Part 42 (1/2)
21 'Com'st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame That golden bridge to entertain my foe; Nor open'd flowers and fountains, as you came, To welcome him with joy who brings me woe: Put off thy helm: rejoice me with the flame Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow; Kiss me, embrace me; if you further venture, Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath[4] to enter.'
22 Thus as she woos, she rolls her rueful eyes With piteous look, and changeth oft her chere,[5]
An hundred sighs from her false heart up-flies; She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear: The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies; What stony heart resists a woman's tear?
But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind, Drew forth his sword, and from her careless twined:[6]
23 Towards the tree he march'd; she thither start, Before him stepp'd, embraced the plant, and cried-- 'Ah! never do me such a spiteful part, To cut my tree, this forest's joy and pride; Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart Of thy forsaken and despised Armide; For through this breast, and through this heart, unkind, To this fair tree thy sword shall pa.s.sage find.'
24 He lift his brand, nor cared, though oft she pray'd, And she her form to other shape did change; Such monsters huge, when men in dreams are laid, Oft in their idle fancies roam and range: Her body swell'd, her face obscure was made; Vanish'd her garments rich, and vestures strange; A giantess before him high she stands, Arm'd, like Briareus, with an hundred hands.
25 With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright, She threaten'd death, she roar'd, she cried and fought; Each other nymph, in armour likewise dight, A Cyclops great became; he fear'd them nought, But on the myrtle smote with all his might, Which groan'd, like living souls, to death nigh brought; The sky seem'd Pluto's court, the air seem'd h.e.l.l, Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell:
26 Lighten'd the heaven above, the earth below Roared aloud; that thunder'd, and this shook: Bl.u.s.ter'd the tempests strong; the whirlwinds blow; The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look; But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow, Nor of that fury heed or care he took, Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended; en fled the spirits all, the charms all ended.
27 The heavens grew clear, the air wax'd calm and still, The wood returned to its wonted state, Of witchcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill, Of horror full, but horror there innate: He further tried, if ought withstood his will To cut those trees, as did the charms of late, And finding nought to stop him, smiled and said-- 'O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!'
28 From thence home to the camp-ward turn'd the knight; The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat, 'Now of the wood the charms have lost their might; The sprites are conquer'd, ended is the feat; See where he comes!'--Array'd in glittering white Appear'd the man, bold, stately, high, and great; His eagle's silver wings to s.h.i.+ne begun With wondrous splendour 'gainst the golden sun.
29 The camp received him with a joyful cry,-- A cry, the hills and dales about that fill'd; Then G.o.dfrey welcomed him with honours high; His glory quench'd all spite, all envy kill'd: 'To yonder dreadful grove,' quoth he, 'went I, And from the fearful wood, as me you will'd, Have driven the sprites away; thither let be Your people sent, the way is safe and free.'
[1] 'Mo:' more.
[2] 'Stilled:' dropped.
[3] 'Dight:' aparelled.
[4] 'Eath:' easy.
[5] 'Chere:' expression.
[6] 'Twined:' separated.
SIR HENRY WOTTON
Was born in Kent, in 1568; educated at Winchester and Oxford; and, after travelling on the Continent, became the Secretary of Ess.e.x, but had the sagacity to foresee his downfall, and withdrew from the kingdom in time.
On his return he became a favourite of James I., who employed him to be amba.s.sador to Venice,--a post he held long, and occupied with great skill and adroitness. Toward the end of his days, in order to gain the Provost- s.h.i.+p of Eton, he took orders, and died in that situation, in 1639, in the 72d year of his age. His writings were published in 1651, under the t.i.tle of 'Reliquitae Wottonianae,' and Izaak Walton has written an entertaining account of his life. His poetry has a few pleasing and smooth-flowing pa.s.sages; but perhaps the best thing recorded of him is his viva voce account of an English amba.s.sador, as 'an honest gentleman sent to LIE abroad for the good of his country.'
FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD.
1 Farewell, ye gilded follies! pleasing troubles; Farewell, ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles; Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay, Honour the darling but of one short day, Beauty, the eye's idol, but a damask'd skin, State but a golden prison to live in And torture free-born minds; embroider'd trains Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins; And blood, allied to greatness, is alone Inherited, not purchased, nor our own.
Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, Are but the fading blossoms of the earth.
2 I would be great, but that the sun doth still Level his rays against the rising hill; I would be high, but see the proudest oak Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke; I would be rich, but see men too unkind Dig in the bowels of the richest mind; I would be wise, but that I often see The fox suspected while the a.s.s goes free; I would be fair, but see the fair and proud, Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud; I would be poor, but know the humble gra.s.s Still trampled on by each unworthy a.s.s; Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envied more.
I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair--poor I'll be rather.
3 Would the world now adopt me for her heir, Would beauty's queen ent.i.tle me 'the fair,'
Fame speak me Fortune's minion, could I vie Angels[1] with India; with a speaking eye Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumb As well as blind and lame, or give a tongue To stones by epitaphs; be call'd great master In the loose rhymes of every poetaster; Could I be more than any man that lives, Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives: Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, Than ever fortune would have made them mine; And hold one minute of this holy leisure Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure.