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 open'd a way for the 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 efface His image from her soul she strives. The place For 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, smear'd in blood, Standing before her sight; and by that flood Those red streams wept, imploring vengeance, then, Enraged, she cries, "O, let him die!" But when Her sleep-imprison'd fancy, wandering in The shades of darken'd reason, did begin To draw Argalia's image on her soul, Love's sovereign power did suddenly controul The strength of those abortive embryos, sprung From smother'd anger. The glad birds had sung A lullaby to night, the lark was fled, On dropping wings, up from his dewy bed, To fan them in the rising sunbeams, ere Whose early reign Janusa, that could bear No longer lock'd within her breast so great An army of rebellious passions, beat
From reason's conquer'd fortress, did unfold Her thoughts to Manto, a stout wench; whose bold Wit, join'd with zeal to serve her, had endear'd Her to her best affections. Having clear'd All doubts with hopeful promises, her maid, By whose close wiles this plot must be convey'd, To secret action of her council makes Two eunuch pandars, 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 into the dismal place In which he lay, without presents the face Of horror smear'd in blood; a scaffold built To be the stage of murder, blush'd with guilt Of Christian blood, by several torments let From th' 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 blush'd in fire, whilst the brave pris'ner lay, Circled in darkness, yet in those shades spends The hours with angels, whose assistance lends
Strength to the wings of faith.
A glimmering light, whose near approach unfolds The leaves of darkness. While his wonder grows Big with amazement, the dim taper shows False Manto enter'd, who, prepared to be A bawd unto her lustful mistress, came, Not with persuasive rhetoric to inflame A heart congeal'd with death's approach.
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 mayst 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 her best Christian monarch, will abate Its splendour, 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 seem'd 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 ally; here his harsh thoughts unwound Themselves in pleasure, as not fearing fate So much, but that he dares to recreate His spirit, 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 favourites with.
Unruffled here by the rash wearer, rests Fair Persian mantles, rich Sclavonian vests.
Though on this swift variety of fate
He looks with wonder, yet his brave soul sate 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.
His limbs from wounds but late recover'd, now Refresh'd with liquid odours, did allow Their suppled nerves no softer rest, but in Such robes as wore their ornament within,
Veil'd o'er their beauty.
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 mix'd among The wandering atoms of the air did fly. The open doors allow A free access into the room, where come, Such real forms he saw as would strike dumb The Alcoran's tales of Paradise, the fair And sparkling gems i' the gilded roof impair Their taper's fire, 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 throng, She that ruled princes, though not passions, sate Waiting her lover, on a throne whose state Epitomized the empire's wealth; her robe, With costly pride, had robb'd the chequer'd globe Of its most fair and orient jewels, to Enhance its value; captive princes who Had lost their crowns, might there those gems have
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 warm'd 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 redeem'd; which now, although it cost The price of all my honours, 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."
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 polish'd harmony, Whilst dancing in redoubled echoes, by
Damn'd 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 deformity.
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 accurst I so shall perish, than if by consent
I taught thy guilty thoughts how to augment Their sin in action, and, by giving ease To thy blood's fever, took its loath'd disease. Her look,
So far the fair Janusa in this sad Region of grief had gone, till sorrow had That fever turn'd, upon whose flaming wings At first love only sate, to one which brings Death's symptoms near the heart.
* The rose had lost His ensigns in her cheeks, and though it cost Pains near to death, the lily had alone Set his pale banners up; no brightness shone Within her eye's dim orbs, whose fading light Being quench'd in death, had set in endless night, Had not the wise endeavours of her maid, The careful Manto, grief's pale scouts betray'd,
A wanton song was answer'd, whose each part Invites the hearing to betray the heart. Having with all these choice flowers strew'd the way That leads to lust, to shun the slow decay Of his approach, her sickly passions haste To die in action. "Come," she cries, 66 we waste The precious minutes. Now thou know'st for what By sly deceit. Thou'rt sent for hither."
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-mouth'd fame, A servant to thy lust. Go, tempt thy own
Although she cures not, yet gives present ease, By laying opiates to the harsh disease. A letter, which did for uncivil blame His first denial, in the stranger's name Disguised, she gives her; which, with eyes that did O'erflow with joy read o'er, had soon forbid Grief's sullen progress, whose next stage had been O'er life's short road, the grave-death's quiet inn,
From whose dark terror, by this gleam of light, Like trembling children by a lamp's weak light, Freed from night's dreadful shadows, she embraced Sleep, nature's darkness-
and upon the wings Of airy hope, that wanton bird which sings As soon as fledged, advanced her to survey The dawning beauties of a long'd-for day.
But ere this pyramid of pleasure to Its height arrives-with's presence to undo The golden structure-dreadful Ammurat, From his floating mansion lately landed at The city's port, impatient love had brought In an untimely visit.
He enters, and she faints! in which pale trance His pity finds her, but to no such chance Imputes the cause: rather conceives it joy, Whose rushing torrent made her heart employ Its nimble servants, all her spirits, to Prevent a deluge, which might else undo Love's new made commonwealth. But whilst his Hastens to help, her fortune did declare Her sorrow's dark enigma; from her bed The letter dropt-which, when life's army fled, Their frontier garrisons neglected, had Been left within't-this seen, declares a sad Truth to th' amazed Bassa, though 'twere mix'd With subtle falsehood. While he stands, betwixt High rage and grief distracted, doubtful yet In what new dress to wear revenge, the fit Forsakes Janusa; who, not knowing she Detected stood of lust's conspiracy 'Gainst honour's royal charter, from a low Voice strains a welcome, which did seem to flow From fickle discontent, such as the weak [break. Lungs breathe their thoughts in whilst their fibres
To counterfeited slumbers leaving her, He's gone with silent anger to confer ; With such a farewell as kind husbands leave Their pregnant wives, preparing to receive A mother's first of blessings, he forsakes The room, and into strict inquiry takes The wretched Manto, who, ere she could call Excuse to aid, surprised, discovers all.
