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POEMS, DRAMATIC AND MISCELLANEOUS.
BY MRS. M. WARREN.
—'Tis a stranger sues,
A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse.—
POPE.
PRINTED AT BOSTON, BY I. THOMAS AND E. T. ANDREWS. AT FAUST's STATUE, No. 4 [...], NEWBURY STREET. MDCCXC.
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TO GEORGE WASHINGTON, PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
SIR,
AMBITIOUS to avoid both the style and the sentiment of common dedication, more frequently the incense of adulation, than the result of truth, I only ask the illustrious Washington to permit a lady of his acquaintance, to introduce to the public, under his patronage, a small volume, written as the amusement of solitude, at a period when every active member of society was engaged, either in the field, or the cabinet, to resist the strong hand of foreign domination.
[Page iv]THE approbation of one who has united all hearts in the field of conquest, in the lap of peace, and at the head of the government of the United States, must, for a time, give countenance to a writer, who, claiming the honour of private friendship, hopes for this indulgence: But it must be a bold adventurer in the paths of literature, who dreams of fame, in any degree commensurate with the duration of laurels reaped by an hero, who has led the armies of America to glory, victory and independence.
THIS may, perhaps, be an improper place to make many observations on a revolution, that may eventually shake the proud systems of European despotism; yet you, sir, (who have borne such a distinguished and honourable part in the great conflict, till [Page v] the nations, wearied with slaughter, gave truce to the miseries of man) will permit me to observe, that, connected by consanguinity, or friendship, with many of the principal characters who asserted and defended the rights of an injured country, the mind has been naturally led to contemplate the magnitude, both of the causes and the consequences, of a convulsion that has been felt from the eastern borders of the Atlantic, to the western wilds.
FEELING much for the distresses of America, in the dark days of her affliction, a faithful record has been kept, of the most material transactions, through a period that has engaged the attention, both of the philosopher and the politician; and, if life is spared, a just trait of the most distinguished [Page vi] characters, either for valour, virtue, or patriotism; for perfidy, intrigue, inconsistency, or ingratitude, shall be faithfully transmitted to posterity, by one, who unites in the general wish, that you, sir, may continue to preside in the midst of your brethren, until nature asks the aid of retirement and repose, to tranquilize the last stages of human life.
With every sentiment of esteem and friendship, I am, respected Sir,
The President's Most obedient, And very humble servant, M. WARREN.
Plymouth, Massachusetts, March 20, 1790.
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TABLE of CONTENTS.
- I. THE Sack of Rome, a Tragedy. Page 13
- II. The Ladies of Castile, a Tragedy. Page 97
- III. To Mrs. Montague, Author of "Observations on the Genius and Writings of Shakespeare." Page 181
- IV. An Epistle to Torrismond. Page 183
- V. A Political Reverie. Page 188
- VI. To Mr. —, alluding to a Conversation which favoured the Opinion of Fatalism. Page 195
- VII. On a Survey of the Heavens. Page 198
- VIII. On the Death of Mrs. S—, who died a few Days after her Marriage. Page 200
- IX. The Squabble of the Sea Nymphs; or the Sacrifice of the Tuscararoes. Page 202
- X. To a Young Lady, on shewing an excellent Piece of Painting, much faded. Page 206
- XI. To the Hon. John Winthrop, Esq. Page 208
- XII. To Fidelio, long absent on public Business. Page 213
- XIII. To Honoria, on her Journey to Dover. Page 216
- [Page viii] XIV. Lines, written after a Tempest. Page 219
- XV. To a Young Gentleman, residing in France. Page 221
- XVI. A Poem on primitive Simplicity. Page 228
- XVII. On the Death of the Hon. John Winthrop, Esq. Page 235
- XVIII. Lines, written on the Anniversary of the Death of Mr. C—W—. Page 240
- XIX. To a Friend, mourning the Death of a Father. Page 242
- XX. The Genius of America weeping the absurd Follies of the Day.—October 10, 1778. Page 246
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TO THE PUBLIC.
ALMOST every page of the story of Rome, exhibits a tragedy, without the exaggeration of poetic fiction; yet there are few of its interesting scenes, that have not furnished the machinery for some dramatic work. But, amidst the innumerable writers, that almost every age has produced, the author of a piece, now offered the public, does not recollect to have seen the weakness and cruelty of Valentinian—the character of Petronius Maximus—the resentment, indiscretion and revenge of Edoxia—(the more immediate causes of the inva [...] of the imperial city, by the Vandals)—chosen for the subject of theatrical instruction.
The subversion of the western empire, and the Sack of the city of Rome, by Genseric, form an era in the revolution of human affairs, that strikes the mind with peculiar solemnity: Perhaps, at that period, the character of man was sunk to the lowest stage of depravity. Debilitated by the habits of every species of luxury, a long series of tragical events, and the continual apprehensions of proscription, or death; the powers of [Page 10] the mind were, at the same time, obscured by the superstitions of weak, uninformed christians, blended with the barbarisic and ignorance of the darker ages.
Thus an impenetrable closed was thrown over the religious and political institutions, both of the Roman and the Gothic world; which hastened on the destruction of the former, without exhibiting any thing more honourable to the genius and virtue of mankind, in the establishment of the latter; nor have more enlightened and polished ages been taught, by their examples, to shun the luxurious vices, or the absurd systems of policy, which have frequently corrupted, distracted, and ruined the best constituted republics; as well as divided and overturned the strong fabric of monarchic government.
In tracing the rise, the character, the revolutions, and the full of the most politic and brave, the most insolent and selfish people, the world ever exhibited, the hero and the moralist may find the most sublime examples of valour and virtue; and the philosopher the most humiliating lessons to the pride of man, in the turpitude of some of their capital characters: While the extensive dominions of that once celebrated nation, their haughty [Page 11] usurpations and splendid crimes, have for ages furnished the historian and the poet with a field of speculation, adapted to his own peculiar talents. But if the writer of the Sack of Rome has mistaken her's, she will, doubtless, be forgiven, as there have been instances of men of the best abilities who have fallen into the same error.
There is but little mixture of fable in the narration, and, I hope, a just purity of stile has been observed, while the writer has aimed at moral improvement, by an exhibition of the tumult and misery into which mankind are often plunged by an unwarrantable indulgence of the discordant passions of the human mind.
Theatrical amusements may, sometimes, have been prostituted to the purposes of vice; yet, in an age of taste and refinement, lessons of morality, and the consequences of deviation, may perhaps, be as successfully enforced from the stage, as by modes of instruction, less censured by the severe; while, at the same time, the exhibition of great historical events, opens a field of contemplation to the reflecting and philosophic mind.
[Page 12]My first wish is to throw a mite into the scale of virtue, and my highest ambition to meet the approbation of the judicious and worthy:—In the one, I am gratified from the reflections of my own heart; for the other, I wait with diffidence the determinations of the candid public.
M. W.
ERRATA.—The reader is requested to notice the following alterations and errors of the press, viz.
- Page 39, line 4 from top, for sceptres, read spectres.
- 46—5 from bottom, for Hermannic, read Hermanric.
- 56—7 from bottom, for ghost, read shade.
- 67—4 from top, for him who thunders in the skies, read all the deities of Rome.
- 96—3 from top, for an, read a.
- 110—3 from bottom, for signet, read signal.
- 157—6 from bottom, for amour, read armour.
- 101—15 from top, for for probity, read my probity.
- 203—7 from top, for Titans, read Titans.
- 212—13 from top, for throw, read throws.
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THE SACK of ROME. A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.
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DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
- VALENTINIAN—Emperor of Rome.
- HERACLIUS—favourite Eunuch to Valentinian.
- PETRONIUS MAXIMUS—a noble Citizen.
- AETIUS—Commander of the Roman Troops.
- GAUDENTIUS—Son to Aetius, betrothed to Eudocia.
- LEO—Bishop of Rome.
- GENSERIC—King of the Vandals, reigning in Carthage.
- HUNNERIC—Son to Genseric.
- TRAULISTA—a barbarian Prince.
WOMEN.
- EDOXIA—Empress of Rome.
- Daughters of Valentinian.
- EUDOCIA
- PLACIDIA
SENATORS, SOLDIERS, SERVANTS, &c. &c.
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THE SACK of ROME.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A Camp near Rome.
AETIUS and GAUDENTIUS.
AETIUS.
A SOLEMN stillness reigns throughout the camp;
The hostile sound of martial musick's hush'd;
A truce agreed, the proud Attila gives,
Perhaps, a short liv'd peace to bleeding Rome:
But nations pouring from their frozen dens,
Rough, naked boors, from every northern wild,
Untutor'd, or by nature, or by art,
With scarce a trait that speaks the species man,
Except the semblance of the human form,
Must be the chosen scourge, by heaven design'd,
To chasten Rome for that tyrannick sway
Usurp'd and stretch'd o'er all her wide domain,
And proudly held by her remorseless sword;
[Page 16]Her insolence, her stubbornness of soul,
That trod down nations, trampled on the neck [...]
Of mighty kings, and taught her weaker foes.
To fear alike her senators and gods.
GAUDENTIUS.
Though from each quarter of the peopled globe
Some hostile foe, or new invader rise,
Imperial Rome must ever awe the world.
AETIUS.
With hideous shouts the northern hords retir'd
O'er the bleak mounts to Sogdiana's wilds;
But fierce Attila look'd indignant back
On weaken'd Rome, by luxury undone;
Flush'd with success, by vulgar kings ador'd,
Who watch his nod and tremble at his frown,
The Scythian savage left the Latian shore,
Like some wild beast just gorg'd with human blood,
Full glutted with his prey, to breathe awhile
In his ferocious den—to whet his taste
For new refreshing hecatombs of blood.
GAUDENTIUS.
Extreme distress unites the firm and brave;
True virtue might each obstacle surmount;
Rome, like a phenix, from her smoking towns,
Dissolving columns, cities wrapt in flames,
Might yet emerge and more illustrious shine,
If party rage and luxury should cease,
And peace give time to make a just reform
Through each corrupted channel of the law;
Or if simplicity again returns,
And government more energy assumes,
Her ancient codes restor'd on equal terms,
She yet might reign from Danube to the Po.
AETIUS.
[Page 17]There's little hope from such a noble source;
So chang'd her manners, so debas'd the mind
By faction, pride, intemperance and lust.
Lost in inglorious ease, all valour melts
Beneath incrusted roofs, emboss'd with gold,
Egyptian pearls and emeralds of the East.
The sword alone is all that Rome can boast
That bears affinity to former fame;
Yet see the sons of Romulus dismay'd,
The trembling youth of Italy alarm'd
Whene'er the trumpet summons to the field.
Before the vernal equinox returns
To cheer the Hetrurian plains, war wakes anew;
I saw the tyger gnash his hungry teeth
When fair Honoria's ample dower was nam'd,
On which the savage stipulated peace;
This brings him back to claim his royal bride.
GAUDENTIUS.
But while transported with the youthful charms
Of beauteous Elda—taken to his bed;
Amidst barbarick pomp—he may forget
Both enmity and gold and his Honoria,
Till Rome's prepar'd to meet him in the field.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
AETIUS—LEO—GAUDENTIUS.
LEO.
I COME my lord with tidings on my tongue.
AETIUS.
Say, what new foe has Rome? I am prepar'd.
LEO.
[Page 18]I come to hail the valiant friend of Rome,
Whose arm and prowess are her best support▪
With the glad news of fierce Attila's death.
AETIUS.
How did the monster fall?
LEO.
Hot from the riot of a barbarous feast;
Sent swiftly down to Pluto's gloomy shade,
By lewd debauch and great excess of joy
That his rough arm had humbled haughty Rome.
AETIUS.
Humbled indeed! the world's proud mistress
Trembles at th' approach of Suevick valour;
The harden'd lance dip'd in the Wolga's stream;
Hurl'd in the face of her degenerate sons;
They start appall'd e'en at a distant foe;
The next invader seals Rome's heavy doom.
LEO.
Though weaken'd Rome by furious factions torn,
Imbitter'd by decline, sinks deep in vice—
Yet, was [...]he empire held in bolder hands
The fierce barbarick rage might still be check'd:
Within Liguria all would be secure,
And sav'd from pillage all the Latian states;
Then let the world beyond the towering Alps
Be still possess'd by Goth, or Vandal tribes,
Ravag'd by wolves, or yet more savage Huns.
AETIUS.
Where is the emperor? Does he not awake
From his soft slumbering lethargy of soul?
LEO.
[Page 19]Supinely sunk in dreams of wanton bliss,
Ignoble pleasures of a splendid court,
Or peace, or war, or truce, the same to him.
AETIUS.
Yet, when he heard of the barbarian's death,
Did he not rouse, nor dread the ill omen'd birds
That late have brooded o'er the capitol,
And augur'd evils round the city walls,
That the twelve centuries were near complete,
Since Romulus the founder of the state
Had prophesied the measure of her guilt
Would tempt the destinies in wrath to rise
And shake the empire from its ancient base?
LEO.
The fair Ardelia fills the monarch's heart;
He secret sighs for Maximus's wife.
AETIUS.
Ardelia!—the good—the chaste Ardelia—
The first and fairest matron left in Rome!
LEO.
To triumph over her superiour charms,
He cog'd the dye at Maximus's cost:
Long practis'd in the tercerarian art,
Petronius is play'd a double game;
The die was thrown while fortune turn'd the wheel
That makes him wretched as he has been bless'd.
AETIUS.
'Mongst the long list of celebrated names,
Matrons of ancient or of modern fame,
None boasts a fairer claim to virtue's palm
Than the discreet, the excellent Ardelia;
Nor can she forfeit by a shameful fall
[Page 20]That modesty, and grace, and decent pride,
That dignifies, nor less adorns, the sex.
LEO.
Yet heavenly virtue, or angelick worth,
May fall the victim of a wanton wish,
When power lends its iron hand to guilt.
AETIUS.
Petronius ador'd Ardelia's charms.
LEO.
As well he ought—though innocent as fair,
Pity's too weak her anguish to express—
Language too poor to speak one half her griefs:
But Maximus returns—Ah, hapless man!
I would not see him till he knows his fate,
And time has calm'd the tumults of his soul.
Exeunt.
SCENE III.
AETIUS—MAXIMUS.
AETIUS.
HAH! Maximus—
Art thou the last to hail thy friend's success?
Or has long absence blotted friendship out?
MAXIMUS.
Forgive me, Aetius—
I esteem thy virtues—nor envy thee
The laurels, thou hast won: Absence, nor time,
Can e'er obliterate that love, that friendship,
Merit makes thy own, and worth commands:
[Page 21]Give me thy hand—thou know'st my heart is thine,
Nor can I more until we meet again.
AETIUS.
What means this haste? Why that disturbed brow?
MAXIMUS.
Return'd this moment from the Aquilean camp
Where I've been sent with such impetuous speed,
So much unlike the slowness of the emperor,
I scarce believe that he could mean me fair.
AETIUS.
What cause is there for doubt? or why suspect?
MAXIMUS.
I think some latent mischief lies conceal'd
Beneath the vizard of a fair pretence;
My heart ill brook'd the errand of the day,
Yet I obey'd—though a strange horror seiz'd
My gloomy mind—and shook my frame
As if the moment murder'd all my joys.
AETIUS.
But what excites distrust?
MAXIMUS.
Not like a child am I about to weave
In piteous accents a sad tale of woe:
But if I'm bubbled by a mean device,
No lingering vengeance shall repair my wrongs.
AETIUS.
What mean these fears? this agony of doubt?
MAXIMUS.
Thou art a gen'rous and a valiant friend:
I'll not conceal the anguish of my soul,
Nor yet the secret worm that gnaws my heart.
Myself forgot in an ignoble vice,
[Page 22]A vice below the dignity of man,
Without temptation but in avarice,
A blacker passion still—fate threw the die,
Or by superiour skill the emperor won
My beauteous grottos—my paternal groves—
My pleasant villas—and, meandering streams—
The sweet cascades that gurgled o'er the dales—
The noble busts that mark'd th' Anician name—
My poplar walks—and my Ardelia's bower—
(Those soft retreats of innocence and love)
And thus for once made Maximus a slave.
But ah! he gave a treacherous release;
He only ask'd the signet from my hand
To seal a promise that I'd reach the camp
Where Accimer commands before the eve;
But 'twas a poor, a frivolous pretence;
Yet did I not suspect a base design,
Till I receiv'd, without a signature,
In characters familiar to my eye,
A sentence like a thunderbolt from Jove.
I kiss'd the hand—in raptures broke the seal—
"Read—tremble—and despair—adieu, Petronius!"
Was all the page—the solemn page, contain'd;
And now I haste to find my lov'd Ardelia;
If she's not wrong'd, Petronius Maximus
May still be bless'd.
AETIUS.
