates; but, closely followed by
Their foes, did there for sad oblations fall
To dying liberty. Their battered wall
Groaned with the wondrous weight of lead, and in
Its ruins hides her battlements; within
The bloody streets the Turkish crescents are
Displayed, whilst all the miseries of war
Raged in their palaces. The common sort
Of people make the barbarous soldier sport
In dying, whilst those that survive them crave
Their fate in vain; here cruelty did save
And mercy only kill, since death set free
Those happier souls from dire captivity.
At length the unrestrained soldier tires,
Although not satisfies his foul desires,
With rapes and murder. When, amongst those poor
Distressed captives that from thence they bore,
Argalia lies in chains, ordained to die
A sacrifice unto the cruelty
Of the fierce bashaw, whose loved favorite in
The combat late he slew; yet had not been
In that so much unhappy, had not he,
That honored then his sword with victory,
Half-brother to Janusa been, — a bright
But cruel lady, whose refined delight,
Her slave, though husband, Ammurat, durst not
Ruffle with discontent. Wherefore to cool that hot
Contention of her blood, which he foresaw
That heavy news would from her anger draw,
To quench with the brave Christian's death, he sent
Him living to her, that her anger, spent
In flaming torments, might not settle in
The dregs of discontent. Staying to win
Some Rhodian castles, all the prisoners were
Sent with a guard into Sardinia, there
To meet their wretched thraldom. From the rest
Argalia severed, soon hopes to be blest
With speedy death, though waited on by all
The hell-instructed torments that could fall
Within invention's reach. But he 's not yet
Arrived to 's period, his unmoved stars sit
Thus in their orbs secured. — It was the use
O' the Turkish pride, which triumphs in the abuse
Of suffering Christians, once, before they take
The ornaments of nature off, to make
Their prisoners public to the view, that all
Might mock their miseries. This sight did call
Janusa to her palace window, where,
Whilst she beholds them, love resolved to bear
Her ruin on her treacherous eye-beams, till
Her heart infected grew; their orbs did fill,
As the most pleasing object, with the sight
Of him whose sword opened a way for th' flight
Of her loved brother's soul. At the first view
Passion had struck her dumb, but when it grew
Into desire, she speedily did send
To have his name; which known, hate did defend
Her heart, besieged with love; she sighs, and straight
Commands him to a dungeon; but Love's bait
Cannot be so cast up, though to deface
His image in her soul she strives. The place
For 's execution she commands to be
'Gainst the next day prepared; but rest and she
Grow enemies about it: if she steal
A slumber from her thoughts, that doth reveal
Her passions in a dream; sometimes she thought
She saw her brother's pale grim ghost, that brought
His grisly wounds to show her, smeared in blood,
Standing before her sight, and, by that flood
Those red streams wept, imploring vengeance; then,
Enraged, she cries — Oh let him die. But when
Her sleep-imprisoned fancy, wandering in
The shades of darkened reason, did begin
To draw Argalia's image on her soul,
Love's sovereign power did suddenly control
The strength of those abortive embryoes, sprung
From smothered anger. The glad birds had sung
A lullaby to night, the lark was fled,
On drooping wings, up from his dewy bed,
To fan them in the rising sun-beams; ere
Whose early reign, Janusa, that could bear
No longer locked within her breast so great
An army of rebellious passions, beat
From Reason's conquered fortress, did unfold
Her thoughts to Manto, a stout wench, whose bold
Wit, joined with zeal to serve her, had endeared
Her to her best affections. Having cleared
All doubts with hopeful promises, her maid,
By whose close wiles this plot must be conveyed
To secret action, of her council makes
Two eunuch panders; by whose help she takes
Argalia from his keeper's charge, as to
Suffer more torments than the rest should do,
And lodged him in that castle, to affright
And soften his great soul with fear. The light,
Which lent its beams unto the dismal place
In which he lay, without presents the face
Of horror smeared in blood — A scaffold, built
To be the stage of murder, blushed with guilt
Of Christian blood, by several torments let
From the imprisoning veins. This object set
To startle his resolves if good, and make
His future joys more welcome, could not shake
The heaven-built pillars of his soul, that stood
Steady, though in the slippery paths of blood.
The gloomy night now sat enthroned in dead
And silent shadows, midnight curtains spread
The earth in black for what the falling day
Had blushed in fire, whilst the brave prisoner lay
Circled in darkness; yet in those shades spends
The hours with angels, whose assistance lends
Strength to the wings of Faith, which, mounted on
The rock of hope, was hovering to be gone
Towards her eternal fountain, from whose source
Celestial love enjoined her lower course.
Whilst in this holy ecstasy, his knees'
Descent did mount his heart to Him that sees
His thoughts developed; whilst dull shades opprest
The drowsy hemisphere; whilst all did rest,
Save those whose actions blushed at day-light, or
Such wretched souls whose sullen cares abhor
Truce with refreshing slumbers; he beholds
A glimmering light, whose near approach unfolds
The leaves of darkness. Whilst his wonder grows
Big with amazement, the dim taper shows
What hand conveyed it thither; he might see
False Manto entered, who, prepared to be
A bawd unto her lustful mistress, came,
Not with persuasive rhetoric to inflame
A heart congealed with death's approach, but thaw
Him from the frozen rocks of rigid law
With brighter constellations, that did move
In spheres, where every star was fired with love.