The captive Argalia is again brought before Janusa, who is unconscious that the Bassa had read the letter. Ammurat, in the mean time, is concealed to watch the interview.
PLACED, by false Manto, in a closet, which, Silent and sad, had only to enrich
Its roof with light, some few neglected beams Sent from Janusa's room, which serve as streams To watch intelligence; here he beheld, Whilst she who with his absence had expell'd All thoughtful cares, was with her joy swell'd high, As captives are when call'd to liberty. Perfumed and costly, her fair bed was more Adorn'd than shrines which costly kings adore;
Heroic scorn as aged saints that die, Heaven's fav'rites, leave the trivial world-he slights
That gilded pomp ; no splendent beam invites His serious eye to meet their objects in An amorous glance, reserved as he had been Before his grave confessor: he beholds Beauty's bright magic, while its art unfolds Great love's mysterious riddles, and commands Captive Janusa to infringe the bands
Of matrimonal modesty. When all Temptation fails, she leaves her throne to fall, The scorn of greatness, at his feet: but prayer, Like flattery, expires in useless air,
Too weak to batter that firm confidence Their torment's thunder could not shake. Despair, love's tyrant, had enforced her to [hence More wild attempts, had not her Ammurat, who, Unseen, beheld all this, prevented, by His sight, the death of bleeding modesty.
Made swift with rage, the ruffled curtain flies His angry touch-he enters-fix'd his eyes, From whence some drops of rage distil, on her Whose heart had lent her face its character. Whilst he stood red with flaming anger, she Looks pale with fear-passion's disparity Dwelt in their troubled breasts; his wild eyes stood Like comets, when attracting storms of blood Shook with portentous sad, the whilst hers sate Like the dull earth, when trembling at the fate Of those ensuing evils-heavy fix'd Within their orbs. Passions thus strangely mix'd, No various fever e'er created in
The phrenzied brain, when sleep's sweet calm had From her soft throne deposed. [been
So having paused, his dreadful voice thus broke The dismal silence.
Thou curse of my nativity, that more Affects me than eternal wrath can do— Spirits condemn'd, some fiends, instruct me to Heighten revenge to thy desert; but so
I should do more than mortals may, and throw
Thy spotted soul to flames. Yet I will give Its passport hence; for think not to outlive This hour, this fatal hour, ordain'd to see More than an age before of tragedy.
Fearing tears should win The victory of anger, Ammurat draws His scymitar, which had in blood writ laws For conquer'd provinces, and with a swift And cruel rage, ere penitence could lift Her burthen'd soul in a repentant thought Tow'rds heaven, sheathes the cold steel in her soft And snowy breast with a loud groan she falls Upon the bloody floor, half breathless, calls For his untimely pity; but perceiving The fleeting spirits, with her blood, were leaving Her heart unguarded, she implores that breath Which yet remain'd, not to bewail her death, But beg his life that caused it-on her knees, Struggling to rise. But now calm'd Ammurat frees
The wounds that murther'd both his hand that Mine, did but gently let me blood to save An everlasting fever. Pardon me, My dear, my dying lord. Eternity
Shall see my soul white-wash'd in tears; but oh! I now feel time's dear want-they will not flow Fast as my stream of blood. Christian, farewell!
Her from disturbing death, in his last great work, Whene'er thou dost our tragic story tell,
THIS gallant, unfortunate man, who was much distinguished for the beauty of his person, was the son of Sir William Lovelace, of Woolwich, in Kent. After taking a master's degree at Cambridge, he was for some time an officer in the army; but returned to his native country after the pacification of Berwick, and took possession of his paternal estate, worth about 5007. per annum. About the same time he was deputed by the county of Kent to deliver their petition to the House of Commons, for restoring the king to his rights, and settling the government. This petition gave such offence that he was committed to the Gate-house prison, and only released on finding bail to an enormous amount not to pass beyond the lines of communication. During his confinement to London his fortune was wasted in support of the royal cause. In 1646 he formed
a regiment for the service of the French king, was colonel of it, and was wounded at Dunkirk. On this occasion his mistress, Lucasta, a Miss Lucy Sacheverel, married another, hearing that he had died of his wounds. At the end of two years he returned to England, and was again imprisoned till after the death of Charles I. He was then at liberty; but, according to Wood, was left in the most destitute circumstances, his estate being gone. He, who had been the favourite of courts, is represented as having lodged in the most obscure recesses of poverty*, and died in great misery in a lodging near Shoe-lane.
*The compiler of the Biographia Dramatica remarks that Wood must have exaggerated Lovelace's poverty, for his daughter and sole heir married the son of Lord Chief Justice Coke, and brought to her husband the estates of her father at King's-down in Kent.
TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.
WHEN Love, with unconfined wings, Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates; When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd to her eye,—
The birds, that wanton in the air, Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free,- Fishes, that tipple in the deep, Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,- Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage ; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free,— Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.
AMARANTHA, Sweet and fair, Forbear to braid that shining hair; As my curious hand or eye, Hovering round thee, let it fly:
Let it fly as unconfined As its ravisher the wind, Who has left his darling east To wanton o'er this spicy nest.
Every tress must be confess'd But neatly tangled at the best, Like a clew of golden thread Most excellently ravelled :
Do not then wind up that light In ribands, and o'ercloud the night; Like the sun in his early ray,
But shake your head and scatter day.
[* Charles I., in whose cause Lovelace was then in prison]
« ZurückWeiter » |