Though Valentinian doats on beauty's charms,
Ardelia must be safe: True virtue checks
A bold licentious wish, and guards the fair;
He durst not drag an angel to his bed.
MAXIMUS.
As truth and virtue dignifi'd my bliss,
The gods alone who judge of spotless worth,
[Page 23]Must clear her fame, and vindicate my own;
Or let their vengeance pour in dreadful peals
Their heated bolts—till chosen curses fall,
In blasts distinguish'd, on the emperor's head.
Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
AETIUS—GAUDENTIUS—HERACLIUS.
AETIUS.
HERACLIUS!—Say, what has brought thee hither?
HERACLIUS.
The emperor's command—he, on the tide
Of pleasure and success, congratulates,
Both on the peace, and on Attila's death,
The brave Gaudentius, and his noble fire;
He greets with thanks, his hardy, veteran friends,
For valour, faith, and every great exploit
Their arms atchiev'd in the rough field of Mars.
When Aetius finds it safe to leave the camp,
It is his will ye both repair to Rome,
To rest awhile from toilsome scenes of war,
And taste the pleasures of the imperial court.
AETIUS.
We shall obey—and ere tomorrow's dawn,
I reach the city and salute my prince.
But whence that sigh, my son? Art thou afraid
(to Gaud.)
To venture on the threshold of a court,
Lest it melt down thy valour or thy fame?
[Page 24]Or does soft hope present th' hymenial torch,
Rekindle in thy breast a lover's flame,
And bring the fair Eudocia to thine eye?
Thy valour claims her from the emperor's hand,
Nor will he longer now protract his vow.
GAUDENTIUS.
Nor shall he—Eudocia is my wife—
A soldier's honour rests upon his sword,
And mine shall claim its right.
HERACLIUS.
He gives Eudocia to thy longing arms,
And bids thee haste to solemnize thy love,
In festal joys and holy nuptial rites.
GAUDENTIUS.
Thou art the harbinger of bliss indeed;
Command my gratitude, it shall be thine:
I'll hasten on, and meet thee in the forum;
If yet thou hast one wish ungratified,
Command my aid—it shall ensure success,
Complete thy fortune, and fill up thy hopes.
HERACLIUS.
The princess waits impatiently to hear
The happy moment of her lord's return.
Exit HERACLIUS.
AETIUS.
There's not a prince in Valentinian's court
Has serv'd with more fidelity and zeal;
Nor does he slight the services of AEtius,
But as a prince he bounteously rewards.
My son! the bravest, most deserving youth
That e'er paternal love clasp'd to his breast,
He crowns thy valour with the choicest gift
A lover ever wish'd, or hero claim'd.
[Page]Yet while my heart anticipates thy bliss,
Thou must remember that thou liv'st for Rome:
Let not ambition, avarice, or love,
Contaminate thy patriotick worth:
And as my sword has sav'd the commonwealth,
Drove back her foes, and given peace to Rome,
Let thine example teach her to be free.
GAUDENTIUS.
Inspir'd by thee, by glory, and by fame,
No deed of mine shall ever stain thy name.
Exeunt.
[Page 26]
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Palace of VALENTINIAN.
Enter VALENTINIAN and HERACLIUS.
VALENTINIAN.
HAST thou seen Maximus?—Is he return'd?
'Tis whisper'd that he's now about the court:
I order'd Ricemar to urge his stay
To try his valour in the feats of war,
Till I found means to sooth Ardelia's grief,
Or reconcil'd her to my ardent love:
Yet I suspect my will is disobey'd.
HERACLIUS.
I, through the Campus Martius, saw him pass,
Sullen and fierce as is the baited bull,
Whetted for blood and roaring for his prey,
When rushing on the victim of his rage.
VALENTINIAN.
He surely meditates some great revenge.
He has a bold, assuming, haughty soul—
A daring pride that spurns the least affront—
I fear him more than Aetius.
HERACLIUS.
But Aetius is the idol of the army,
And at his beck—the young barbarian princes.
Haughty and brave, he brooks not thy delay;
Impatient for the promise made Gaudentius,
Sighs for a union with the fair Eudocia.
[Page 27]A son so near—a sceptre in his eye,
May empire give to his aspiring father.
VALENTINIAN.
Go lead him hither with his favour'd son,
My hand shall rid me from all fear from them:
Once in the palace, and the work is done:
I'll save my daughter for a nobler union.
But find out Maximus—'tis him I dread;
A man thus injur'd never can forgive.
HERACLIUS.
He lov'd Ardelia with the purest flame;
Indeed she was, for innocence and truth,
For elegance, true dignity, and grace,
The fairest sample of that ancient worth
Th' illustrious matrons boasted to the world
When Rome was fain'd for every glorious deed.
But she's no more!
VALENTINIAN.
Hah! slave, forbear—
Mean'st thou to try my love, or wake my fears?
Say thou at once—suspense I ne'er could bear.
HERACLIUS.
Despair, resentment, agonizing grief,
This morn have clos'd the period of a life
Too pure and spotless for the Roman world.
VALENTINIAN.
Then I'm Undone forever—double the guards:
Go find Petronius out—suffer not him,
Nor Aetius, to see another sun:
To make the work complete, bring Aetius hither;
My sword is ready for a traitor's blood,
Nor dare another arm attempt his death.
Exit HERACLIUS.
[Page 28]Down coward conscience, nor disturb a prince.
My recent crime haunts all my sleepless nights;
Yet, shall I fill the measure of my guilt
And turn assassin?—Am I so lost, as thus
To stain my hand with the Patrician blood—
Pollute my court—disgrace the Roman name?
No, that can't be—her infamy's complete,
And no new crime is wanting in the list
To stigmatize, and blast her ancient fame.
In this apartment, now my gloomy cell,
Where I have seen Ardelia drown'd in tears,
And almost dying with indignant grief,
All other crimes are light—let Aetius die.
Enter EDOXIA.
But hah!—here comes my torment—
My other conscience—to kill me with a look—
The fair—the excellent—the wrong'd Edoxia;
Her presence freezes all my powers of speech;
I dare not lift my eye to meet her frown—
I'm all confusion—guilt—perdition—death.
Retiring hastily.
EDOXIA.
Oh! fly me not, my sovereign—
I only come to warn my much lov'd lord,
A lowering storm may burst upon his head.
VALENTINIAN.
I fear no storms but from an injur'd wife;
The sharp invectives of neglected beauty.
EDOXIA.
My wrongs I here forgive—thy safety now
Is all I have to wish—my soul is all alarm.
VALENTINIAN.
What idle terror has assail'd thy brain;
[Page 29]Or what new rupture threatens empire next?
EDOXIA.
No foreign foe awakes my anxious thought;
The faithful Aetius commands the legions,
And guards the posts from Tyber to the Rhine,
From bold inroads and fierce barbarick foes.
VALENTINIAN.
A woman, weaken'd by a sense of wrongs,
With a creative fancy, spreads contagion,
If she names her fears—yet tell the cause,
If any cause thou hast, thus to alarm
And agitate my mind.
EDOXIA.
Petronius Maximus.
VALENTINIAN.
What of Petronius?
EDOXIA.
'Tis him I fear:—As from the Circus,
Late this morn I came, he enter'd—
Rage in his eye—unheeding what he saw;
Lost in deep thought, and wrap'd in dark intrigue,
He onward mov'd, with slow and solemn steps—
A dark, fix'd brow, and gesture of despair—
He walk'd, and stop'd, and trod, and sta [...]'d the ground,
And gnash'd his teeth, and clench'd his nervous palm,
Then spread it on his breast and press'd it hard,
As if afraid his heart would burst its bounds—
Then sob'd a lowly sigh—alas! Ardelia!
And, as the shadow moves beside the man,
His steps were measur'd by an Alan prince;
But neither heeded all the sports of Rome.
Forgive my lord, my soft officious care
To guard thy peace from each domestick foe.
VALENTINIAN.
[Page 30]Thou best of women! how shall I atone
For half the wrongs my faithless heart has done
To beauty blended with superiour worth?
EDOXIA.
Ill boding dreams and gloomy apparitions—
Fresh bleeding ghosts, and shades of darkest hue,
Haunt all my slumbers—some deep design,
Of terrible import, in Maximus I saw;
Waste not a moment—oh! secure thyself,
And when we meet again, we'll talk of love.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
VALENTINIAN and HERACLIUS.
HERACLIUS.
AETIUS attends thy will, as does his son—
With them Beotius, prefect of the city.
VALENTINIAN.
Let only Aetius enter—tell him
The business is of such import—
No other ear must witness—thou wilt thyself
Take care of both Beotius and Gaudentius.
HERACLIUS.
I will my lord—he and his noble friend
May fight Attila in the shades below,
If that fierce warrior still remembers Rome.
VALENTINIAN.
No vulgar souls we'll send the gods this day;
Petronius next, and then defy the world.
Exit HERACLIUS.
[Page 31]My arm be strong—away with conscious qualms—
His is a life worthy of Caesar's sword:
'Tis true I but suspect his cover'd treason;
Yet, Aetius must die—as shall Gaudentius.
Exit.
SCENE III.
EUDOCIA and PLACIDIA.
EUDOCIA.
OH! my Placidia,
The good, the generous Aetius is dead,
And murder'd by the hand of Valentinian.
PLACIDIA.
Impossible!—'tis but the tale of malice, whisper'd round,
By some vile foe to Valentinian's house.
EUDOCIA.
'Tis done,
And hell itself records the dreadful deed.
PLACIDIA.
My father ne'er could stain the imperial throne
By such a crime as this!
What! like the madman of old Philip's race,
Plunge his drawn dagger in the faithful breast
Of such a friend as Aetius?
EUDOCIA
He has,
And my Gaudentius just escap'd the blow
Heraclius design'd, by speedy flight,
And in his stead Beotius was slain.
PLACIDIA.
[Page 32]Where is the virtuous youth?—and where his friends?
EUDOCIA.
He pass'd the guards, Traulista by his side,
And, through the western gate, they, swift as lightning,
Hasted to Liguria—though much he lov'd,
He'll ne'er forgive the murd'rer of his sire;
He has a filial heart and valiant arm,
And nature's instinct wakes a tender strife.
The genuine virtues of his youthful heart,
Cherish'd by reason—ripen'd to sublime,
Nurs'd up by honour, gratitude and worth,
Call loud for vengeance o'er his father's tomb.
PLACIDIA.
Alas! the gath'ring storm—what chosen blasts,
Heaven's vengeance next pours down, is with the gods.
EUDOCIA.
The death of Aetius augurs ill to Rome;
His soul, too firm to fear, or Goths, or Huns;
Too great to be corrupted, or deceiv'd,
Sooth'd their rough passions, balanc'd their ambition;
They lov'd, they fear'd, and will avenge his death.
PLACIDIA.
When jealousy's at war with wild ambition,
And reason quits the helm amid the storm,
The furious hurricane of passion swells
Till ev'ry sail hurls on to sure perdition.
EUDOCIA.
Ah! my Gaudentius—could Eudocia's blood
Wash off the guilt contracted by her sire,
These veins I'd ope, and warm libations pour
Down at thy feet, to make his daughter
[Page 33]Worthy of thy love—love did I say?—no—
He must forever hate—despise—detest—
And curse the name of Caesar's blasted race,
And fly the sight of his too wretched daughter.
PLACIDIA.
Alas! I fear—I know not what I fear—
Imagination's short of what I dread
From complicated guilt, which stalks abroad.
Oh! Heaven avert the destiny of Rome!
EUDOCIA.
I'm sick of life—of pageantry and pomp—
Of thrones and sceptres stain'd by human blood:
Come let us wander down the sacred walks,
The silent grots, where virtue once reclin'd.
The verdant forests bend their lofty tops
To make a covert for the weary head;
There tranquiliz'd beneath pale Cynthia's shade,
We'll breathe and whisper disappointed love;
And weep our country, family and friends,
'Till bright Aurora streaks the eastern skies
And lights us back among the busy throng.
Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
VALENTINIAN and HERACLIUS.
VALENTINIAN.
THE gilded morn in transports hails the day,
And the shrill trumpet sounds to martial sports;
But yet a certain heaviness hangs o'er me,
As though a tempest burst from midnight clouds.
[Page 34]Were I afraid of either gods or men,
I'd swear this day is like the ide [...] of March,
Big with portentous omens:—Calphurnia's dreams,
And my Edoxia's fears, bear such a semblance
That through the night, (even if a cricket moves)
I start—I cry—my evil genius! say,
Dost come with Aetius' or Petronius' sword?
HERACLIUS.
No superstitious dread should ere pervade
The royal bosom of a Roman prince;
Encircled deep by faithful veteran bands
Who wait his fiat, and observe his nod,
To feed his pleasures, or to blast his foes;
To light the capitol, or guard the state,
Or make the empire tremble at his frown.
VALENTINIAN.
The noble Aetius, of princely birth,
Possess'd a soul by Roman valour warm'd,
That won the plaudits both of friends and foes;
The legions lov'd—the citizens ador'd,
And all will murmur at his sudden fall:
Yet more I fear Petronius's rage,
Than all the city, senators, or troops.
HERACLIUS.
Thou hast done well to cut a traitor down
Ere he usurp'd and rob'd thee of a throne;
And if plebeian, or patrician tongues,
Should utter menace, or a plaintive word,
Teach them the fate of Rome hangs on thy will.
VALENTINIAN.
But where is Maximus?
Though he's in friendship, gen'rous and sincere,
Yet injur'd once, implacably he hates:
[Page 35]'Twou'd beggar language to describe his pride,
His strength of passion when arous'd to rage;
Inexorable vengeance tears his soul:
Constant and noble, as a god he loves.
But as a furious fiend, rewards his foes;
Nought but their death can cool his passions down.
HERACLIUS.
Petronius Maximus returns no more
To interrupt the pleasures of the court:
Ardelia dead—the funeral pile burnt down—
Her ashes gather'd in a golden urn;
He in despair has left the imperial city.
Beside the margin of the Tuscan shore,
In a small villa of the Anician name,
He's gone to weep his folly and his fate.
VALENTINIAN.
Where are his friends?—his num'rous train of clients?
Where the admiring crowds fed by his hand,
And basking in his wealth?
HERACLIUS.
Just as the world in ev'ry age have done,
Paying their court where better fortune smiles;
'Tis not the sun, when muffled up in clouds
And plunging down the western briny main
Mankind adore.
The eastern monarch just from Thetis' bed,
With rosy blushes on his morning beams,
Majestick rising o'er the burnish'd world,
Beholds his homagers on ev'ry side;
As in the field of Mars amid the sports,
The son of Theodotius, is a god.
VALENTINIAN.
Yet anguish tears, and love inflames my breast;
[Page 36]Oh! would oblivion wrap a sable veil
O'er my remorse, and o'er Ardelia's grief,
O'er her bright form, and her untimely death,
I might defy the vengeance of her lord:
Methinks I see her lovely tearful eye
With scornful glances fir'd—till grief and fear,
And consternation numb my torpid frame.
HERACLIUS.
Why should an emperor fear?
VALENTINIAN.
Say, where's Gaudentius?
HERACLIUS.
He, swift of foot as an Herulian archer,
Escap'd my sword, and shelters in the camp;
But after him—with thy express command—
A trusty messenger I have dispatch'd:
This night his sire may meet him in the shades.
VALENTINIAN.
Where is Traulista—prince of the Ostrogoths,
Dauntless and brave—his first—his chosen friend?
HERACLIUS.
Gone to Liguria with the son of Aetius;
He lov'd him much.
VALENTINIAN.
Then let him share his fate.
HERACLIUS.
Leave them to me, and chase thy cares away;
The sports are ready—guarded every post,
And while the victims in the Circus bleed,
Smile that thy foes on the same moment fall.
VALENTINIAN.
[Page 37]Haste to the field of Mars—there I'll forget,
A pan [...] e'er touch'd my heart.
HERACLIUS.
There learn all Rome—
That if they brave the mandates of thy lip,
A sov'reign's arm shall punish as it ought.
Exeunt.
SCENE V.
GAUDENTIUS solus—in disguise—just returned to the city, where he was shewn the murdered body of Aetius.
WAS this the dowry of the fair Eudocia,
The mangled body of my much lov'd sire
Presented by her father's guilty hand?
Just gods avenge—the trait'rous deed avenge!
What is the faith—or what the gratitude,
Or what the sacred promise of an emperor!
As cruelty portrays an abject mind,
Servility precedes the fall of states:
In this declension of the Roman world,
While tyrants dip the scymitar in blood,
And sport on human misery at large,
Shall I sit down with folded arms and see
A monster gorging on a parent's blood;
Or unaveng'd behold a father die
By Valentinian's base ungrateful hand!
Yet he, alas! is my Eudocia's sire:
But glory, fame, ambition and revenge
Bid me erase this passion from my heart,
[Page 38]And boldly stem the madness of the times,
Recover Rome and reinstate her power,
And bring her back to glory, wealth and fame.
