O. Be not offended; but methought thy looks
Did seem as though thou wert afraid of me.
Rest there in peace-rest there in peace, young
I would not do thee harm for many worlds.
353. If he from heav'n that filch'd that living fire,
Condemn'd by Jove to endless torment be,
I greatly marvel how you still go free,
That far beyond Prometheus did aspire.
The fire he stole, although of heav'nly kind,
Which from above he craftily did take
Of lifeless clods us living men to make,
He did bestow in temper of the mind:
But you broke into heav'n's immortal store,
Where virtue, honour, wit, and beauty lay;
Which taking thence you have escap'd away,
Yet stand as free as e'er you did before,
While old Prometheus suffers for his rape :
Poor thieves are punish'd, when the great ones
'scape.
354. I never did repent for doing good,
Nor shall not now: for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together,
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love,
There must be needs a like proportion
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit;
Which makes me think that this Antonio,
Being the bosom lover of my lord,
Must needs be like my lord: if it be so,
How little is the cost I have bestow'd
In purchasing the semblance of my soul
From out the state of hellish cruelty!
This comes too near the praising of myself:
Therefore no more of it.
355. A woman rules my prison key;
A sister queen, against the bent
Of law and holiest sympathy,
Detains me doubtful of th' event:
Great God, who feel'st for my distress,
My thoughts are all that I
O keep them innocent!
Farewell desire of human aid,
Which abject mortals vainly court,
By friends deceiv'd, by foes betray'd,
Of fears the prey, of hopes the sport:
Nought but the world-redeeming Cross
Is able to supply my loss,
My burden to support.
356. Yet did the king, almost forsaken quite
By all his men, maintain a noble fight,
As if ashamed to outlive the sad
Discomfiture which his own rashness made.
Nor did his faltering hands e'en then forget
To play a soldier's part; appearing yet
Worthy the fear of his assailing foe,
While death attended ev'ry furious blow.
Too late that prowess comes; and he in vain
By personal valour hopes to cure again
That malady which ill-conduct begat.
No soldier's valiant hand can expiate
A general's folly; nor one private hand
Redeem the errors of a king's command.
357. Shepherd, or huntsman, or worn mariner,
Whate'er thou art, who would'st allay thy thirst,
Drink and be glad. This cistern of white stones
Arch'd, and o'erwrought with many a sacred verse,
This iron cup chain'd for the general use,
And these rude seats of earth within the grove,
Were given by Fatima. Borne hence a bride,
'Twas here she turn'd from her beloved sire,
To see his face no more. Oh, if thou canst,
-"Tis not far off- visit this tomb with flowers; And with a drop of this sweet water fill
The two small cells scoop'd in the marble there,
That birds may come and drink upon his grave,
Making it holy.
358. Deceive me not. Thy love deceiveth thee.
Men's actions to futurity appear
But as the events do show them. A fall'n state,
In age and weakness fall'n, no hero hath :
For none remain behind unto whose pride
The cherish'd memory of his acts pertains.
O no, good Othus, fame I do not look for;
But to sustain in heav'n's all-seeing eye,
Before my fellow men, in mine own sight,
With graceful virtue and becoming pride,
The dignity and honour of a man.
Thus station'd as I am, I will do all
That man may do, and I will suffer all
(My heart within me cries) that man may suffer. 359. L. Whom you see wretched, know to be a man. A. Whom you see valiant, know to be not wretched. L. Him call we valiant from whose shoulders fell The lion and the club, a woman's spoil,
Exchang❜d for broider'd vest and Tyrian hues?
Him call we valiant whose wild bristling locks
Steam'd spikenard, whose huge honour-harden'd
hands
Danc'd to the tambourine's unmanly noise,
While the soft Lydian mitre press'd his brow?
A. Young Bacchus blushes not to fling abroad
His wind-kiss'd locks, and poise with delicate hand
The quivering thyrsus, while behind him floats
The rich barbaric train of woven gold :
Long-labouring virtue needs refreshing ease.
360. Now manifest is every oracle,
Now Lacedæmon's awful Nemesis,
Now the red torch, now the right hand that shakes
Its widening vapour over myriad graves,
To settle on the towers of Ilion,
But these all vanish. Thee alone he sees,
Daughter of Cebren, thee beneath that rock
Where strew'd the wind thy nuptial couch with leaves,
Espous'd, deserted, childless! What avail,
Ah what, the promises, the gifts of Gods?
A better, now he feels, was left in thee.
Go, ye who once could serve me, go, he said,
And tell Enone ye have seen me pierc'd;
Tell her it is not help I now beseech,
But pardon.
361. Like as the culver on the bared bough,
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate,
And in her songs sends many a wishful vow
For his return that seems to linger late;
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourn to myself the absence of my love,
And wandering here and there, all desolate,
Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove.
No joy of ought that under heaven doth hove,
Can comfort me but her own joyous sight,
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move
In her unspotted pleasance to delight.
Dark is my day while her fair light I miss,
And dead my life that wants such lively bliss.
'Tis a pure love,
Unmix'd as is the soul. The world perhaps
May judge a kingdom hath enamour'd me,
And that your titles dress you forth to raise
My appetite up higher. Pardon, love,
If I grow envious ev'n of your fortune;
And that I'm forc'd to wish you had been daughter
Of some poor mountain cottager, without
All dow'r save your own beauty: then I might
Have shown a flame untainted with ambition,
And courted you. But now the circumstance
Of greatness seems to challenge more than I
Have pow'r to give; and working up my love,
I serve my fortune.
363. All human things are subject to decay ;
And well the man of Chios tun'd his lay,
"Like leaves on trees the race of man is found."
Yet few receive the melancholy sound,
Or in their breasts imprint this solemn truth:
For hope is near to all, but most to youth.
Hope's vernal season leads the laughing hours,
And strews o'er every path the fairest flowers:
To cloud the scene no distant mists appear,
Age moves no thought, and death awakes no fear.
Ah, how unmindful is the giddy crowd
Of the small span to youth and life allow'd!
Ye who reflect, the short-liv'd good employ,
And, while the power remains, indulge your joy.
364. Who can describe the havoc of that night?
Who tell its deeds of death? Who can by tears
Equal in sorrow its calamities?
Our ancient city, which for many a year
Dominion held, is sinking to the ground.
Where'er we turn, are lifeless bodies strewn
In numbers great about the public ways,
Domestic hearths, and mid the solemn courts
Devoted by religion to the Gods.
Nor is it only Trojan blood that flows:
The vanquish'd too at times with courage burn,
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