The siren, yet to show that she had left
Some modesty, unrifled by the theft
Of mercenary baseness, sadly wept —
Her errand's prologue; but guilt was not kept
Within the curtain long, she only sat
A mourner for the sickness of his fate
Until esteemed for pitiful, and then
Prescribes this remedy: — " Most blest of men
Compose thy wonder, and let only joy
Dwell in thy soul; my coming's to destroy,
Not nurse thy trembling fears. Be but so wise
To follow thy swift fate, and thou may'st rise
Above the reach of danger. In thy arms
Circle that power, whose radiant brightness charms
Fierce Ammurat's anger, when his crescents shine
In a full orb of forces. What was thine
Ere made a prisoner, though the doubtful state
Of the best Christian monarch, will abate
Its splendor, when that daughter of the night,
Thy feeble star, shines in a heaven of light.
If life or liberty, then, bear a shape
Worthy thy courting, swear not to escape
By the attempts of strength, and I will free
The iron bonds of thy captivity. "
A solemn oath, by that great power he served,
Took and believed, his hopes no longer starved
In expectation. From that swarthy seat
Of sad despair, his narrow jail, replete
With lazy damps, she leads him to a room,
In whose delights Joy's summer seemed to bloom;
There left him to the brisk society
Of costly baths and Corsic wines, whose high
And sprightly tempers from cool Sherbets found
A calm allay. Here his harsh thoughts unwound
Themselves in pleasure, as not fearing fate
So much, but that he dares to recreate
His spirits, by unwieldy action tired,
With all that lust into no crime had fired.
By mutes, those silent ministers of sin,
His sullied garments were removed, and in
Their place such various habits laid, as Pride
Would clothe her favorites with, she means to hide
From those deformities, which, accident,
On Nature's issue, striving to prevent
Form's even progress, casts, when she would twine
That active male with matter feminine.
Unruffled here by the rash wearer, rests
Fair Persian mantles, rich Sclavonian vests.
The gaudy Tuscan, or transmuted shape
Of the fantastic French — the British ape,
The grave and constant Spaniard, all might here
Find garments, such as princes would appear
To grace their honored nuptials in, or tell
Strangers how much their treasure doth excel.
Though on this swift variety of fate
He looks with wonder, yet his brave soul sat
Too safe within her guards of reason, to
Be shook with passion: that there's something new
And strange approaching after such a storm,
This gentle calm assures him; but the form
Of pleasure softens not that which the other
And worse extreme not with fear's damps could smother.
He flies not with the rugged separatist
Pleasure's smooth walks, nor doth, enjoying, twist
Those threads of gold to fetters; he dares taste
All mirth, but what religion's stock would waste.
His limbs, from wounds but late recovered, now
Refreshed with liquid odors, did allow
Their suppled nerves no softer rest, but in
Such robes as wore their ornament within,
Veiled o'er their beauty. Linen, smooth and soft
As Phaenix' down, and whiter than what's brought
From furthest China, he puts on; and then,
What habit custom made familiar, when
Clothed in his own, makes choice of for to be
Most honored of that rich variety.
In an Italian garb t' the doublet clad,
Manto, lust's swift and watchful spy, that had
With an officious care attended on
That motion, entering, hastes him to be gone
Toward more sublime delights. Which though a just
And holy doubt proclaim the road of lust,
Knowing his better angel did attend
Upon each step, he ventures to descend
The dreadful precipice so far, until
The burning vale was seen, then mounts the hill
Of heaven-bred fortitude, from whence disdain
Floods of contempt on those dark fires did rain.
His guilty conduct now had brought him near
Janusa's room; the glaring lights appear
Thorough the window's crystal walls; the strong
Perfumes of balmy incense, mixed among
The wandering atoms of the air, did fly;
Sight's nimble scouts yet were made captive by
A slower sense, as if but to reveal
What breathed within, those fugitives did steal
Thorough their unseen sallyports, which now
Were useless grown; — The open doors allow
A free access into the room, where come,
Such real forms he saw as would strike dumb
Their Alcoran's tales of paradise; the fair
And sparkling gems i' the gilded roof impair
Their tapers' fires, yet both themselves confess
Weak to those flames Janusa's eyes possess.
With such a joy as bodies that do long
For souls, shall meet them in the doomsday's throng,
She that ruled princes, though not passions, sat
Waiting her lover, on a throne whose state
Epitomized the empire's wealth; her robe,
With costly pride, had robbed the checquered globe
Of its most fair and orient jewels, to
Enhance its value; captive princes, who
Had lost their crowns, might here those gems have seen
That did adorn them: yet she trusts not in
These auxiliary strengths, her confidence
In her own beauty rests, which no defence
Of chastity ere yet withstood; and now
She scorns to fear it, when her power did bow
Unto a slave condemned, that ne'er could look
To see the light, but whilst some torment took
The use of eyes away. Whilst he draws near
By her command, no less it did appear
Her wonder — to behold his dauntless spirit,
Than his — what virtue to applaud as merit.