But hah!—Eudocia, pensive and alone;
Seeing EUDOCIA at a distance.
Shall I advance, or banish her forever?
[While he besitates, EUDOCIA slowly crosses the stage without observing him.]
One tear dissolves the firmness of my soul,
Unmans the mind, and melts the warrior down;
Dashes his hope, and weakens his resolve;
'Tis ruin to retire—death to speak.
Chaste as Diana in each graceful move,
While Venus lights the features of her face
And gives her son the torch to fire my soul;
Yet honour, conscience, virtue and the world
Forbid a union with his bloody house;
My father's murderer—the gods forbid!
Yet she's all innocence—and virtue's soul
Shines forth conspicuous in her heavenly form:
I haste from her as from the hand of death.
Exeunt different ways.
[Page 39]
ACT III.
SCENE I.
MAXIMUS solus, in the Anician Palace, the sun just rising.
THE bird of death that nightly pecks the roof,
Or shrieks beside the caverns of the dead;
Or paler sceptres that infest the tombs
Of guilt and darkness, horror or despair,
Are far more welcome to a wretch like me
Than yon bright rays that deck the opening morn;
That softly gliding o'er the dewy field
Give life to nature—cheer the daisied lawn,
Where my Ardelia trod the dappled mead,
And breath'd fresh sweetness through the blooming dale.
What is the sun to Maximus!
Its noon tide ray shews him the sport of fools;
The simple pander of a lecher's guilt.
Ye gods! was reason lost, that, spiritless,
My weak, my dastard hand held back this sword
From striking instant at the tyrant's heart,
When on a frivolous pretence he urg'd,
Before another day, I'd see the camp?
But by the powers that shake the Aetnean vaults,
By all the deities of Rome I swear;
And still more solemnly I bind my soul,
By the great God to whom Ardelia bow'd,
My vengeance shall not sleep.
Enter TRAULISTA.
TRAULISTA.
What cause is there for Maximus's grief?
Why is thy bosom tortur'd with despair?
[Page 40]Unfold the tale, command Traulista's sword;
Wake up full vengeance, or forbear to grieve.
MAXIMUS.
Tortures may seize, and furies tear my heart,
But words can't utter what my soul endures;
Confusion darkens all my powers of speech,
And blushes blast the wretch that sacrific'd
His fame—his peace—his honour—and his wife
To glut a tyrant's lust.—My brain grows hot—
It kindles to distraction—yet Valentinian lives.
TRAULISTA.
What, did the monster, in thine absence, dare
Profane the sacred threshold of thy peace?
MAXIMUS.
She, ever duteous to her lord's command,
Was, by the darkest plot of hell, deceiv'd;
This ring, so often by her husband sent
In times too dangerous for other message,
To her presented, by the base Heraclius,
Reluctantly, she hasten'd to the palace—
Though terror seiz'd and chil'd her frighted soul:
She through each hollow, vacant room was drag'd,
Till in the silent deep abode of guilt,
As a dark fiend, the emperor alone
Waited the victim of his madden'd [...]me:
He seiz'd his prey—nor cries, nor t [...]rs avail'd;
She Heaven implor'd—to pitying Angels pray'd,
And in despair she call'd on her Petronius,
Yet thought his sanction back'd the vile design.
TRAULISTA.
And hates thee for suspected perfidy.
MAXIMUS.
'Twas past the midnight watch when I return' [...];
[Page 41]With anxious dread and deep suspense I flew
To her abode of misery and grief.
In sables dress'd—a taper just burnt down—
That darkly glimmer'd gloom from side to side—
Indignant scorn glanc'd from her languid eye;
While tears bedew'd her bright angelick face,
As if a cherub wept, the radiant beams
Of stars obscur'd, or of extinguish'd suns:
Dismay'd she held a dagger in her hand
As half resolv'd to plunge it in her breast,
Yet trembled at the purpose of her soul;
I caught her hand, and drew the weapon thence,
Ere she perceiv'd her wretched husband nigh.
TRAULISTA.
Sure she's too good to let resentment burn.
MAXIMUS.
"Poor Maximus! she cry'd—spite of thy guilt,
My soul still pities thee—receive this pledge
To cheat some other soft, believing fool:
Blot from thy thought that e'er Ardelia liv'd
To be the sport of riot and debauch."
Then fix'd the fatal signet on my hand,
This cursed signet that has seal'd my doom,
Shews the signet.
And branded me with infamy forever.
She breath'd a sob as if a seraph sigh'd,
Drop'd a kind tear, and smil'd a last adieu.
TRAULISTA.
Hah! dead!—say'st thou Ardelia's dead?
MAXIMUS.
All the big passions of a noble soul
Thrill'd through her heart, and stiffen'd all her frame;
[Page 42]The shining angel left this blasted world,
And now methinks, ineffably serene,
On yon bright azure golden skirted cloud,
Ardelia gently chides this tardy hand
That lingers thus while unaveng'd her death.
TRAULISTA.
I bind me by this sword, a soldier's oath,
To vindicate in blood her wounded fame.
MAXIMUS.
Her soul unstain'd, immaculate and pure,
Not meagre malice dare impeach her mind;
Nor e'en Megara's tongue, though it were dip'd
In all the poisons of her curling snakes,
Till the gall ganger'd every name but hers,
Durst whisper aught to wound Ardelia's fame:
But yet her wrongs may urge thy dauntless arm,
And give full vigour to a bold design,
To smite a scepter'd brow—yes—that is all—
The man himself [...] a poltroon—
Yet he's an em [...]ero [...].
TRAULISTA.
This makes him worthy of Traulista's sword.
My arm shall [...] till justice holds the scale
To soften grief, or injury repair.
MAXIMUS.
Go, find thy friends, and ere the work begins,
I ask a moment to indulge my grief;
'The luxury of tears' is not for me—
My soul's too big fo [...] such a soft relief;
Yet I may rave and riot o'er my woes.
Exeunt.
[Page]
SCENE II.
MAXIMUS and GAUDENTIUS.
MAXIMUS.
THAT dignity the gods themselves inspir'd,
When Rome inflam'd with patriotick zeal,
Long taught the world to tremble and admire,
Lies faint and languid in the wane of fame,
And must expire in luxury's lew'd lap
If not supported by some vigorous arm;
Th' Armorici 'tis said have pass'd the Rhine,
And ruder tribes, both Goth and Vandal hosts,
May soon be thundering at the gates of Rome;
While here, a treacherous, bloody minded prince
Stains the imperial court with slaughter'd friends,
And riots in the zenith of his pride.
GAUDENTIUS.
And are there none in this distracted state
Whose courage, zeal, and energy of mind,
May stem the tide, and break the tyrant's yoke?
MAXIMUS.
The Roman people, sicken'd by his sloth,
Detest a weak, a lecherous, dastard prince
Who yet cuts down the bravest men Rome boasts,
And mocks the most heroick of her sons:
Abused virgins rave in wild despair;
Affronted matrons weep, and beauty sighs,
While groans reecho from the tomb of grief,
And cry for vengeance on the emperor's head;
For innocence betray'd, and virtue sold.
GAUDENTIUS.
[Page 44]Dismay'd by blood, the senators detest
A sovereign, cruel, impotent and base,
And all the army's ripen'd for revolt.
MAXIMUS.
'Tis time to dash him from th' imperial throne;
Name his successor, and the work is done.
GAUDENTIUS.
The crown, the sceptre, the regalia wait,
Petronius's will to guide the realm,
And bid the mistress of the world revive.
MAXIMUS.
Th' imperial crown has not a charm for me;
Hung on a soldier's spear, expos'd to [...]ale,
Stain'd with the blood of a long li [...]e of Caesars,
From Julius down to Valentinian's reign,
'Tis fall'n too low to wake ambition up.
The palace groans with guilt too dark to name;
'Tis but the splendid theatre of woe,
From age to age the shambles of mankind,
On which to sacrifice the richest blood
The Roman annals boast— the crimson stream
Has ras'd the memory that a virtue liv'd,
Or that a noble deed from virtue spring
In the proud boasts of ancient Roman fame.
GAUDENTIUS.
Ambition, in a noble, vir [...]i [...]us mind,
Is the first passion that the god▪ implant▪
And soars to glory till it meets the skies▪
If it has place in Maximus's breast,
Fortune, who sports with diadems and crowns
This day may hail him emperor of the west.
[Page 45]GAUDENTIUS pauses a moment, retires thoughtfully a few steps, smothers an exclamation, and only articulates
—Oh! my Eudocia.
MAXIMUS.
'Tis just revenge that animates my arm;
But did ambition urge my purpose on?
Yet, my young pensive friend, if Valentinian
Wraps his mantle o'er his trembling head—
Like Julius Caesar crys—"Brutus my son,"
Will not Eudocia unnerve thy arm?
GAUDENTIUS.
Ah! my Eudocia!—would he were not thy sire▪
But from my heart I tear thee for a moment,
'Till Aetius's manes are appeas'd,
And fair Ardelia's wrongs are all aveng'd.
MAXIMUS.
But art thou sure thou canst this test sustain?
This test severe, of friendship, honour, love,
Will try thy soul, and probe thee to the heart.
Will not thy purpose shake, when her soft image
Dances in thine eye, and pity pleads?
But yet thou hast a struggle more severe;
Thou may'st as well avenge thy bleeding friends,
And draw thy sword in injur'd virtue's cause:
'Tis whisper'd through the court the Suevick chief,
The valiant Ricemar, has purchas'd peace
With Genseric the terror of the west;
And that the heiress of the imperial throne
Is the rich price—that Hunneric his son
Is on his way to wed the fair Eudocia.
GAUDENTIUS.
Petronius, thou hast fix'd my wav'ring will;
Let me lead on—my sword alone,
[Page 46]Without another's aid, shall find its way
To Valentinian's heart.
MAXIMUS.
The hour draws nigh—the exercise begins—
Arm thy brave heart, and bid adieu to love.
Exit MAXIMUS.
GAUDENTIUS.
How would my eyeballs from their sockets start
To see Eudocia in that monster's arms?
Can her fair soul mix with the horrid brood,
Begot and nurtur'd in the Quadian lakes!
Beneath the vaulted, black Carpathian mount,
Amidst the darkness of Cimmerian damps,
As nature sported with infernal fiends
She gender'd there this ill form'd squalid birth,
And mid'st the jargon of discordant sounds
She call'd the beardless, uncouth monster, Hunneric:
And shall this savage violate her charms?
Save her, ye gods!—oh! save the Roman name
From such a stain, indelible and dark.
Exit.
SCENE III.
MAXIMUS and TRAULISTA.
MAXIMUS.
HAIL, mighty prince of great Hermannic's line▪
Is thy sword whetted to avenge thy friends?
TRAULISTA.
No eagle darting down the slaughter'd field
Of human carnage strew'd with mangled limbs,
[Page 47]More swiftly bends its talons to the prey,
Than shall my sword deal thunderbolts around,
Whene'er Petronius wishes for its aid.
MAXIMUS.
But art thou sure that not one traitor lurks,
Nor coward heart in thy selected band?
TRAULISTA.
There's not a man but what would bay the lion,
Or meet the tyger growling from his den,
By hunger urg'd to prowl for human prey.
When Caesar's dial marks meridian day,
They'll spring to action at the trump of war;
As the train'd steed who snuffs the northern air
Leaps through the crowd, and leaves the winds behind.
MAXIMUS.
Have they ne'er trembled at an emperor's frown,
Nor felt the servile homage of a slave?
Will not the valiant arm grow sick and flag,
And the drawn dagger droop e'en in thy hand
As it approaches Valentinian's breast?
TRAULISTA.
Have I not sworn by Mars's fiery sword,
The redden'd symbol of the Scythian faith,
To aid thee to avenge thine injur'd love?
Not Cas [...]a's arm e'er gave a surer blow
Than shall Traulista's.
MAXIMUS.
The great Triumvirs of the world have fall'n
By weaker hands than thine—thou art my Cassius—
But I fear Gaudentius—he's of a softer mould—
Humane and tender—though a valiant prince;
He feels the softest passion for Eudocia.
TRAULISTA.
[Page 48]He feels no pang but for Eudocia's sake;
Yet jealousy has wak'd a war within;
Resentment, love, and rage, by turns distract,
And make his soul a chaos of despair.
MAXIMUS.
Will he o'ercome this painful struggle
In a noble breast?—Can he renounce her charms?
When filial tears are leagu'd with just revenge,
When duty, fame, and glory combat love,
Will the fond lover act the hero's part,
And snatch the princess from a rival's arms,
Mid'st blood and slaughter, and the fresh grown yews
His sword may strew around her father's tomb?
TRAULISTA.
Strike, now's the time, before his passions cool.
MAXIMUS.
Will Valentinian venture to the sports?
TRAULISTA.
The emperor comes with more than usual pomp,
A chosen cohort added to the guards.
MAXIMUS.
Though guilt makes cowards, justice finds them out:
Not all the legions of the western world
Shall screen him from my sword, my just revenge.
Exeunt.
[Page 49]
SCENE IV.
EUDOCIA and PLACIDIA.
EUDOCIA.
ALAS! my fears—my throbbing heart lie still,
Nor startle thus, e'en at a quiv'ring leaf:
The downy pillow gives me no repose,
And slumbers fly from the soft silken couch;
Ill boding terrors shake the gilded roof;
Methinks I hear a distant din of arms—
—alarms—and shouts—
Shouts without.
As though from heaven's battlements were burst
Some dreadful ruin, that may empire shake.
PLACIDIA.
Another shout—I fear some signal blow:
This early morn, as sleep forsook my lids,
I from my window saw Traulista haste;
Two chiefs beside led on a chosen band,
So like Thuringian blood hounds in their gestures,
I trembled at the sight; yet as they pass'd
I caught a signal mea [...]t to be conceal'd,
A hoarse, low, hollow voice growl'd from the midst,
"Haste to the Campus Martius."
EUDOCIA.
Ah! what new shock?—the tumult bends this way—
Oh! Valentinian!
The noise draws near.
PLACIDIA.
The furious multitude rush towards the palace;
I hear the legions shout—long live the Emperor
Petronius Maximus.
EUDOCIA.
[Page 50]Undone—undone forever!
Where is our father?—Oh! where the good Edoxia?
And midst the group of misery and woe—
Would heav'n permit—ah! where is my Gaudentius?
[GAUDENTIUS rushes suddenly into the Palace—Soldiers and Guards in tumult without.]
GAUDENTIUS.
He's here, my princess—he guards the fair Eudocia—
Protects her life from every ruffian hand,
Nor fate again shall snatch her from mine arms.
EUDOCIA.
Oh! leave a wretch abandon'd to her fears.
GAUDENTIUS.
What! leave Eudocia midst this furious storm!
Name it no more—death stalks abroad,
And vengeance lifts his arm—but Heaven forbid
That innocence should feel the dread effects
Of cruelty and guilt.
EUDOCIA.
If e'er thou lov'd—if pity touch thy soul—
Fly hence to succour Rome, and save my father.
GAUDENTIUS.
Thy father!—he had a friend whose arm—
Yes, Aetius was his friend—Oh! Aetius.
EUDOCIA.
Barbarous man! can'st thou reproach Eudocia,
And chill her with the terror of a name
That rives her inmost soul with guilt and horror?
GAUDENTIUS.
Forgive me, princess.
EUDOCIA.
[Page 51]Oh! Gaudentius—
Could my poor life atone—my clay cold corse
I'd lay on Aetius' tomb—sprinkle his urn—
Refresh his memory with the last purple drop
That warms to love, the heart of thy Eudocia.
GAUDENTIUS.
Pardon the transports of my filial breast,
That pours its sorrows o'er a father's tomb [...];
Great Aetius's virtues justly claim
A tributary tear from half the world.
EUDOCIA.
Had'st thou a marble heart, or stoick soul,
Unmov'd at aught t [...]e destinies decree,
Though death cut down the hero, father, friend,
I'd spurn a wretch that mock'd these tender names
Back from my soul to ravage [...]he wild woods.
But say, what tale hangs on thy tongue—
Thou durst not name?
GAUDENTIUS.
If fate commands, and wraps both in a shroud,
We must forget that e'er our fathers liv'd.
EUDOCIA.
Hah! parricide!
Hast thou the death of Aetius aveng'd?
What! durst thou lift thy sacrilegious hand,
And hurl a blow that severs me forever
From thine arms? then come with this bold front
And subtle tongue, to lay thy sword
Wet with her father's blood, at his Eudocia's feet?
GAUDENTIUS.
Not all the wrongs I suffer'd from thy sire,
Nor yet the vengeance that my own demand,
[Page 52]Could urge my arm to aim an impious blow
That might a moment interrupt thy peace!
But Maximus—
EUDOCIA.
What of the traitor Maximus?
