John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  As threaten’d from the Hinge, to heave the Door;

  In, through that Door, a Northern Light there shone;

  ’Twas all it had, for Windows there were none.

  The Gate was Adamant; Eternal Frame!

  Which, hew’d by Mars himself, from Indian Quarries came, 555

  The Labour of a God; and all along

  Tough Iron Plates were clench’d to make it strong.

  A Tun about was ev’ry Pillar there;

  A polish’d Mirrour shone not half so clear.

  There saw I how the secret Fellon wrought, 560

  And Treason lab’ring in the Traytor’s Thought;

  And Midwife Time the ripen’d Plot to Murder brought.

  There, the Red Anger dar’d the Pallid Fear;

  Next stood Hypocrisie, with holy Lear:

  Soft, smiling, and demurely looking down, 565

  But hid the Dagger underneath the Gown:

  Th’ assassinating Wife, the Houshold Fiend;

  And far the blackest there, the Traytor-Friend.

  On t’ other side there stood Destruction bare;

  Unpunish’d Rapine, and a Waste of War, 570

  Contest, with sharpen’d Knives in Cloysters drawn,

  And all with Blood bespread the holy Lawn.

  Loud Menaces were heard, and foul Disgrace,

  And bawling Infamy, in Language base;

  Till Sense was lost in Sound, and Silence fled the Place. 575

  The Slayer of Himself yet saw I there,

  The Gore congeal’d was clotter’d in his Hair:

  With Eyes half clos’d, and gaping Mouth he lay,

  And grim, as when he breath’d his sullen Soul away.

  In midst of all the Dome, Misfortune sat, 580

  And gloomy Discontent, and fell Debate,

  And Madness laughing in his ireful Mood;

  And arm’d Complaint on Theft; and Cries of Blood.

  There was the murder’d Corps, in Covert laid,

  And Violent Death in thousand Shapes display’d: 585

  The City to the Soldier’s Rage resign’d:

  Successless Wars, and Poverty behind:

  Ships burnt in Fight, or forc’d on Rocky Shores,

  And the rash Hunter strangled by the Boars:

  The new-born Babe by Nurses overlaid; 590

  And the Cook caught within the raging Fire he made.

  All ills of Mars his Nature, Flame and Steel:

  The gasping Charioteer, beneath the Wheel

  Of his own Car; the ruin’d House that falls

  And intercepts her Lord betwixt the Walls: 595

  The whole Division that to Mars pertains,

  All Trades of Death that deal in Steel for Gains,

  Were there: The Butcher, Armourer, and Smith,

  Who forges sharpen’d Fauchions, or the Scythe.

  The scarlet Conquest on a Tow’r was plac’d, 600

  With Shouts, and Soldiers Acclamations grac’d:

  A pointed Sword hung threatning o’er his Head,

  Sustain’d but by a slender Twine of Thred.

  There saw I Mars his Ides, the Capitol,

  The Seer in vain foretelling Cæsar’s Fall; 605

  The last Triumvirs, and the Wars they move,

  And Antony, who lost the World for Love.

  These, and a thousand more, the Fane adorn;

  Their Fates were painted e’er the Men were born,

  All copied from the Heav’ns, and ruling Force 610

  Of the Red Star, in his revolving Course.

  The Form of Mars high on a Chariot stood,

  All sheath’d in Arms, and gruffly look’d the God:

  Two Geomantick Figures were display’d

  Above his Head, a Warriour and a Maid, 615

  One when Direct, and one when Retrograde.

  Tir’d with Deformities of Death, I haste

  To the third Temple of Diana chaste;

  A Sylvan Scene with various Greens was drawn,

  Shades on the Sides, and on the midst a Lawn: 620

  The Silver Cynthia, with her Nymphs around,

  Pursu’d the flying Deer, the Woods with Horns resound:

  Calistho there stood manifest of Shame,

  And, turn’d a Bear, the Northern Star became:

  Her Son was next, and, by peculiar Grace 625

  In the cold Circle held the second Place:

  The Stag Acteon in the Stream had spy’d

  The naked Huntress, and, for seeing, dy’d;

  His Hounds, unknowing of his Change, pursue

  The Chace, and their mistaken Master slew. 630

  Peneian Daphne too was there to see,

  Apollo’s Love before, and now his Tree:

  Th’ adjoining Fane th’ assembl’d Greeks express’d,

  And hunting of the Caledonian beast.