Placed in a seat near her bright throne, to stir
His settled thoughts, she thus begins: — " From her
Your sword hath so much injured, as to shed
Blood so near kin to mine, that it was fed
By the same milky fountains, and within
One womb warmed into life, is such a sin
I could not pardon, did not love commit
A rape upon my mercy: all the wit
Of man in vain inventions had been lost,
Ere thou redeemed; which now, although it cost
The price of all my honors, I will do: —
Be but so full of gratitude as to
Repay my care with love. Why dost thou thus
Sit dumb to my discourse? It lies in us
To raise or ruin thee, and make my way
Thorough their bloods that our embraces stay. "
This on the spur of passion spoke, she strains
His hand in her's; where feeling the big veins
Beat with intemperate heat, conceiving it
The strokes of lust, to aggravate the fit.
Into a paroxysm of guilt, she shows
More than with modesty, how much she owes
To Nature's treasure, for that ill spent stock
Of beauty she enjoyed: — Her eyes unlock
Two cabinets of sparkling diamonds, which
The even foils of ebon brows enrich
With a more orient brightness; on her cheek
The roses, conquering the pale lily, seek
To counterfeit a blush, but vanquished shame
Submits to love, in whose insulting flame
The modest virgin a sad martyr dies,
And at Fame's wounds bleeds — Passion's sacrifice;
Nature's embossed work, her soft swelling breasts,
Those balls of living ivory, unprest
Even with the weight of tiffany, displays
Whiteness that shamed the swan's; the blood, that strays
In azure channels over them, did show
By their swelled streams, how high the tide did flow
Wherein her passions sailed; the milky way,
Love's fragrant valley that betwixt them lay,
Was moist with balmy dew, extracted by
The busy spirits that did hovering fly
Thorough her boiling blood, whose raging flame
Had scorched to death the April flowers of shame.
To charm those sullen spirits that within
The dark cells of his conscience might have been
Yet by religion hid — that gift divine,
The soul's composure, music, did refine
The lazy air; whose polished harmony,
Whilst dancing in redoubled echoes, by
A wanton song was answered, whose each part
Invites the hearing to betray the heart.
Having with all these choice flowers strewed the way
That leads to lust, to shun the slow delay
Of his approach, her sickly passions haste
To die in action. " Come (she cries) we waste
The precious minutes. Now thou know'st for what
Thou'rt sent for hither, which if active at,
Thou only liv'st in my esteem. " And then,
Oh impudence! which from the worst of men
Might force a blush, she swiftly hastes to tread
Within lust's tropics, her polluted bed.
And here, black sinner, thou, whose blood's disease,
Of kin to hell's, wants numbers to appease
Its flaming calenture, blush to behold
A virgin virtue spotless leaves unfold
In youthful volume, whilst thy ripe years, spent
In lust, have lost thy age's ornament.
In this, as hot and fierce a charge of vice,
As, since he lost the field in paradise,
Man ever felt, the brave Argalia sits,
With virtue cooled in passion's feverish fits:
Yet at life's garrisons his pulses beat
In hot alarums, till, to a soft retreat
Called by that fair commandress, spite of all
Beauty's pravailing rhetoric, though he fall
Ruined beneath her anger, he by this
Unwelcome language her expected bliss
Converts to rage: — " And must my freedom then
At such a rate be purchased? Rather, when
My life expires in torments, let my name
Forgotten die, than live in black-mouthed fame,
A servant to thy lust. Go, tempt thy own
Damned infidels to sin, that ne'er had known
The way to virtue: not this cobweb veil
Of beauty, which thou wear'st but as a jail
To a soul pale with guilt, can cover o'er
Thy mind's deformities; a tainted whore
Conscience proclaim thee will, when thou shalt sit,
Shook with this spotted fever's trembling fit.
Rent from these gilded pleasures, send me to
A dungeon dark as hell, where shadows do
Reign in eternal silence; let these rich
And costly robes, the gaudy trappings which
Thou mean'st to clothe my sin in, be exchanged
For sordid rags. When thy fierce spleen hath ranged
Through all invented torments, choose the worst
To punish my denial; less accursed
I so shall perish, than if by consent
I'd taught thy guilty thoughts how to augment
Their sins in action, and, by giving ease
To thy blood's fever, took its loathed disease. "
To have the spring-tide of her pleasures, swelled
By lust's salt waters, thus by force expelled
Back to confusion's troubled sea, had made
Such troops of passion ready to invade
An ill defended conscience, that her look,
Like a cast felon's out of hopes o' the book,
Was sad with silent guilt. The room she leaves
To her contemner, who not long receives
The benefit of rest; she that had been
The prologue unto this obstructed sin,
With six armed slaves was entered, thence to force
Him to his dismal jail; but the divorce
Of life from those which first approached, joined to
The others' flight, had put her to renew
That scattered strength, had not that sacred tie,
His solemn oath, from laurelled victory
Snatched the fair wreath, and, though brave valour strives
To reach at freedom through a thousand lives,
At her command more tamely made him yield,
Than conquered virgins in the bridal field.