GAUDENTIUS.
Ought never to forgive Ardelia's wrongs.
EUDOCIA.
Tell me the worst—am I the only wretch
Of all my house, that lives to weep?
GAUDENTIUS.
Like the thrice heated bolt from heav'ns high arch,
Through the dark gloom of dreary night and horror,
That falls and blasts the cedar's lofty top,
The light'ning fell on Valentinian's head.
EUDOCIA.
From heaven?—no, 'twas hell that belch'd the flame;
By jarring fiends the pointed sword was whet,
And thou wast witness to the horrid deed.
Let us, Placidia, haste with trembling steps,
(Ere earth shall sink beneath his guilty feet,)
Like the twin sisters of misfortune lead,
If yet the empress lives, to her apartment.
[The Princesses in an agony of grief retire.—Exit GAUDENTIUS.]
SCENE V.
The Palace—EDOXIA, sola.
WHEN will these dark and lowering clouds pass [...]er,
And brighter aspects tinge the western skies?
[Page 53]This day is big with omens of despair,
And some wild tumult rages loud abroad;
Each face is pale, and every eye's askance,
As wrapt in dark mysterious intrigue:
That Maximus must meditate revenge
There's not a doubt; and when he strikes
'Twill be a deadly blow—his arm disdains
A mean or vulgar stroke—and his bold spirit
Shakes at no resolve—yet 'tis too soon
To execute the deed—his dreaded rage,
Oh! Heaven!—just Heaven restrain!
Hah! who art thou that ent'rest thus abrupt?
LEO enters hastily in disguise.
Disguis'd, as if beneath a vizard, lurk'd
Mischief and treason—murder—guilt and death!
LEO.
There is no time for leave of audience now;
Haste hence my empress—fly the palace gates
Ern all the avenues are seiz'd by Maximus.
EDOXIA.
Is then the emperor slain?
Am I the slave of Maximus?
Forbid it all ye powers of heaven and earth!
LEO.
Thy person may be safe, if not a moment's lost.
EDOXIA.
What! like a timid fugitive to fly,
And rove a friendless world from court to court?
Though royalty is toss'd from gale to gale
On fortune's fickle wing, the sportive bubble,
The plaything of her most capricious hour;
Yet know, Edoxia dares to hold a throne,
And has a soul to scourge a traitor's guilt.
[Page 54]Name thou the first who struck the impious blow▪
That shakes the glory of the imperial crown,
He'll feel what vengeance 'tis my arm inflicts.
LEO.
Petronius led the band—the cohorts join'd—
Traulista waited at the Campus Martius,
'Till Valentinian enter'd.
The fierce barbarian struck his helmet off,
And, swift as light'ning, fell an hundred blows;
His trembling soul escap'd without a groan;
The army and the Gothic princes cry'd
Long live the emperor, Petronius Maximus.
EDOXIA.
Forsook—betray'd—and widow'd in an hour!
Alas! my daughters!—where are the lovely maids?
Are my Eudocia and Placidia safe,
Or are the charms of innocence and worth,
Of virgin beauty, piety, and truth,
The sport of Gothic slaves?
Enter Princesses.
—Ah! my Placidia!
This tender woe becomes thy filial eye:
Alas, Eudocia!—lovely in thy grief;
I can no more than sighs and tears bestow,
'Tis all I have to lend my hapless children.
EUDOCIA
Lend not a sigh to me—I am too wretched—
But spare thy tears for those who may be blest.
EDOXIA.
My tears for thee can never cease to flow;
Yet tears are but unseemly gifts indeed,
And ill become the soft hymenial hour.
This was the day, by solemn promise made
His noble sire—Gaudentius might have claim'd
[Page 55]His lovely bride, and seal'd his nuptials
With the fair Eudocia.
EUDOCIA.
N [...]e him no more—
Let me forget that e'er I was belov'd.
EDOXIA.
These tears indulge, to bathe his sacred urn,
And while they trickle o'er thy blooming cheek,
Water the willows round thy father's tomb,
Till the brave veteran Aetius shall chace
The bold Petronius from the imperial throne.
EUDOCIA.
Ah! Aetius!—Oh! happy Rome, if Aetius had liv'd.
EDOXIA.
Had Aetius liv'd!—Just gods! what means Eudocia?
Has the monster slain the noble Aetius,
And rais'd so high the mounds of death around,
That justice cannot reach a traitor's heart?
EUDOCIA.
Great Aetius is dead—spare me the rest,
Nor from my bleeding breast the story wring.
EDOXIA.
I'm lost and wilder'd in this mazy path;
What furious fiend presides this awful day!
On every side some spectre ghastly grins,
Through floods of reeking gore, and beckons down
To Hades' dark, benighted, dismal shore.
Exeunt.
[Page 56]
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
MAXIMUS, solus.
NOW what am I?—an emperor—
—a splendid wretch—
Perch'd on the blood stain'd summit of the world.
Search through each horrid wild of dreary woe,
From Tyber's stream to Danube's frozen banks,
From fair Hetruria to the Hyrcanian wood,
Or blacker forests of Carpathian gloom,
There's not a culprit so completely curs'd—
Tortur'd in pomp—in tenfold misery plung'd,
And torn with guilty greatness, as myself.
Happy Damocles—only envy'd king,
Whose reign began and ended in a day!
My vengeance now's complete; but where's my peace?
Oh! could I leav [...] the world of Roman slaves,
Exil'd to Italy's most distant bounds,
Resume that life of innocence and ease
Which bless'd the noontide of my happier days,
When my Ardelia's smile crown'd all my bliss!
But ah! her name—
Wakes all the baleful passions of my soul.
If Valentinian's grim and ghastly ghost
Still wanders here, and can be more accurs'd,
Let mad Alecto's furious sisters join
To make his woes complete—and doubly damn'd,
Let him look through the dank and dismal shades,
Of night and death—in anguish let him see
His rival riot in Edoxia's arms.
[Page 57] Enter LEO.
My friend—my faithful Leo.
LEO.
I am the friend of Rome, and of Petronius—
Of law—of justice—and the rights of man—
The senators of Rome—and of Edoxia.
MAXIMUS.
Is the imperial family secure?
Let not the smallest disrespect be shewn
Or to the empress, or her royal house.
LEO.
Edoxia sits like some majestick oak,
Or fairer cedar, that o'ertops the hills,
Strip'd of its leafy robes—shook to the root,
By the rude tempest, or autumnal blasts;
The storm subsides, the naked branches hush'd,
Silent and still, demand a pitying tear
From ev'ry way worn traveller's weeping eye,
Who us'd to rest beneath its friendly shade.
MAXIMUS.
The wheel of fortune, rapid in its flight,
Lags not for man, when on its swift routine;
Nor does the goddess ponder unresolv'd:
She wafts at once, and on her lofty car,
Lifts up her puppet—mounts him to the skies,
Or from the pinnacle, hurls headlong down,
The steep abyss of disappointed hope.
Thus the first stroke successful—
A beardless Goth huzza'd, "Petronius reigns!"
The factious legions caught the feeble sound;
And the same moment saw the imperial robes
Torn from one emperor, and another made,
Without a murmur from the servile throng:
[Page 58]Borne through the crowd—till to the palace brought,
I've not yet heard Heraclius's fate.
LEO.
The faithful minion caught a thousand wounds,
Aim'd at his master by Traulista's band;
He curs'd alternate, heaven, himself and thee,
And di'd an hero, though he'd liv'd a slave.
MAXIMUS.
Then bid a truce to slaughter;
Let not a drop of Roman blood be spilt:
And now, I have another game to play;
Edoxia must be mine—her hand I'll seize—
Her heart I leave till time may do its work.
By a long line of ancestry, a queen,
Her regal title to the imperial crown
Must bind it fast on Maximus's brow.
LEO.
She stands superiour to life's roughen'd storms;
Looks calmly down, and bids the waves roll on
Till the last surge ingulphs her weary head.
Yet this new s [...]ene may shake her firm resolve,
And raise a tempest in her tranquil breast.
MAXIMUS.
Repair to her—if possible persuade—
Yet fix'd as fate is Maximus's will;
Though keen resentment agitates her breast,
Or her indignant soul should burst with rage,
Yet ere tomorrow's sun descends the vale,
And hides behind you western burnish'd hill,
Our hands are join'd by wedlock's sacred tie;
It must be so, or I'm but half aveng'd.
Exit LEO
'Tis done—the envy'd master of the world conceals
[Page 59]A thousand pangs beneath a purple robe;
Yet furies lurk, and vipers gnaw within,
And give the lie to splendid pomp without.
Exit.
SCENE II.
EDOXIA, solus.
WHERE shall I fly?—to what sequester'd shade
Where the world's distant din no more alarms,
Or warring passions burst through n [...]ture's tie
And make mankind creation's foulest stain.
Horror and guilt stare wild in every eye;
Freedom extinguish'd in the fumes of lust
Bleeds fresh beside Rome's long expiring fame;
Virtue's become the rude barbarian's jest,
Barter'd for gold, and floating down the tide
Of foreign vice, stain'd with domestick guilt:
Oh! could I hide in some dark hermitage,
Beneath some hollow, dismal, broken cliff,
I'd weep forlorn the miseries of Rome,
Till time's last billow broke, and left me quiet
On the naked strand.—
[Enter LEO.]
—Ah! Leo,Durst thou be still the friend of sad Edoxia?
Hast thou the courage yet to visit grief,
And sooth a wretch by sympathetick tears;
And reconcile me to the name of man?
Can'st shew me one less cruel than the tyger
Nurs'd in the wilds, and feasting on the flesh
Of all but his own species?
This predilection's left to man alone,
To drink and riot on his brother's blood.
LEO.
[Page 60]Fate has ordain'd—'tis thou must give us peace;
Thy lenient hand alone.
EDOXIA.
Mock not my woe.
LEO.
'Tis thou my empress, who must stop the tide
That threats the deluge of the Roman world;
The jarring factions that tear up the state
Thyself must quell, and reconcile—
EDOXIA.
Insult not my distress.
LEO.
The emperor Maximus—
EDOXIA.
Whose name strikes daggers through my shivering soul!
LEO.
Demands an audience.
EDOXIA.
Speak not a word my soul disdains to hear.
LEO.
The Roman people—
EDOXIA.
Ah! what is Rome to me?
LEO.
All wish a union in the royal pair;
And Maximus adores Edoxia's virtues.
EDOXIA.
What is the sanction that emboldens thee,
Thus to affront thy queen?
LEO.
Oh! pity Rome—the empire—and thy country—
Save thy noble house.
EDOXIA.
[Page 61]I have no country.
What's life, or empire, or the world to me?
LEO.
Yet hear—oh! hear—for Maximus resolves.
EDOXIA.
And art thou come to sue for Maximus,
Whose blacken'd soul, blown up by fierce ambition,
Assumes the reins, and drives the courser on,
With furious passion and unbridled lust?
LEO.
The emperor admits of no delay,
When once resolv'd.
EDOXIA.
Remember, Leo,
The blood that flow'd from Poplicola's veins,
From breast to breast through the Horatian line,
And thence to me convey'd—a gen'rous stream
That animates and warms Edoxia's heart,
Shall ne'er be tainted by a base submission.
LEO.
Impatiently, he waits thy last reply.
EDOXIA.
Tell him I'm not the coward fool he thinks;
That guilty greatness has no charms for grief;
I scorn his impious passion—detest his name.
LEO.
Yet save thyself—thus on my bended knee,
Kneels.
Let me beseech from thee a mild reply.
EDOXIA.
Tell him, a traitor's heart, though swell'd
By adulation's base perfume, has not a hand
To wield the imperial sceptre.
LEO.
[Page 62]And therefore needs thy aid,
Both to secure and dignify the throne.
EDOXIA.
This insolence from thee!—the pious Leo—
My former friend—the guardian of my youth;
I thought thy soul cast in a purer mould—
Above the servile line—not thus to court
And meanly grovel, for a tyrant's smile.
Leave me, base wretch—go fawn on thy new master;
Tell him at once, Edoxia dares to die.
LEO.
Forgive this boldness!—Alas! could I but save,
Or serve thy noble house, there's not a task
Edoxia could impose, this aged arm
Unnerv'd by time and grief, would not attempt.
Yet might as well the breath of wisdom strive
To reason down the tempest of the north,
Or lull the maddening hurricane to rest,
As to persuade when Maximus resolves.
Oh! would kind Heaven, which sav'd thee from the sword,
Still find some way to bless and make thee happy.
Weeps.
EDOXIA.
Thy venerable grief, my aged friend,
Softens resentment, which thy zeal inflam'd:
In that kind tear the soul of Leo shines;
Yet say, is Rome so poor and abject grown—
So far debas'd, that when a ruffian dares
To stab his prince, and boldly challenge
To his impious bed, the wife of his
Assassinated lord—none dare oppose?
[Page 63]Has Rome for this so often fought and conquer'd?
Has the best blood the Roman name can boast,
Redden'd the Tyber with its purple streams,
To purchase freedom by the swift perdition
Of every bold invader, from Tarquin's reign,
To the more fatal day, when guilty Maximus
Assum'd the purple?—May thunders roll,
And streams irruptive, blast a wretch like him—
Or sheets of livid flame enwrap Edoxia
From his hated sight.
Go on and bear this answer to thy lord.
Exit LEO.
Thou great first cause, who bids the tempest rage,
And rends with mighty peals, the darken'd air,
Light up the skies and blaze from north to south,
Thy vengeance pour on complicated guilt.
Exit.
SCENE III.
MAXIMUS and LEO moving to the Apartment of the Empress.
MAXIMUS.
HAH!—does the empress haughtily reject
My proffer'd vows, and spurn me from her arms?
LEO.
Lost in the tender agonies of woe,
She wept, regardless of thy ardent prayer;
'Till grown outrageous by my urgent suit,
She started wild, as if despair awoke,
And rav'd, and sob'd, and imprecated death:
At last, collected in majestick pride,
[Page 64]She drew a poignard from beneath her robe,
And solemn swore, in most indignant strains,
If you presum'd to speak to her of love,
Its point transfix'd should send her to the grave,
More welcome far than thy abhor'd embrace.
Scene opens and discovers EDOXIA.
Enter MAXIMUS and LEO.
MAXIMUS.
I ask thy hand, and claim thee as my queen—
Jointly to govern and reform the state.
EDOXIA.
And must an empress bear this bold outrage—
These stings of insult?—Shall a villain's hand
Drag to the altar—sacrifice my fame,
To each black passion that deforms the soul?
Oh! Heaven look down—his bold ambition curse—
Destruction send on him and all his race.
MAXIMUS.
Did lust of empire, or of fame alone,
Thus bid me urge the fair Edoxia's hand—
Ambition, that proud source of human woe,
Thou might'st suspect had push'd my purpose on:
But though the lustre of a crown allures,
And sanction gives to deeds of boldest hue,
Justice alone, and love of virtue warms,
My ardent heart, and animates my arm.
EDOXIA.
Durst thou profane the sacred name of virtue?
A sacrilegious murd'rer talk of virtue!
Thou know'st not what it means—an heart like thine
Ne'er felt its sacred warmth—not an idea
Of the heavenly flame could e'er exist
In thy corrupted brain—blown up by lust—
[Page 65]Revenge—ambition—death—
Thy dagger reeking with thy sovereign's blood,
Thou still would'st heighten thy detested crime
And make his wife a partner in thy guilt.
MAXIMUS.
Thou wrong'st me much—to plead my cause
Would wound so chaste an ear;—false to his vows,
And faithless to thy bed, he wrong'd at once
The empress and myself.
EDOXIA.
Him, I forgive—
But not the assassin of my injur'd lord;
Oh! let me fly from thee, and from perdition.
MAXIMUS.
My destiny impell'd against my will,
My evil genius and my fate combin'd;
Nor will I now recede and yield a throne.
Thy wisdom, grace, and dignity of soul,
Command respect, and bend me to thy charms;
I ask thy aid to extirpate from Rome
Injustice—vice—with anarchy and crimes.
My gracious princess, sovereign, queen and wife,
Reign still in Rome, and grace the imperial throne.
EDOXIA.
Thy perfidy thou think'st is made secure
By plunging Aetius in the general wreck;
His valorous hand would from thine impious grasp
Have pluck'd the sceptre, stained by thy touch:
Yes, if through Rome there was a Roman left,
As brave as Aetius, the diadem
Would of itself drop off,
From thine imperious brow.
MAXIMUS.
[Page 66]Does not the empress know who murder'd Aetius?—
To LEO.
And that Petronius would avenge his death?
LEO.
The bloody deed had not yet reach'd her ear,
When Valentinian fell.
EDOXIA.
It is enough, she knows the miscreant—
The proud usurper of the vacant throne,
Who dares aspire to Valentinian's bed;
But witness, all ye powers of earth and heaven,
Ere my soul bends to sanctify the deed,
Or yields a victim to this bold offence,
The horrid void beneath the Tarpeian rock
Shall first be fed by all the Anician race.