  Oenides Valour, and his envy’d Prize; 635

  The fatal Pow’r of Atalanta’s Eyes;

  Diana’s Vengeance on the Victor shown,

  The Murdress Mother, and consuming Son;

  The Volscian Queen extended on the Plain;

  The Treason punish’d, and the Traytor slain. 640

  The rest were various Huntings, well design’d,

  And Salvage Beasts destroy’d, of ev’ry Kind:

  The graceful Goddess was array’d in Green;

  About her Feet were little Beagles seen,

  That watch’d with up ward Eyes the Motions of their Queen. 645

  Her Legs were Buskin’d, and the Left before,

  In act to shoot, a Silver Bow she bore,

  And at her Back a painted Quiver wore.

  She trod a wexing Moon, that soon wou’d wane,

  And drinking borrowed Light, be fill’d again; 650

  With down-cast Eyes, as seeming to survey

  The dark Dominions, her alternate Sway.

  Before her stood a Woman in her Throws,

  And call’d Lucina’s Aid, her Burden to disclose.

  All these the Painter drew with such Command, 655

  That Nature snatch’d the Pencil from his Hand,

  Asham’d and angry that his Art could feign

  And mend the Tortures of a Mothers Pain.

  Theseus beheld the Fanes of ev’ry God,

  And thought his mighty Cost was well bestow’d: 660

  So Princes now their Poets should regard;

  But few can write, and fewer can reward.

  The Theater thus rais’d, the Lists enclos’d,

  And all with vast Magnificence dispos’d,

  We leave the Monarch pleased, and haste to bring 665

  The Knights to combate; and their Arms to sing.

  The End of the Second Book.

  Palamon and Arcite: or the Knight’s Tale. Book III

  THE DAY approach’d when Fortune shou’d decide

  Th’ important Enterprize, and give the Bride;

  For now, the Rivals round the World had sought,

  And each his Number, well appointed, brought.

  The Nations far and near contend in Choice, 5

  And send the Flow’r of War by Publick Voice;

  That after, or before, were never known

  Such Chiefs; as each an Army seem’d alone:

  Beside the Champions; all of high Degree,

  Who Knighthood lov’d, and Deeds of Chivalry, 10

  Throng’d to the Lists, and envy’d to behold,

  The Names of others, not their own, inroll’d.

  Nor seems it strange; for ev’ry Noble Knight

  Who loves the Fair, and is endu’d with Might,

  In such a Quarrel wou’d be proud to fight. 15

  There breaths not scarce a Man on British Ground

  (An Isle for Love and Arms of old renown’d)

  But would have sold his Life to purchase Fame,

  To Palamon or Arcite sent his Name;

  And had the Land selected of the best, 20

  Half had come he
nce, and let the World provide the rest.

  A hundred Knights with Palamon there came,

  Approv’d in Fight, and Men of Mighty Name;

  Their Arms were sev’ral, as their Nations were,

  But furnish’d all alike with Sword and Spear. 25

  Some wore Coat-armour, imitating Scale;

  And next their Skins were stubborn Shirts of Mail.

  Some wore a Breastplate and a light Juppon,

  Their Horses cloth’d with rich Caparison;

  Some for Defence would Leathern Bucklers use, 30

  Of folded Hides; and others Shields of Pruce.

  One hung a Poleax at his Saddle-bow,

  And one a heavy Mace, to stun the Foe:

  One for his Legs and Knees provided well,

  With Jambeux arm’d, and double Plates of Steel: 35

  This on his Helmet wore a Ladies Glove,

  And that a Sleeve embroider’d by his Love.

  With Palamon, above the rest in Place,

  Lycurgus came, the surly King of Thrace;

  Black was his Beard, and manly was his Face: 40

  The Balls of his broad Eyes roll’d in his head,

  And glar’d betwixt a Yellow and a Red;

  He look’d a Lion with a gloomy Stare,

  And o’er his Eye-brows hung his matted Hair;

  Big-bon’d and large of Limbs, with Sinews strong, 45

  Broad-shoulder’d, and his Arms were round and long.