MAXIMUS.
Prepare the rites—Edoxia must be mine—
To LEO.
Before the wood lark hails the morning dawn,
Or early matins call the virgins forth
To chant their lays—the empress is my bride—
Then time and love shall soften by degrees,
'Till Lethè lends forgetfulness to grief.
Exit MAXIMUS and LEO.
EDOXIA.
Ye gods!—where am I?—
Shall I be aw'd by Maximus's frown
To stain the glory of the Horatian name?
Alas!—ye patriots of ancient fame—
Where are the youth, whose glorious fathers di'd
To save the commonwealth?
Arise! ye ancient, venerable shades,
[Page 67]Who bravely fought for liberty and Rome:
Assist my powers—my single arm shall dare
Some dreadful deed of horrid desperation.
I swear by him who thunders in the skies,
By him who thunders in the vaulted skies,
And downward points the artillery of Heaven,
'Till worlds dissolve beneath his dreaded frown,
The most distinguish'd vengeance shall befall
The Roman world, for Maximus's sake.
Exit.
SCENE IV.
GAUDENTIUS and EUDOCIA.
GAUDENTIUS.
THOUGH nature frowns, and monsters howl around
And threat the bands of each domestick joy,
Yet innocence and truth should cease to weep;
'Tis guilt alone should tremble in the storm.
EUDOCIA.
My native land distain'd with Roman blood
Warm from the veins of patriots and kings—
A father slain—a mother's tender woe—
Her virgin daughters weeping by her side,
Add stings to pain, and poignancy to grief.
GAUDENTIUS.
Let Angels guard and calm thy ruffled breast;
Let love and virtue cheer thy drooping soul;
And let thy peace reanimate again
A prince that lives but in Eudocia's smile.
EUDOCIA.
[Page 68]Talk not of peace to the imperial [...]ouse;
The hand, the dark assassinating hand,
That pierc'd th' unguarded heart of Valentinian,
Has murder'd all his race—hah! Gaudentius!
GAUDENTIUS trembles, and turns pale.
Why trembles thus Gaudentius, at Valentinian's name?
A name he once rever'd, and call'd his friend—
Is it a probe that touch'd a secret wound?
GAUDENTIUS.
My love—my grief—my fears—
A sudden illness that will soon subside.
EUDOCIA.
Thy fears—why should Gaudentius fear?
GAUDENTIUS.
For all my soul holds dear beneath the stars—
Thy peace—thy health—thy happiness and love.
EUDOCIA.
Is there a latent cause, this moment wak'd,
To doubt Eudocia's love?
GAUDENTIUS.
Thy deep dejection—thy too curious eye—
A brow o'ercast with something like a frown,
Ne'er seen before, where sweetness sits enthron'd,
And soft complacence has been us'd to smile,
Amidst the grief that wrung the aching heart.
EUDOCIA.
Does thine own conscience smile, and whisper peace;
And art thou sure that all's secure within?
I much suspect, thy friend, Traulista,
Is a secret foe—and that his hostile hand,
Oft steep'd in blood—fierce as the vulture's fang,
[Page 69]Was not inactive on that fatal day,
When the remorseless sword mow'd down as grass
The faithful friends to Valentinian's house.
But Heaven forbid, that e'er the brave Gaudentius,
A good, a generous, noble minded prince,
Should join a murderous band—impossible!
I will not wrong thee thus—yet some strange horror
Seizes all my frame—as if my father's ghost
Stood bleeding by, and chid this parley
With a parricide.
EUDOCIA turns abruptly to withdraw.
GAUDENTIUS.
Oh! leave me not, my princess, thus suspected.
EUDOCIA.
If thou art guilty, own thy crime at once;
A poor defence will make thee doubly so.
If the least guilt contaminates thy soul,
My own would share by hearing thy excuse;
I see thee not till time restore thy fame;
And yet I fear—Oh! death to name—I fear,
Thy infamy is fix'd—forever fix'd,
Beyond redemption's call.
EUDOCIA exit hastily.
SCENE V.
TRAULISTA and GAUDENTIUS.
TRAULISTA.
WHY does my friend wear that soft April eye?
What is it poisons thy heroick soul,
And damps the vigour of thy martial arm?
[Page 70]Brace up thy nerves, and fence about thy breast,
And scorn the boon of pity from a girl—
A haughty—stubborn—solemn Roman maid.
GAUDENTIUS.
A heart like thine—insensible to love—
Dead to the soft sensations of the soul—
Only to fierce Bellona's voice awake—
Though all the sex were offer'd to thy choice,
Knows not the joy, nor feels the tender pang,
Fear may excite, or expectation raise.
TRAULISTA.
What hast thou got by all thy love sick dreams?
Go shew the mighty Goths thy baby face,
And see if one would know it was Gaudentius,
Who fought and conquer'd on the Danube's banks;
Tell them you've whin'd for more than twenty moons—
Crest fallen, sigh'd before a puling chit,
The daughter of thy most inveterate foe—
The murderer of thy sire.
GAUDENTIUS.
But he's aveng'd—
And, like the frighted hare, she fled my sight,
Suspects me an accomplice, charg'd my home,
With treason, murder, perfidy and blood.
TRAULISTA.
Come, be thyself again; nor longer bask
Upon the silken, downy lap of hope;
Leave her to sigh, and whisper to the winds—
Else snatch by force, and bear her o'er the wilds,
Through growling forests—hideous, broken cliffs,
And frozen seas—to Scythia's icy banks,
Where rugged winds pour from the brindled north
[Page 71]Adown the mountain's brow—a blast may cool
The transports of thy love.
GAUDENTIUS.
Heaven blast a wretch, whose fierce barbarick heart
Would violate in thought so chaste a fame—
A purity allied to heaven itself.
Alas! the charms that have subdu'd my heart
Have something more than human in their birth.
TRAULISTA.
Then why profanely sigh for charms divine?
Think thee of Bleda's hospitable dames,
Won without wooing—thine without a sigh;
But if ye choose to wanton in the west,
And hang upon the dimpled smile of love,
A day, perhaps, or less, brings on the scenes
That level all the bars round birth and beauty,
Or innocence and elevated worth.
Thou may'st be safe e'en in the imperial court,
'Till surfeited with those Italian smiles:
The blue ey'd mountain maids of Caucasus,
(Who, once allur'd by native, artless charms,)
Call back thy sighs to nature's utmost bounds,
The bolder beauties of the northern world.
GAUDENTIUS.
Forbear, Traulista—nor sport thus with my pain.
TRAULISTA.
Come then, erect the scymitar of Mars,
And twang the bow string at the trumpet's sound.
GAUDENTIUS.
Go, clear my wounded fame—assure the princess
That I did not strike—that her fair image,
Hovering round his head, held back my hand—
[Page 72]Repell'd the pointed sword—for aught I did,
Her father might have liv'd.
TRAULISTA.
I know ye acted as a coward would—
But half resolv'd, and trembling at thyself:
Yes, I will see Eudocia is inform'd,
She's made a poltroon of a noble prince.
GAUDENTIUS.
Hah!—this from thee?—yet know he has a sword,
That will not fail to reach a villain's heart,
And let the venom out that rankles there.
Lays his hand on his sword.
TRAULISTA.
For this I love thee—come on and try its mettle—
I fear'd thou had'st forgot who was thy sire,
And that the lustre of his burnish'd blade▪
Wielded by him in many a hardy field,
Had hurt the opticks of the gentler son
Of noble Aetius.
GAUDENTIUS.
Draw and defend thyself.—
(Draws)
TRAULISTA.
What shall I tell Eudocia, when she chides,
If I should scratch, or let out Roman blood?
(Insultingly)
GAUDENTIUS.
The empress comes—forbear—I, on the morrow,
Meet thee in the Circus.
TRAULISTA.
Come on, my boy—
The morrow may have other work to do;
This day shall tilt thee swiftly out of time,
If thou art weary of thy silken chain.
Exit TRAULISTA.
[Page 73] Enter EDOXIA.
EDOXIA.
My son—my friend—my injur'd friend Gaudentius,
Canst thou forgive the noble Aetius' death?
Thou lov'st Eudocia with the purest flame:
Remember Valentinian was her sire,
Then vindicate the honour of her house.
GAUDENTIUS.
While life glows warm in this my faithful breast,
Eudocia holds my fortune and my fate.
EDOXIA.
I know thou'rt noble, generous and just,
And not less brave than Aetius thy sire;
He wore a sword, he dar'd to draw
In injur'd virtue's cause—nor fear'd the frowns
Of tyrants or of kings—it is thy birthright,
Durst thou grasp it hard, and boldly venture,
For Eudocia's sake, to extricate
Her mother from the arms—the hated bed
Of an usurper of her father's throne?
GAUDENTIUS.
There's nought, true courage prompts the brave to do,
Or virtue justifies, or honour calls,
But what I dare attempt.
But if it mars the peace of Rome—
EDOXIA.
The peace of Rome is an ideal thing;
Lost in the tide of every shameful vice,
Rapine and blood; and violence and lust
But mock the story of her ancient fame.
Canst thou a moment balance in the scale
The tranquil scenes of harmony and peace,
[Page 74]With all the lustre that adorns a crown?
Eudocia gives an empire with her hand.
GAUDENTIUS.
My sword—my services—my life are thine—
Ambition burns, and love and glory join—
Yet name no task that more distracts my country.
EDOXIA.
Then thou canst see the empress bath'd in tears,
Drag'd by Petronius to the sacred altar—
Compell'd to be his bride—the fair Eudocia,
But a moment lent, to dry the filial tear,
Ere she's compell'd to wed his worthless heir?
GAUDENTIUS.
Not all the powers of earth, or hell combin'd,
Shall rob me of my wife, my lov'd Eudocia.
EDOXIA.
Wilt thou apply to Genseric—my friend?
GAUDENTIUS.
A dangerous expedient indeed—
A faithless friend—a treacherous ally.
EDOXIA.
The time forbids evasion, or excuse—
Admits of no delay—my purpose is
Irrevocably fix'd.—Say, wilt thou,
At the port of Ostia, meet Genseric—
Bear him my signet—bring him on to Rome?
GAUDENTIUS.
Not for the golden treasures of the east,
Or all the wealth the tempting world bestows;
No, though Eudocia were the bright reward,
Could I betray the capitol of Rome,
And sell my country to the Vandal king?
EDOXIA.
[Page 75]Wilt thou betray the mother of Eudocia,
And blast my hopes of most severe revenge?
GAUDENTIUS.
Though great thy wrongs, much greater must thou fear,
If Genseric's rapacious brutal hosts
Should enter Italy—my sovereign forbear,
And like the gods, benignantly forgive;
Nor let resentment kindle up anew
The flames of war; nor introduce in Rome,
Those savage, hostile guests to riot there,
To subjugate the state—subvert thy house,
To extirpate thy name, and rudely reign
And triumph o'er the West.
EDOXIA.
'Tis done—I fear'd thy tardy spirit—
The last remains of patriotick virtue,
So like a glow worm in a stormy night,
It twinkles but to shew the sable hue
By nature worn through all the midnight gloom.
A trusty messenger, I therefore sent—
The winds have sped, and brought him back to Rome;
And ere Petronius dreams of danger nigh,
Genseric's thunder shakes the capitol,
GAUDENTIUS.
Thou hast struck deep—a sure and deadly blow.
EDOXIA.
The tangled lion can't escape the toils.
GAUDENTIUS.
Nor thou—nor Rome—nor all thy house, perdition.
EDOXIA.
Secure thyself, and leave the rest to me.
Trumpets without.
GAUDENTIUS.
[Page 76]Hark! the shrill trump!—Genseric's herald
Cannot yet be nigh.—
EDOXIA.
Like a brave friend, he instantly prepar'd
To plant his banners round the towers of Rome.
GAUDENTIUS.
The senate—people—all the royal house,
For slaughter ripe, in its most dreadful form—
Proud Rome the seat of arms, and arts, and fame,
Stands tottering on the verge of mighty ruin.
A soldier's duty calls; I haste away;
Fate may do much before we meet again;
She has a busy hand, and swiftly rides
On revolution's wheel—Rome may be sack'd.
And crowns and sceptres toss'd from shore to shore,
Transplanted, or despoil'd.
Exeunt.
[Page 77]
ACT V.
SCENE I.
The SENATE assembled in the Palace.—Enter an HERALD.
HERALD.
THE Vandal king, now at the gates of Rome,
Sends on an Herald to the magistrates,
The consuls, and the [...]efect of the city,
The army, senate, and the Roman people,
Demand an audience in Edoxia's name,
And offers terms, on which fam'd Rome may yield
To Genseric, and his all conquering sword.
He comes to rescue from the usurper's arm,
The remnant of the Theodosian line;
Chase from the throne the traitor Maximus,
And save the daughter of his great ally;
Give Italy a king of more reknown,
Or change the seat of empire from old Rome.
SENATOR.
Tell mighty Genseric, Petronius yields,
Appall'd and frighten'd at his potent name.
He left the city, sick of life and empire;
No more ambitious of the world's applause,
He wish'd to hide beyond the rapid Rhine;
But fate forbad—a bold Burgundian chief,
Arrested his career, and cleft him down,
Amidst the cries of citizens and friends,
Of foes to Rome, and of Edoxia's slaves.
His body, mangled by a thousand wounds,
Was thrown contemptuously from Tyber's bank.
Exeunt.
[Page 78]
SCENE II.
Opens and discovers the Citizens in great Confusion—LEO at the Head of a Procession of Priests, Senators and Nobles, meet GENSERIC in suppliant postures, without the Palace.
LEO.
EDOXIA sends all health to Genseric,
Her friend—her royal brother, and demands
Protection for the imperial hou [...]:
That no rough foot approach the palace gate,
Or hostile arm to plunder, or invade,
The royal daughters, or the wife of Caesar.
GENSERIC.
Tell her that Genseric himself will haste,
To guard the princesses and Caesar's wife.
LEO.
She begs repose after the furious storm;
And thy permission to be left retir'd,
To weep awhile the destiny of Rome;
To pour the balm of pity on the breast
Of virgin sorrow—to lift the drooping head
Of undissembled grief—hung like the lily
O'er the wasted vale—when the rough surge's
Roaring deluge sweeps down all around,
Except the naked bloom—propless and weak,
And quivering on the marge of the next tide—
Whose wat'ry wave may wash the broken fragment
From its natal soil.
GENSERIC.
Hymenial songs must cheer these drooping maids—
They each shall choose a Goth or Vandal lord,
[Page 79]And rase the lineage of the Roman name
In the warm grots of Asdrubal and Hanno,
For which their ancestors in Carthage bled,
And armies perish'd in the Lybian sands.
LEO.
Now thou art master of the Roman world,
Let clemency bespeak thee more a king,
Than all thy triumphs o'er subjected Rome.
GENSERIC.
The multitude disarm'd—I leave their lives;
Plebeian slaves may tremble and retire;
But all of noble or patrician blood,
Of ev'ry age and sex, my prisoners are.
Go thou, and tell the empress to prepare,
First, to receive her sovereign [...]n the palace—
Then with her daughters, follow him to Carthage.
Exeunt.
SCENE III.
EDOXIA and LEO in the Imperial Palace.
LEO.
FORTUNE ingulphs thy family and throne,
Beneath her shifting tide they're floating down,
And for thine house my soul in anguish bleeds;
The capitol—thy crown—and freedom lost—
Thy daughters seiz'd, Placidia borne away,
And made the mistress of a Gothic lord,
And Genseric himself is near the palace,
With hosts of Vandals crowding in the rear.
EDOXIA.
[Page 80]No more—death to my eyes—the tyrant comes—
The chains prepar'd—I hear the shackles clank.
Arise ye furies, from Tartarus' gulf,
And drag him peace meal, to the infernal shades.
Enter GENSERIC.
Hah! traitor, is it thus thou meet'st Edoxia?
Rob'd of her crown—a homager to thee—
Strip'd of her robes—her diadem and wealth,
And rudely bid to quit my native clime,
Still m [...]re to swell thy fierce and savage pomp:
The princesses insulted—and enslav'd—
By vulgar hands drag'd to the Vandal tent.
Oh! burst my heart—and let my eye strings break,
Let furious billows swallow up his fleet,
And darkness cover nature in the wreck,
Ere I obey, and see my househould train,
Lag at the feet of his triumphal car.
GENSERIC.
A milder tone becomes a captive queen,
At whose request invaded and subdu'd,
Rome prostrate lies beneath her conquering lord.
EDOXIA.
Ah! what a contrast to the splendid tale
Of Roman greatness—her illustrious fame.—
GENSERIC.
Empire decays when virtue's not the base,
And doom'd to perish when the parts corrupt.
EDOXIA.
My soul's as hot with rage, remorse, revenge,
As are the Lybian sands when Sirius reigns,
Or the thrice heated summer solstice burns.
GENSERIC.
[Page 81]Then, to console and mitigate thy rage,
I'll haste to Tunis with the illustrious throng,
Where Hunneric, my son, shall wed Eudocia.
EDOXIA.
Oh! dreadful threat—severer far than death.
Where are the sacred, celebrated shades,
Who wash'd the stains from chaste Lucretia's fame
In red libations from a tyrant's heart—
Oh! shield Eudocia—snatch her from despair.
Rescue a hapless, chaste, and friendless maid
From base, abandon'd, prostituted slaves!—
GENSERIC.
Fix'd as the fates that roll th' etherial orbs,
I now forbid a murmur, or a sigh.
EDOXIA.
Thou may'st forbid the morning sun to rise;
Bid ocean cease to lave the pebbled shore,
Or Roman souls to mix with Vandal slaves,
And be obey'd—ere sighs are hush'd,
Or execrations cease.—
GENSERIC.
Each chief has seiz'd a princely Roman dame,
The booty's safe, and prosperous gales invite;
And now my guards escort the empress on.
EDOXIA.
What! thus commanded in imperious strains,
To haste from Rome to Africk's scorching realms,
Where Tophet gapes and slaughter'd infants cry,
By thousands offer'd their infernal gods:—
Jehovah! why do all thy thunders sleep—
While each black crime the demons perpetrate,
Is acted o'er by this infernal race.
GENSERIC.
[Page 82]Slaves, hasten on, and seize your royal charge,
And guard her safe to Carthagena's coast.
EDOXIA.
Down on my head th' avenging gods have pour'd
Each curse the house of Hannibal could frame,
Or vanquish'd Carthage utter in despair,
For all the wrongs, oppression, and disgrace,
By haughty Rome, inflicted on her sons.
Now ye stern souls, ye venerated shades,
Heroes who fell on Zama's routed plains—
Look down and triumph, vengeance is compleat.
Behold the last of the Horatian line,
Sent to the margin of the burning plains,
The tawny front of Afric's blacken'd tribes,
To stand an exil'd slave—to rave and weep
The loss of empire and the fall of Rome,
Amidst Numidia's sands and sooty sons.
But thanks to Heav'n, the empress of the west
Has yet the means, and will an empress die.
Draws a conceal'd poignard, and attempts to stab herself.
GENSERIC.
Slaves, seize her hand—she must not die—
'Twill half defeat the triumph of the day.
EDOXIA.
Enough of life and all life's idle pomp—
Nor by a tyrant's fiat will I live—
I leave the busy, vain, ambitious world
To cheat itself anew, and o'er and o'er
Tread the same ground their ancestors have trod,
In chace of thrones, of sceptres, or of crowns,
'Till all these bubbles break in empty air,
Nor leave a trace of happiness behind.
EDOXIA is led off in golden chains.
[Page 83]GENSERIC, from the Palace Gates, gives Orders to the Vandal Troops.
Down with the Roman eagles, statues, temples,
Monuments of fame—their trophies tear:—
Strip all the vestments from their ancient gods—
Their pageant heroes level with the dust,
And rase their names from memory and time.
The golden shrines and saintly relicks seize;
Both gilded busts and roofs of bronze destroy;
The branches, tables, candlesticks of gold,
In ostentation shewn by Jewish priests,
And in triumphal pomp transfer'd to Rome,
With all the treasures of Zenobia's house,
Palmyra's wealth, and Asia's spoils, secure—
And teach the naked capital to weep,
Her long arrearages to all mankind,
For plunder'd nations, cities, kingdoms, climes.
What has this mighty Roman name to boast?
'Tis time to rase her from the list of nations,
And blast the world no more by Roman crimes—
Then plead prescription, as 'twas done by Rome.
Break up their fountains, poison all their baths,
Ere they contaminate the Vandal troops
With soft, effeminate, luxurious sloth?
Ransack each church, and pillage all the city,
Nor leave a drachma round the seven hills.
Exeunt.
[Page 84]
SCENE IV.
HUNNERIC and TRAULISTA.
HUNNERIC.
IF or ambition, wealth, or airy fame,
Could sooth to rest, my soul would be at ease;
But yet some secret heaviness I feel,
Ne'er felt before, that rankles at the heart,
And blasts the joys of victory and conquest.
TRAULISTA.
The world, and all its treasures at command;
And beauty, emulous to win thy love—
What can disturb thy peace?
HUNNERIC.
Eudocia—the lovely, weeping, tender, fair Eudocia—
She is my prize—my prisoner—my wife—
Yet every motion of her eye appals;
And when she speaks, I like a statue stare,
Unable to reply, or to withdraw.
TRAULISTA.
These Roman maids have some enchanting arts,
That bend the boldest warrior to their smiles;
Yet they are not so cold as they may seem.
HUNNERIC.
She holds me by some fascinating tie,
Spite of my prowess, or superiour strength:
Did the celestial deities combine
To form her thus?—Her image makes me hate
The wanton beauties of our amorous clime.
In her majestick presence, I'm as tame,
[Page 85]As the young lambkin in the shepherd's cot;
I scarcely move me, lest I should offend;
It may be love—I fear it is—
Yet spurn it from my thought—yes, I adore,
My worship is profound—my veneration such
I'm tenfold more a slave than is the princess.
TRAULISTA.
Perhaps, some darling favourite indulg'd,
May find Eudocia soft as yielding air,
Though frozen to the blandishments of love—
Cold as the Scythian snows to thine embrace;
Yet I could let a fatal secret out,
Would give a clue to wake her passions up.
HUNNERIC.
Ah! say Traulista;
Half my booty shall be thy reward;
And fifty captives of the fairest dames
Shall swell thy haram to the eastern stile.
TRAULISTA.
Know, all the sex I equally despise;
And did some busy demon wake a wish
To toy and trifle with some matchless fair,
I'd puff it off;—if I could blush, the thought
Would burn my cheek.—Give me a Roman province,
Or give an army to patrole the empire,
To rid the world of their patrician pride,
Or yet more turbulent plebeian blood,
That has, for more than thirteen hundred years,
Plagu'd all mankind with their ambitious fires.
HUNNERIC.
Not less than thee, I hate the Roman name:
Command thy terms—though they're to govern Rome,
To wear a crown—to reign in Gaul or Spain;
[Page 86]Both by the cross, and by the ancient gods,
Here is my signet—claim thine own reward.
TRAULISTA.
What if within this garden lies conceal'd
The rival of thy love?
HUNNERIC.
The game more easy—more secure the prey:
By all the blood Genseric's arm has spilt,
The traitor dies before the morning dawns.
TRAULISTA.
Belov'd and favour'd by the fair Eudocia,
The brave Gaudentius waits to bear her off.
HUNNERIC.
Hah! the son of Aetius?—thy valiant friend?—
TRAULISTA.
He once presum'd to call his friend a traitor,
And thinks that mine is such a milky soul
As to forgive—'tis not a soldier's trade:
My sword, my arm, aveng'd his bleeding sire,
Nor shall the son ungratefully defy
That sword—that prowess—that decided strength
Rome's legions fear, and trembling armies fly.
But yet I bid resentment sleep awhile,
'Till all was ripe an empire to subvert—
I scorn to play at a less noble game.
I rais'd Petronius to the imperial throne;
But he, ungrateful, indolent and weak,
At once forgot Hermannic's noble son;
With vulgar princes rank'd him as a slave:
The empress saw, and wanted such an arm,
To back the rage that rankled in her breast,
And rid her of Gaudentius, who'd refus'd
[Page 87]To be her friend and confident to thee.
He, raging mad with patriotick pride,
Resign'd his love at freedom's sacred foot,
Disgusted—urg'd against her fix'd design,
And arm'd at once against the Vandal king.
She bade me hope, as my reward, her daughter—
But I've no wish the princess to possess;
Yet my ambition burns to reign in Rome.
HUNNERIC.
Nail this Gaudentius to some grassy plot
And thou shall triumph in the capitol.
TRAULISTA.
This night is friendly to revenge and death:
Between the gloom of midnight and the dawn,
Just light enough beneath the cypress shade
To track the heedless lover on his way:
Yet could'st thou in Eudocia's presence draw,
And lay her lover bleeding at her feet?
When she to heaven erects her lily hand,
In all the beauteous agony of grief,
Heaves up her snowy breast, and sighs—GAUDENTIUS!
HUNNERIC.
'Twould sweeten my revenge, and steal my heart,
To drag her instant to my slighted bed.
TRAULISTA.
Then on and feast thee with the luscious sight;
A triumph worthy of a Vandal prince.
Exeunt.
[Page 88]
SCENE V.
A Grotto in the Garden of the Palace—EUDOCIA solus— GAUDENTIUS approaching.
GAUDENTIUS.
THESE are the grots, the sacred silent walks,
Where my Eudocia wanders from the world.
Methinks I hear, within yon roseate bower,
Some plaintive angel's soft harmonious voice:
Perhaps, her guardian goddess down descends,
From yonder silvern cloud capt mountain's brow,
To watch her beauteous charge.—
(Listens.)
EUDOCIA within, in a soft, plaintive, agonizing voice.
Oh! some kind seraph snatch my soul away,
And shroud my griefs beneath the peaceful tomb;
Or must a dagger ope a passage hence,
To set me free from Hunneric's embrace?
GAUDENTIUS.
'Tis she herself—'tis her symphonious voice:
The murmuring maid in broken accents sighs;
'Tis my Eudocia whispering to her God.
Enters the Grotto.
Let not those sighs tear up an angel's breast;
Nor let the wreck of empire strike too deep.
EUDOCIA.
Hah!—who art thou that boldly dares intrude
On the last hour of this my still retreat?
Some spy of Hunneric's, to watch my steps,
Lest one short moment of repose I find,
This last sad night, ere I'm completely curs'd.
GAUDENTIUS.
[Page 89]May all the powers who guard the good and just
Protect my princess!—
EUDOCIA.
Hah! my belov'd Gaudentius!—
Dost thou yet live, through all the perils
Of a barbarous siege, to see Eudocia
Snatch'd from thy lov'd arms?—Alas! my fate,
To what a hated rival am I doom'd!
GAUDENTIUS.
I had not liv'd but for Eudocia's sake.
EUDOCIA.
Yet save a life much dearer than my own;
Nor linger here, 'tis on the verge of death:
Leave me to perish in my country's fall.
GAUDENTIUS.
Not all the clangor, or the din of arms,
Or roughen'd tempests, whose impetuous blasts,
In fiery bolts, may rive the mountains up,
Again shall tear me from my lov'd Eudocia.
EUDOCIA.
My lips can't utter, nor my tongue express,
The anguish that my tortur'd soul endures;
'Twas early duty nurs'd my infant love,
And strictest virtue sanctifi'd the flame,
'Till Valentinian fell—alas! no more;
Nature—religion—reason—filial love,
Forbid a union with the son of Aetius.
GAUDENTIUS.
My brain grows hot—it kindles to distraction—
This night secures my bliss—or—certain death.
EUDOCIA.
Oh! live Gaudentius—live for Rome's defence;
Nor rob thy country of so brave an arm.
[Page 90]Not crowns, or sceptres, or the world besides,
Has aught to balance with my love for thee;
Yet urge no more—fly hence and save thyself—
One parting sigh—one solemn, last adieu—
Then, for thy country's sake, forget Eudocia.
GAUDENTIUS.
Not till the pulse of life forgets to play,
And death's cold dews pervade my quivering lip.
Within this garden will I find a grave,
Unless my princess dares an enterprise,
Which lost this night, may never more return;
I must attempt thy rescue ere the morn.
EUDOCIA.
In what new horror would this scene involve?
GAUDENTIUS.
Arouse thy noble fortitude of mind—
'Tis the decisive hour—the next subjects
To Hunneric's embrace.—
EUDOCIA.
Not all that nature shudders at in death,
Has half the terrors that his name conveys;
Oh! save, if possible—prevent my fate.
GAUDENTIUS.
Then fly with me from misery supreme.
EUDOCIA.
The port of Ostia's shut—and all the seas
Fill'd with Genseric's fierce piratic slaves:—
Where can the wretched fly?
GAUDENTIUS.
Fly any where from Hunneric and death.
EUDOCIA.
Alas! my heart—my weak, my wavering heart!
GAUDENTIUS.
[Page 91]Come, let us move to yonder small alcove;
The brave Traulista, whom Genseric trusts,
Most fortunately heads the nightly watch,
Patroles the posts until the morning dawns;
The moment that the midnight bell resounds,
He brings a Vandal garb for my Eudocia,
And aids our flight to the Tarentine sea.
EUDOCIA.
Traulista!—I like not this Traulista—
Traulista has a rough, a savage soul,
Wrought up to treasons of the darkest hue.
GAUDENTIUS.
His life he owes to Aetius and myself.
EUDOCIA.
But gratitude can never bind the base:
An infidel to God—there is no tie—
No principle to bind a worthless heart.
GAUDENTIUS.
Hs is my friend; come, dissipate distrust.
EUDOCIA.
A thousand spectres [...]stare on every side.
GAUDENTIUS.
Let's lose no time, nor let thy fears retard;
He offers to lead her out of the Bower.
The hazy moon enwraps her tranquil face,
And hides behind a thin transparent cloud,
Lest she betray, by her▪ resplendent beam
Thy trembling step—the terror in thy eye.
Moving slow1y on.
EUDOCIA.
Methinks I hear some speedy foot advance.
She starts back.
GAUDENTIUS.
[Page 92]My generous friend anticipates the hour.
EUDOCIA.
Lie still, my heart—
Nor burst the brittle casement of my breast.
Enter SERVANT.
SERVANT.
Away, my lord—fly to the thickest shade,
Or, ere thou can'st escape, thou art undone.
GAUDENTIUS.
Hah! betray'd!—
SERVANT.
Two ruffians arm'd, crawl round the citron walk—
They nam'd Gaudentius—I stay'd to hear no more—
But rush'd—and shot across the darken'd grove,
To serve the princess and to save my lord.
GAUDENTIUS.
Alas! my faithful Cassio—thou'rt too late,
Yet as a soldier will I sell my life.
Enter HUNNERIC and TRAULISTA.
[GAUDENTIUS makes a furious pass and mortally wounds TRAULISTA.]
TRAULISTA.
Death to my hopes—damnation to his hand!—
GAUDENTIUS.
Oh! heavens! Traulista—art thou the villain—
Traitor—dastard—slave—lurking in secret,
To betray thy friends?
TRAULISTA.
Coward, come on—
To brave in words thou may'st a dying man;
Yet know I've life enough to dash to hell,
And send thy puny soul to Pluto's shades,
For daring once to threat Traulista's life.
GAUDENTIUS.
[Page 93]High heaven has levell'd at thy treacherous heart
The fatal stroke that justice' hand demands.
TRAULISTA.
Now are there deities or devils—ghosts or gods,
I'd thank them all had he have dy'd before me.
My eye balls sink—my stiffen'd fibres fail!—
Haste, Charon—with thy boat—and set me o'er
The Stygian pool—blot out this being—
'Tis a curse to man—yet if these Romans live
In other worlds, I would exist again,
To chase them from Elysium, as from Rome.
Dies.
HUNNERIC.
Seize this young furious prince, and on the rack
To his Guards.
Extend each limb—with heated pincers tare,
'Till I have time to find new tortures out.
GAUDENTIUS.
Not thee, nor death, nor tortures do I fear,
Would angel guards and ministers of fate
First snatch Eudocia from thy loath'd embrace—
Yet know, Gaudentius dies not as a slave.
[He rushes forward and engages HUNNERIC, who mortally wounds him.—EUDOCIA runs between their swords, and offers her breast to HUNNERIC.]
EUDOCIA.
Strike here, most noble Hunneric—end my pain—
Now if thy soul can do one generous deed
Emancipate thy prisoner—enhance the gift—
Nor like a niggard do thy work by halves;
But let me die with him, my life, my lord,
My husband, my Gaudentius.
HUNNERIC.
No, my Eudocia, live—thou art my queen.
EUDOCIA.
[Page 94]If hell's dark empire had a charm for me,
Then I might wish to be the Vandal queen.
GAUDENTIUS.
Adieu, my fair—adieu, my lov'd Eudocia—
Adieu to glory, empire and renown!—
Falls.
EUDOCIA.
Oh! stay Gaudentius—let me assuage thy wounds,
Support thy drooping head one moment more—
Then I accompany my much lov'd lord.
She saints.
HUNNERIC.
Slaves, bear her off—these are the sex's tricks—
While her fond eyes hang on her paramour
She'll play them o'er, and weep, and sigh, and rave,
And faint again—yet cannot die with grief—
But in mine arms she'll sink an easy bride.
EUDOCIA.