  Four Milk-white Bulls (the Thracian Use of old)

  Were yok’d to draw his Car of burnish’d Gold.

  Upright he stood, and bore aloft his Shield,

  Conspicuous from afar, and over-look’d the Field 50

  His Surcoat was a Bear-skin on his Back;

  His Hair hung long behind, and glossy Raven-black.

  His ample Forehead bore a Coronet

  With sparkling Diamonds, and with Rubies set:

  Ten Brace, and more, of Greyhounds, snowy fair, 55

  And tall as Stags, ran loose, and cours’d around his Chair,

  A Match for Pards in Flight, in grappling for the Bear;

  With Golden Muzzles all their Mouths were bound,

  And Collars of the same their Necks surround.

  Thus thro’ the Fields Lycurgus took his way; 60

  His hundred Knights attend in Pomp and proud Array.

  To match this Monarch, with strong Arcite came

  Emelrius, king of Inde, a mighty Name,

  On a Bay Courser, goodly to behold,

  The Trappings of his Horse emboss’d with barb’rous Gold. 65

  Not Mars bestrode a Steed with greater Grace;

  His Surcoat o’er his Arms was Cloth of Thrace,

  Adorn’d with Pearls, all Orient, round, and great;

  His Saddle was of Gold, with Emeralds set.

  His Shoulders large a Mantle did attire, 70

  With Rubies thick, and sparkling as the Fire;

  His Amber-colour’d Locks in Ringlets run,

  With graceful Negligence, and shone against the Sun.

  His Nose was aquiline, his eyes were blue,

  Ruddy his Lips, and fresh and fair his Hue: 75

  Some sprinkled Freckles on his Face were seen,

  Whose dusk set off the Whiteness of the Skin:

  His awful Presence did the Crowd surprize,

  Nor durst the rash Spectator meet his Eyes,

  Eyes that confess’d him born for Kingly Sway, 80

  So fierce, they flash’d intolerable Day.

  His Age in Nature’s youthful Prime appeared,

  And just began to bloom his yellow Beard.

  Whene’er he spoke, his Voice was heard around,

  Loud as a Trumpet, with a Silver Sound. 85

  A Laurel wreath’d his Temples, fresh, and green,

  And Myrtle-sprigs, the Marks of Love, were mix’d between.

  Upon his Fist he bore, for his Delight,

  An Eagle well reclaim’d, and Lilly-white.

  His hundred Knights attend him to the War, 90

  All arm’d for Battel; save their Heads were bare.

  Words, and Devices blaz’d on ev’ry Shield,

  And pleasing was the Terrour of the Field.

  For Kings, and Dukes, and Barons you might see,

  Like sparkling Stars, though diff’rent in Degree, 95

  All for th’ Increase of Arms, and Love of Chivalry.

  Before the King, tame Leopards led the Way,

  And Troops of Lions innocently play.

  So Bacchus through the conquer’d Indies rode,

  And Beasts in Gambols frisk’d before their honest God. 100

  In this Array the War of either side

  Through Athens pass’d with Military Pride.

  At Prime, they entered on the Sunday Morn;

  Rich Tap’stry spread the Streets, and Flowers the Posts adorn.

  The Town was all a Jubilee of Feasts; 105

  So Theseus will’d, in Honour of his Guests;

  Himself with open Arms the Kings embrac’d,

  Then all the rest in their Degrees were grac’d.

  No Harbinger was needful for the Night,

  For ev’ry House was proud to lodge a Knight. 110

  I pass the Royal Treat, nor must relate

  The Gifts bestow’d, nor how the Champions sate;

  Who first, who last, or how the Knights address’d

  Their Vows, or who was fairest at the Feast;

  Whose Voice, whose graceful Dance did most surprise, 115

  Soft am’rous Sighs, and silent Love of Eyes.

  The Rivals call my Muse another Way,

  To sing their Vigils for th’ ensuing Day.

  ’Twas ebbing Darkness, past the Noon of Night:

  And Prospher on the Confines of the Light, 120

  Promis’d the Sun; ere Day began to spring,]

  The tuneful Lark already stretch’d her Wing,

  And flick’ring on her Nest, made short Essays to sing.

  When wakeful Palamon, preventing Day,

  Took, to the Royal Lists, his early way, 125

  To Venus at her Fane, in her own House, to pray.