Heaven blot from time that curs'd, that blasted hour▪
[The guards attempt to fo [...]e her from the corpse of GAUDENTIUS.]
Off murderers—nor tear me from his corpse—
Let me come near—if still he breathes,
And sip the last soft breath.—Ah; he is dead!
In his last sob—the last of Romans died—
Just Heaven is kind—I yet shall die with him.
My throbbing heart almost forgets to bea [...]—
The slow pulsation lags—I sink—I fall—
Time shakes the glass to sift out my last sands—
Virtue, sublim'd by piety and truth,
Now beckons to the skies—th [...] curtain falls,
And opes eternity—I've [...]ought to ask
Of this distracted world—but just to shrowd
In the same peaceful touch, with my Gaudentius.—
Dies.
[Page]
EPILOGUE.
POETS and heroes travelling from home,
For perfect models, oft repair to Rome;
Yet real prowess, or true sterling wit,
Or genius there, they do not always hit.
They had their bullies, sycophants and fools,
And learned dunces in Apollo's schools;
Their poetasters—pretty playful things,
Who, patroniz'd by ladies, or by kings,
By rules logistick, reason'd truth away,
And form'd new systems fit for each new day;
Zealots, or bigots to their fathers' creed,
As infidels, or fashion gave the the lead;
A p [...]ud republick, or a servile throng,
Aw'd by a frown, or by a Nero's song;
A celebrated, brave, heroick race,
They'd save, or sell their country, for a place.
For liberty—a poor unmeaning name,
They shook the globe, and set the world in flame;
But, factious, sickle, impious and bold,
Enervated by luxury and gold,
Ye've seen extinguish'd—great Apollo's fire,
Untun'd his harp, and broke his sacred lyre.
But in this age of literary claim,
When taste and genius vie with Roman fame,
Like them ye'll read, and candidly excuse
A piece design'd for pleasure or for use;
Though both the unities of place and time
May'nt always tally with the true sublime,
Nor huskin merit meet the mid day sky,
A female bard still asks your candid eye.
[Page 96]Sure the politeness of an infant nation
Wont damn the play, and hiss it out of fashion;
At the first reading on an winter's eve
Pray cry encore—a second may retrieve,
And save her fame from ev'ry critick's rage
To tread securely on Columbia's stage.
No censuring bards, or little wits she fears,
If ye are pleas'd, and Peter Pindar spares.
The author asks but this small boon of you,
Pray let it pass at least a night or two;
And if the moral in this pious age
Should let it live a week upon the stage;
Some gambling fools by Maximus's fate
Might learn their follies ere it was too late.
Might stay at home and save their pretty spouses,
And horns prevent by lodging at their houses.
Others, by thinking, might be taught the odds,
'Twixt him who fears and him who blasts the gods;
Might choose to live and die a man of merit,
Ere he'd be damn'd—an infidel of spirit;
But, like Traulista's, let their follies end,
Who basely have betray'd or sold a friend.
[Page]
THE LADIES of CASTILE. A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.
[Page]
To a YOUNG GENTLEMAN in EUROPE, at whose Request a regular DRAMATICK WORK was first attempted.
MY DEAR SIR,
YOU have often requested something in the stile of the drama, from the hand of one ever fond of gratifying her friends; though not certain whether this request arose from a love of literary productions; from a curiosity that has affection for its basis; or the strong attachment of friendship; yet I have no doubt you will be pleased with the compliance.
I AM sensible the writing an unexceptionable Tragedy, requires judgement, genius, and taste; and have felt such a diffidence in the attempt, as nothing would have overcome but the repeated request of a very dear friend.
THOUGH the piece now put into your hand may not afford equal entertainment with the compositions of a Corneille, a Racine, or a Crebillon, yet I dare say, from your partiality, you will find pleasure in your closet, though it should not be encored on the stage.
[Page 100]YOU have never named me a subject, though you prohibited an American, and seemed to have no predilection in favour of British incident; therefore, notwithstanding events in the western world have outran imagination; notwithstanding the magnitude of prospect a rising empire displays, and the many tragical scenes exhibited on an island whence it derived its origin, I have recurred to an ancient story in the annals of Spain, in her last struggles for liberty, previous to the complete establishment of despotism by the family of Ferdinand.
THE history of Charles the fifth, the [...]yranny of his successors, and the exertions of the Spanish Cortes, will ever be interesting to an American ear, so long as they triumph in their independence, pride themselves in the principles that instigated their patriots, and glory in the characters of their heroes, whose valour completed a revolution that will be the wonder of ages.
WHAT a field for genius! What a display of capacity, both in science, in business, and in politics, does this revolution exhibit! Certainly, enough to fire the ambition, and light up every noble spark in the bosom of those who are in the morning of life.
[Page 101]THE nations have now reshe [...]thed the sword; the European world is hushed in peace; America stands alone:—May she long stand, independent of every foreign power; superiour to the spirit of intrigue, or the corrupt principles of usurpation that may spring from the successful exertions of her own sons:—May their conduct never contradict the professions of the patriots who have asserted the rights of human nature; nor cause a blush to pervade the cheek of the children of the martyrs who have fallen in defence of the liberties of their country.
PERHAPS the subject I have chosen for the machinery of a tragedy, may be more proper for an epic, than a dramatic poem; yet I hope it will be acceptable in its present garb, and that the candor of the public will be exercised, not so much for the sake of the sex, as the design of the writer, who wishes only to cultivate the sentiments of public and private virtue in whatsoever falls from her pen.
I AM most affectionately, Yours, M. W.
February 20, 1784.[Page]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
- DON VELASCO—Regent of Spain in the absence of Charles fifth.
- CONDE HARO—Son to Velasco, Commander of the royal Army.
- DON JUAN DE PADILLA—Commander of the Troops raised by the States of Spain.
- DON FRANCIS—Friend to Padilla, Brother of Donna Maria, in love with Louisa.
- DON PEDRO GHIRON—a young Nobleman in love with Louisa.
- ZAMORA—Bishop of Toledo.
- SOCIA—confidential Servant to Don Juan de Padilla.
WOMEN.
- DONNA MARIA—Wife of Don Juan de Padilla, Sister to Don Francis.
- DONNA LOUISA—Daughter of Don Velasco.
[Page]
THE LADIES of CASTILE.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Near Toledo.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA and DON [...]RANCIS.
DON FRANCIS.
THE furious courser lifts his dauntless head,
Fierce snaps the bit, and rolls his eye abroad,
Sees death and carnage mark th' empurpled fields,
Neighs for his prey, and tramples o'er the dead.
The happy steed may bite the blood stain'd ground,
Untaught by reason, sympathy or love—
Unconscious of the pains—the ten fold pangs,
That check the warrior in his bold career.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA.
Methinks some languor hangs about thy steps,
Too like despair, though not alli'd to fear;
[Page 104]When virtue arms, and liberty's the prize,
No cloud should set on brave Don Francis' brow.
The love of glory, victory and fame,
A noble sense of dignity and worth,
Is the best birth right of Castilia's sons:—
Inur'd to glory, and the feats of war,
Our fathers held their freedom from the gods.
A jealousy for freedom kept alive
Precludes the softer passions of the mind.
DON FRANCIS.
Nurs'd in the fierce and hostile field of war,
I, from long ancestry, may boldly claim
That innate force and vigour of the mind
Which mocks the sense of danger or of death;
But yet Louisa wakes my soul to love.
De Haro's sister has ten thousand charms;
But ah!—the daughte [...] of Velasco chills,
And horror opes [...]he gates of wild despair,
As if the fates forbad a distant hope.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA.
Spurn these soft setters—fly the fond disguise,
Ere [...]t unnerves the vigour of thine arm—
Let freedom be the mistress of thy heart:—
She calls to arms, and bids us draw the sword:—
Come, clear thy brow, and whet the pointed steel,
To crush the foes of liberty and Spain.
DON FRANCIS.
I would suspend, but ne'er exterminate
The noblest passion of the human soul;
That softens the ferocious breast of man,
And checks the ruder billows of the mind.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA.
Not like the lover, but the hero talk—
The sword must rescue, or the nation sink,
[Page 105]And self degraded, wear the badge of slaves.
We boast a cause of glory and renown;
We arm to purchase the sublimest gift
The mind of man is capable to taste.
'Tis not a factious, or a fickle rout,
That calls their kindred out to private war,
With hearts envenom'd by a thirst of blood—
Nor burns ambition, rancour, or revenge,
As in the bosom of some lordly chief
Who throws his gauntlet at his sov'reign's foot,
And bids defiance in his wanton rage:—
'Tis freedom's genius, nurs'd from age to age,
Matur'd in schools of liberty and law,
On virtue's page from sire to son convey'd,
E'er since the savage, fierce, barbarian hords,
Pour'd in, and chas'd beyond Narvasia's mount,
The hardy chiefs who govern'd ancient Spain.
Our independent ancestors disdain'd
All servile homage to despotick lords.
DON FRANCIS.
I own my weakness—yet forgive my love;
My life and honour sacredly I plight,
To aid a brave and veteran band of chiefs,
Whose fathers fearless, dip'd the glittering sword,
Whet with revenge, in tides of Moorish blood,
To save their sons from servitude and chains.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA.
But we have not a moment's time to lose.
The pageant mounted on his gilded car,
Sweeps all the fickle multitude along:
Inaction or delay will ruin all,
And place the fav'rite nurs'd in fortune's lap,
Beyond the reach of aught but heaven itself,
[Page 106]To teach him what from man to man is due.
A battle ere tomorrow's sun retires
Shall shew the world our pedigree and fame;
The Celtiberian race shall ne'er be slaves,
Nor blush to own Don Juan for their son.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Palace of VELASCO.
Enter DON VELASCO and CONDE HARO.
DON VELASCO.
THE brighten'd dawn lifts up [...] cheerful face;
The sun beams play to lighten [...]h [...]e to fame;
The hill tops smile, and each propitious gale,
Wafts victory onward, with expanded wing,
To crown the glory of Velasco's house.
CONDE HARO.
Unhappy Spain, by civil factions torn,
Assaulting friends, while foreigners invade.
Her burning cities, and her re [...]king sons,
Are drench'd in blood, our valour should protect;
While fierce disunion scowls on every brow,
And rancour whets the sword against ourselves,
The Turkish banners spread the German plains,
And France, resolv'd to humble Charles's pride,
Unites the crescent with the sacred cross.
DON VELASCO.
Francis indeed may triumph at our gates,
Unless Don Juan, and the restless Cortes,
[Page 107]Are soon subdu'd, and peace restor'd to Spain.
One glorious conflict, one successful day,
Will shew the world the heir of Ferdinand
For empire born, in spite of all his foes.
CONDE HARO.
The sword is drawn, and down the gulph of time,
Perhaps, its useless scabbard may be toss'd,
'Till years roll on, and revolution's wheel
Whirls nations down, and empire sweeps away,
Ere p [...]e benignant smiles on hapless Spain.
DON VELASCO.
Then lose no time to crush this rebel race.
CONDE HARO.
The noblest blood that ancient Spain can boast,
Thrills through their veins, and warms their gallant chief [...]
With great ideas of liberty and law.
They claim the rights their ancient sires possess'd,
When, ere allegiance sworn, or fealty paid,
They bade the sov'reign recollect the claim,
That each, as good by nature as himself,
Were, when united, arm'd with power replete,
To smite the brow, and dash the scepter'd hand
That dare invade the meanest subject's right.
DON VELASCO.
'Tis but a faction of cabal and strife,
Bound by no ties of dignity or worth;
Devoid of honour, discipline, or faith;
Discord will waste, and jealousy divide,
And drive them backward from the routed field,
Dispers'd by thee, as dust before the wind.
CONDE HARO.
Inur'd to arms, my soul's estrang'd to fear;
Yet I lament my fate;—my sire and prince,
[Page 108]Point me to glory, combating my will,
And make my duty lead to deeds I hate.
This contest is no democratic rage,
No lewd tumultuous fury just let loose—
Dauntless and bold as fam'd Numantia's sons,
They wield the lance and bear the target high,
And boast their ancient independent race;
Unfold their pedigree, in freedom's line,
E'er since for liberty, the haughty Celts
In blood contested with the furious Goths.
DON VELASCO.
Methinks some latent cause beclouds thy zeal
And checks the vigour of thy val'rous arm,
Retards thy glory, and may blast thy fame.
CONDE HARO.
Not less resolv'd, or fearless than thyself,
No tongue shall e'er reproach thy house or name
With glory tarnish'd, by De Haro's fall
From valour, virtue, dignity, or fame,
DON VELASCO.
Then haste, and chase these miscreants from the land—
Cut down their line, and blast their idle hopes,
And extirpate the bold seditious race▪
Their houses wrap in one devouring flame—
The sword shall quell all factions in the land.
CONDE HARO.
When virtue's vanquish'd, justice bids us spare,
And lend compassion to an hapless foe.
I ne'er will tinge the field with human blood,
If milder means can bloodless victory win.
DON VELASCO.
Adieu, my son—my soul is all on fire.
[Page 109]Proud glory waits to make thy name immortal,
By promis'd triumphs ere the morrow close.
DE HARO.
Urg'd on by thee, by glory and renown,
I'll serve my sov'reign as a soldier ought,
And take the field against my former friends,
But in the hero ne'er forget the man.
Exeunt.
SCENE III.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA and DON PEDRO.
DON JUAN.
THE kingdoms of great Ferdinand are left,
To hunt for crowns in German [...]d France,
While here Velasco plunders all the states.
Our delegates have yesterday return'd,
Without an audience at the sov'reign's court;
Stop'd on the way—forbid on pain of death,
With their complaints—their idle tales of wrong—
T' invade the regal dignity of thrones,
Or whisper murmurs in a monarch's ear.
Resentment, and a noble thirst of fame,
Must rouse the bold, reanimate the brave,
And brace the arm with vigour to repel
These bold invasions on great nature's rights.
PEDRO.
Has then the band of Dutch and Flemish race,
Who hover round, clos'd up the monarch's ear,
And steel'd his heart against the cries of Spain?
[Page 110]Ambition low'ring on a lordly brow
May yet subdue the citizens of Spain.
DON JUAN.
Valencia arm'd, and Arragon arous'd,
Hold their's and Castile's righteous cause the same.
The trump of war is echo'd through the land,
Wrought tip to tempests by the cruel arm
Of base oppression, breaking o'er the mounds
Of law—of justice—equity and truth.
Is thy mind firm—irrevocably fix'd,
Or, to secure the sacred rights of Spain,
Or die a martyr in her glorious cause.
PEDRO.
The storm beats high—yet, will I hazard all,
My honour, fortune, freedom and my fame:—
I, by thy side, all danger will defy.
DON JUAN.
Then reconnoitre round De Haro's posts;
The noble house of Albert's overcome,
Navarre's subdu'd—dismantled all her towns—
Peasants and nobles, citizens and slaves,
Promiscuously enroll'd in Charles's pay,
Sullen and fierce, disdain th' ignoble service:
Ripe for revolt, they, at my signet join,
And list themselves in a more noble cause:
Prepare their leaders for tomorrow's work.
Exeunt.
[Page 111]
SCENE IV.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA and DON FRANCIS.
FRANCIS.
HAST thou yet seen th' unhappy queen of Spain?
The vulgar ear, forever caught by sound,
Allur'd by pomp, by pageantry and show,
Revere her person and adore her name;
Her standard planted on the field of war,
Would sanction give to every bold design.
DON JUAN.
I have beheld the ruins of a queen,
A sight too piteous for a soldier's eye—
Whose heart, unsteel'd by scenes of human woe,
Has yet a tender corner left for grief.
Rob'd of her crown, authority and peace—
Dethron'd, immur'd, neglected by her son,
Shut up in widow'd solitude to weep
Ungrateful Philip, who despis'd her charms,
She's but the weeping image of despair.
FRANCIS.
Does she yet know the miseries of Spain?—
The indignant wrongs and injuries we feel,
Beneath the reign of her oppressive son?—
DON JUAN.
She, all attentive, listen'd to the tale;
And rous'd at once as from lethargic dreams,
And starting, cry'd—is Ferdinand no more!—
Is that great monarch slumbering in the tomb,
While I, a wretched prisoner of state,
Stand the sad monument of human ills?—
[Page 112]She wept and sigh'd, till strong resentment rose,
And kindled in her breast a noble flame.
With all the powers of eloquence and truth,
I strove to sooth her wandering mind to rest.
In justice' sacred name I urg'd her aid
To counteract the cruelties of Charles,
To reassume her rights, and reign again,
To extricate her subjects from despair;—
She gave assent with dignity and ease,
And, spite of nature, seem'd to be a queen.