  There, falling on his Knees before her Shrine,

  He thus implor’d with Pray’rs her Pow’r divine.

  Creator Venus, genial Pow’r of Love,

  The Bliss of Men below, and Gods above, 130

  Beneath the sliding Sun thou runn’st thy Race,

  Dost fairest shine, and best become thy Place.

  For thee the Winds their Eastern Blasts forbear,

  Thy Month reveals the Spring, and opens all the Year.

  Thee, Goddess, thee the Storms of Winter fly, 135

  Earth smiles with Flow’rs renewing; laughs the Sky,

  And Birds to Lays of Love their tuneful Notes apply.

  For thee the Lion loaths the Taste of Blood,

  And roaring hunts his Female through the Wood;

  For thee the Bulls rebellow through the Groves, 140

  And tempt the Stream, and snuff their absent Loves.

  ’Tis thine, whate’er is pleasant, good, or fair;

  All Nature is thy Province, Life thy Care;

  Thou mad’st the World, and dost the World repair.

  Thou gladder of the mount of Cytheron, 145

  Increase of Jove, Companion of the Sun,

  If e’er Adonis touch’d thy tender Heart,

  Have pity, Goddess, for thou know’st the Smart:

  Alas! I have not Words to tell my Grief;

  To vent my Sorrow wou’d be some Relief: 150

  Light Suff’rings give us Leisure to complain;

  We groan, but cannot speak, in greater Pain.

  O Goddess, tell thy self what I would say,

  Thou know’st it, and I feel too much to pray.

  So grant my Suit, as I enforce my Might, 155

  In Love to be thy Champion, and thy Knight,

  A Servant to thy Sex, a Slave t
o thee,

  A foe profess’d to barren Chastity.

  Nor ask I Fame or Honour of the Field,

  Nor chuse I more to vanquish, than to yield: 160

  In my Divine Emilia make me blest,

  Let Fate, or partial Chance, dispose the rest:

  Find thou the Manner, and the Means prepare;

  Possession, more than Conquest, is my Care.

  Mars is the Warriour’s God; in him it lies 165

  On whom he favours, to confer the Prize;

  With smiling Aspect you serenely move

  In your fifth Orb, and rule the Realm of Love.

  The Fates but only spin the courser Clue,

  The finest of the Wooll is left for you. 170

  Spare me but one small portion of the Twine,

  And let the Sisters cut below your Line:

  The rest among the Rubbish may they sweep,

  Or add it to the Yarn of some old Miser’s Heap.

  But if you this ambitious Pray’r deny, 175

  (A Wish, I grant, beyond Mortality,)

  Then let me sink beneath proud Arcite’s Arms,

  And I once dead, let him possess her Charms.

  Thus ended he; then, with Observance due,

  The sacred Incence on her Altar threw: 180

  The curling Smoke mounts heavy from the Fires;

  At length it catches Flame, and in a Blaze expires;

  At once the gracious Goddess gave the Sign,

  Her Statue shook, and trembl’d all the Shrine:

  Pleas’d Palamon the tardy Omen took; 185

  For, since the Flames pursued the trailing Smoke,

  He knew his Boon was granted; but the Day

  To distance driv’n, and Joy adjourn’d with long Delay.

  Now Morn with Rosie Light had streak’d the Sky,

  Up rose the Sun, and up rose Emily 190

  Address’d her early Steps to Cynthia’s Fane,

  In State attended by her Maiden Train,

  Who bore the Vests that Holy Rites require,

  Incence, and od’rous Gums, and cover’d Fire.

  The plenteous Horns with pleasant Mead they crown, 195

  Nor wanted aught besides in Honour of the Moon.

  Now while the Temple smoak’d with hallow’d Steam,

  They wash the Virgin in a living Stream;

  The secret Ceremonies I conceal:

  Uncouth; perhaps unlawful to reveal: 200

  But such they were as Pagan Use requir’d,

  Performed by Women when the Men retir’d,

  Whose Eyes profane their chast mysterious Rites

  Might turn to Scandal, or obscene Delights.

  Well-meaners think no Harm; but for the rest, 205

  Things sacred they pervert, and Silence is the best.

  Her shining Hair, uncomb’d, was loosly spread,

  A Crown of Mastless Oak adorn’d her Head