I nam'd Calabria's injur'd noble prince,
The heir of Arragon, long since depriv'd
Of his paternal crown, and princely rights,
Which Ferdinand, by violence, had seiz'd,
And justice bade his daughter to restore;
I urg'd her marriage with so brave a prince,
Entitled, both by virtue and by blood,
To wield the sceptre that his fathers won,
And shield her person from all future wrongs;
But naming love, her dormant passions wak'd,
And kindled up her former flame for Philip;
She sunk despondent, and refus'd to aid,
To act in council, or to guide the realm.
FRANCIS.
Unhappy queen! thus to her people lost.
In melancholy's cell, let her remain,
While her son raves at large about the world,
Not less a madman than the Macedon,
Who kindled up the Grecian world in flame,
And rear'd a pile o'er all his murder'd friends.
DON JUAN.
She, rescu'd from her guards, my prisoner is,
And, if we need, her signet is obtain'd.
FRANCIS.
[Page 113]But malice whispers murmurs through the camp,
And half our soldiers clamour for their pay—
At least a part, before they take the field.
DON JUAN.
Haste to Maria, whose undaunted soul
Reflects a lustre on her feeble sex;
By stratagem, she's gain'd an ample sum
To quiet mutiny, and pay the troops.
But ere the solemn midnight clock shall strike,
Return, and meet me at the gate of Toro.
Exeunt.
SCENE V.
DON FRANCIS and DONNA MARIA.
MARIA.
TO make atonement for the guilt of men,
Altars are dress'd, and saintly relics shine:—
Instead of real sanctity of heart
They churches decorate with costly gifts:—
But reason, bursting from a sable cloud,
On a bright throne erects her regal stand,
And gives new sanctions from the voice of God,
To free the mind from superstition's reign.
No fables, legends, dreams, or monkish tales,
Shake my firm purpose, or disarm my mind,
When duty calls to make my country free.
The churches' treasures were our last resort,
And, join'd by all the matrons of my train,
In weeds of woe, and sable garments dress'd,
[Page 114]I kneel'd before the consecrated shrines,
And ask'd a blessing on my country's cause;
But 'twas to him whose sanction seals the claim,
Of peace and freedom to the human race,
I bow'd my soul, and rais'd my suppliant prayer,
That when a spark from chaos' womb had burst,
And light diffus'd o'er all the western world,
It might not be to gild a tyrant's car,
And make mankind the pageants of his will;
I then dismantled all the sacred shrines.
FRANCIS.
Hah!—durst thou venture [...] so bold a deed!—
Leap priestly bounds—invade the churches' rights—
Disrobe the saints, and risque the public hate!—
MARIA.
Necessity must sanctify the deed.—
FRANCIS▪
Thy soul was form'd to animate the arm
Of some illustrious, bold, heroic chief,
And not to waste its glorious fire away,
Beneath the weakness of a female form.
MARIA.
Men rail at weaknesses themselves create,
And boldly stigmatize the female mind,
As though kind nature's just impartial hand
Had form'd its features in a baser mould:
But nice distinctions in the human soul,
Adopted follies, or inherent vice,
May be discuss'd in calmer times than these:—
We'll reason then—if possible regain
Whatever nature, or its author gave.
But Juan waits, and fortune's on the wing:
The fickle goddess waves her glossy plume,
[Page 115]And holds an era in the life of man,
When all is hung suspended on his choice;
Election made, judiciously he stands
On the proud summit of all human fame;
But judgment once erroneously form'd
Oft fixes his ill fate through life's career;
While a strong current bears him down the tide,
And wrecks his peace on every ripling stream.
The morn may smile propitious on our cause—
May make us free, or more completely slaves:—
Unrive the manacles, or drive the bolts,
And clank the shackles round the Spanish world.
Canst thou forget the soft Louisa's tears,
And chase her brother through the field of blood?
Thou, like a lion leaping on his prey,
Must aim thy javelin at De Haro's heart.
FRANCIS.
Name not Louisa—I would forget she lives—
Or that she is the sister of my foe.
Mistaken man!—he deprecates this war
That lights his country in a wasting flame;
But thinks the era of her freedom lost,
Since first Ximenes' artful subtile wiles,
Threw such a weight in the despotic scale;
A standing army at the sov'reign's nod,
Which makes the monarch master of the laws,
And gives at will both, liberty and life.
Yet Conde Haro has a noble soul,
Nor is less virtuous than truly brave.
MARIA.
Virtue must spring from the materna [...] [...]ne
If it adorns the Conde Haro's breast.
FRANCIS.
[Page 116]Tomorrow proves him what the world reports,
And weaves a garland to adorn his brow,
Or leaves his trunk a headless sacrifice,
To stamp fresh glory on Don Juan's name.
MARIA.
Go, hasten on, and not a moment lose;
Remind the soldiers of Segovia's rights—
Review the battles fought on Ebro's banks—
Assure them all is safe, if they're but brave.
The sword maintains what their forefathers won.
Exeunt.
[Page 117]
ACT II.
SCENE I.
An Alcove in an artificial Wilderness.—DONNA LOUISA, sola.
THE burnish'd hills o'erlook the verdant dales,
And nature's deck'd in all her bright array.
The whispering breeze plays o'er the dappled mead,
And fans the foliage on the flowery bank:—
The towering wood lark trills her tender note,
And soft responsive music cheers the lawn;
Yet here I wander wilder'd and alone,
Like some poor banish'd fugitive who seeks
The meagre comfort of a moss grown cave.
Enter DONNA MARIA.
MARIA.
Awake fond maid—nor thus supinely waste
Thy youth—thy bloom. Thy matchless beauty fades
Mid'st sorrow, sighs, and unavailing tears.
LOUISA.
Thought feeds my woes, nor can my reason aid
To calm the passions of my grief torn breast,
'Till concord weaves again her palmy wreath,
To deck the face of this distracted land.
MARIA.
Though weak compassion sinks the female mind,
And our frail sex dissolve in pity's tears;
Yet justice' sword can never be resheath'd,
'Till Charles is taught to know we will be free;
And learns the duty that a monarch owes,
To heaven—the people—and the rights of man.
[Page 118]Let him restore the liberties of Spain—
Dismiss the robbers that arrest his ear—
Those pension'd plunderers that rudely seize
What nature gave, and what our fathers won.
LOUISA.
I retrospect, and weep Spain's happier days—
Survey the pleasures once we call'd our own,
When harmony display'd her gentle wand,
And every peasant smil'd beneath his vine—
'Till nature sickens at the sad reverse,
And my swoln bosom heaves with smother'd sighs,
Too big to be repress'd.—I yield to grief
'Till floods of tears relieve my tortur'd soul.
MARIA.
Maria has a bolder part to act—
I scorn to live upon ignoble terms—
A supple courtier fawning at the feet
Of proud despotic nobles, or of kings.
LOUISA.
Had I thy firmness, yet my heart would bleed
To see my country torn by civil feuds.
Each hero hurls a javelin at the breast
His heart reveres, and friendship's soul recoils
When the bold veteran urges home the blow,
To pierce the man he venerates and loves;
While the brave patriot parries back the shaft
Against a life that virtue's self would save.
MARIA.
This sad necessity—this painful strife,
Should reunite the citizens of Spain;
And rouse each languid arm with tenfold zeal
To point the thunder at a tyrant's head,
[Page 119]Ere yet the lingering mind indignant sinks,
Debas'd and trembling at a despot's frown.
Rather let cities that support his reign,
Like Torbolatan yesterday reduc'd,
Be storm'd and sack'd before tomorrow's dawn;
And thus be taught the weakness of the mind
That dare a moment balance in the scale,
A crown for kings—with liberty to man.
LOUISA.
But ah, Maria!—this little self obtrudes;
I cannot boast disinterested grief;
Louisa's tears can never cease to flow.
If brave Don Juan wins a glorious day,
My father—friends—and family are lost;
If victory for loyalty declares—
Or if Don Francis—noble Francis, falls—
Is there a name from Castile to the Rhone,
So wretched as thy friend—thy lov'd Louisa?
MARIA.
Thou should'st have liv'd in mild and gentler times,
And breath'd, and slumber'd in the lap of peace,
As innocent and soft as infant love,
When lull'd to rest by a fond mother's song:
The smiling babe, wak'd by the wind's rude breath,
The pearly dew drop trickles from its eye,
'Till sooth'd to quiet by its favourite toy;
But for myself—though famine, chains, and death
Should all combine—nay, should Don Juan fall—
Which Heav'n forbid—I ne'er will yield,
Nor own myself a slave.—But see thy lover,
Pensive, walks this way.—Adieu, my friend,
I must be gone—the busy moments call—
My mind is fraught with cares of high import.
Exit.
[Page 120]
SCENE II.
Enter DON FRANCIS and DONNA LOUISA.
FRANCIS.
LET hope return and spread her silken wing,
And smile beneath the canopy of love;
The heav'n born mind, where virtue sits enthron'd,
Should be serene, nor waste itself in sighs.
LOUISA.
Talk not of love, while sympathetic pain,
And keenest sorrows, rive the boldest heart;
While thousands fall at freedom's sacred shrine,
And bathe her pedestal with the rich blood
Of the best soldiers that the world can boast;
While the fond wife droops o'er her dying lord,
And orphan'd babes, and widow'd matrons weep,
Thrown helpless, on a cold, ungrateful world,
As pitiless as winter's frozen hand.
FRANCIS.
For human woes my heart has often bled—
Yet dry thy tears, and calm thy ruffled mind—
Anticipate my bliss, and bid me live:—
Oh! give thy hand, and plight thy sacred [...]ow,
Ere war's hoarse clarion summons to the field,
That nought but death shall tear thee from my arms.
LOUISA.
Why wilt thou urge and importune my vows
While all my soul is agony and grief?—
Name love no more, till peace shall bless the land;
When [...]edden'd wrath no longer lifts the sword,
Di [...]'d to the hilt in rancour's baneful stream—
[Page 121]That the steel'd heart may deeper plunge the blade,
Without a sigh—when from the gaping wound,
Out rushes, staring, the astonish'd soul
Of his lov'd friend, or of a brother slain.
Ah!—whither do I rove—let me retire,
Lest I betray the weakness of my heart.
FRANCIS.
O might I claim that tender trickling tear,
And call those sighs my own—they'd waft me on
Towards the field of fame, with fresh blown hope,
That ere tomorrow's sun engulphs his brow,
And cools his steeds beyond the western main,
I might return victorious to thine arms,
And lay my trophies at Louisa's feet.
LOUISA.
And what these trophies—but a brother's spoils?
Who is the victim thy success would doom
To infamy—disgrace—despair and death?
FRANCIS.
Ah! there's the pain—the sharpest pang I feel
To lift the sword, and tread the hostile ground.
The Conde Haro is a virtuous foe.
LOUISA.
The Conde Haro—is—Louisa's brother—
The only heir of Don Velasco's house—
And if he falls—fate severs us forever.
FRANCIS.
Forever!—revoke the sentence ere it reaches heaven.
LOUISA.
For [...]ver. Remember this, and spare De Haro's blood.
FRANCIS.
But, if in battle he should bravely fall—
LOUISA.
[Page 122]A stern, enrag'd, inexorable sire,
Might hold Louisa guilty of his death.
FRANCIS.
Just Heaven forbid!—Could he arraign a mind
As pure and spotless as the infant morn?
LOUISA.
Velasco is to royalty alli'd,
A feudal lord, of ancient pedigree;
In rank, in wealth, in fame, the first in Spain;
His high swoln pride bursts forth in peals of rage,
Whene'er he talks or names the rebel chiefs;
Forbids his son to spare a single life,
If fortune makes him master of the field:—
Think then what agonies pervade my breast.
FRANCIS.
When honour calls, and justice wields the sword,
True virtue spares, and clemency forgives;
But when a fierce, tyrannic lust of sway,
Deforms the soul, and blots out nature's stamp,
The wolf, or tyger, prowling for his prey,
Is less a savage than the monster man.
LOUISA.
No more, my lord—I sink beneath the storm;
The jarring passions tear my feeble frame—
My filial duties make the first demand;
Yet, spite of these, a group of passions rise,
Love—friendship—fear—compassion and despair,
Alternate rend, in spite of reason's sway.
Amidst the storm, the kind De Haro comes,
And with a smile, ineffably serene,
With all the softness of fraternal love,
He cries—forbear to think of me again,
[Page 123]Or that thy brother hazards fame or life,
Against the valour of a dearer name.
Alas!—how weak my trembling heart's become—
Oh!—what has my unguarded tongue disclos'd!
FRANCIS.
What makes me bless'd beyond the power of fate.
LOUISA.
Deception oft beneath a flimsy veil,
Hides human hearts, nor lets man know himself.
Should fortune snatch the victory from thee—
Thyself—thy friends—and freedom lost at once—
Perhaps you'll curse, in agonies of grief,
Louisa's house—her venerated sire—
Her noble brother—and yet more I dread—
Yes—my lip trembles at the rising thought—
The hapless daughter of thy cruel foe.
Is thy love proof against this test severe?—
FRANCIS.
Description would but beggar love like mine;
Measure the earth and mount beyond the stars,
There's nought below can bound its full extent;
Not death itself can blot thee from my heart.
LOUISA.
Then am I thine!—witness ye heavenly powers!—
This is the signet of thy wedded wife;
Gives him a ring.
In the last exigence weigh well its worth,
And claim thy life from Don Velasco's hand.
This was the pledge of his Zelinda's faith:
Knowing the sallies of his haughty soul—
In a fond moment of paternal love,
He kiss'd my cheek, and caught my trembling hand,
Fix'd on my finger this invalu'd gem,
[Page 124]And by a solemn oath he bound his soul,
To grant each prayer when this should plead its claim.
FRANCIS.
Language is poor, and time itself would fail
To speak the raptures of my grateful heart.
LOUISA.
What have I done—my filial love,
And the connubial ties—at variance set—
A brother's life against a husband's stak'd—
My country's weal, with loyalty at war—
Confusion—tumult—death and slaughter reign;
As if the demons leap'd Tartarus' bounds
To sport with misery and grin at pain.
FRANCIS.
Heaven has the means to extricate from woe,
Though veil'd from man—if patience waits his will:—
When fortitude, her sister virtue joins,
They both triumphant, meet a just reward.
Adieu, my love—my duty bids me haste;
Trumpets without.
Soon I return, victorious from the field,
And clasp an angel to my faithful breast.
Exit.
LOUISA,
solus.
—He's gone!—
I feel the parting stroke severe indeed—
As if his lips pronounc'd a last adieu.
Now all ye powers supreme, support my soul;
Teach me to brave the conflicts of the world
In this extreme distress—nor let me swerve
From honour's path, or virtue's strictest rule;
Nor let my conscience once upbraid my steps.
Exit.
[Page 125]
SCENE III.
CONDE HARO, solus.
DE HARO.
VELASCO's will, back'd by the king's command,
I must obey, or blast my rising fame,
And hazard all in the precarious cause,
Of freedom, stak'd against the power of kings:
Yet warring passions tear my tortur'd soul;
Discordant hopes make me a wretch indeed.
I love Maria—I revere her lord—
And almost wish the vict'ry may be his;
Yet if he falls—he falls as Brutus fell,
In the last struggle for his country's weal;
While my success will rivet fast her chains,
Erase each vestige of her ancient rights,
And make me odious in Maria's eye.
And shall I foster this inglorious flame?
A hopeless passion gnawing on my peace,
And cankering my soul against the man
I once esteem'd my friend—though now a foe,
He's virtue's friend where'er he meets her name.
The moral sense, that checks the wayward will,
Now witness bear—I'm master of myself:—
I'll meet him in the field on equal terms;
No base desire, or any lawless wish,
Shall more obtrude to interrupt my peace:—
But honour, justice, duty to my king,
Shall wield my sword, and lead to spotless fame.
Exit.
[Page 126]
SCENE IV.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA and DONNA MARIA.
DON JUAN.
FIRST of thy sex—thou mistress of my heart—
Not all Hesperia can boast a fair
So amiably soft, discreet and wise;
With such a firm, heroic, noble soul,
Why should a tear bedew thy lovely cheek?
MARIA.
I see distress on every side I turn;
Some sad dejection marks the soldiers brow;
Though veterans in arms, they fear the king,
And tremble at the frown of majesty:—
The nobles all, though emulous of fame,
Are jealous, proud—are turbulent and rash—
The people fierce, yet ever prone to change.
Today the cap of liberty's toss'd up—
Tomorrow torn and given to the winds,
And all their leaders, by the fickle throng
Are sacrific'd by violence, or fraud.
DON JUAN.
So far above the weakness of thy sex,
Let me beseech thee never to despair;—
Support thy courage, arm thy noble mind—
Sure never more did thy Padilla need
Thy wisdom, counsel, fo [...]itude and zeal,
To animate amidst ten thousand cares.
But my firm purpose never can be shook;
While life glows warm within my beating breast,
I will defend, against the proudest foe,
The liberties of Spain, my country's rights.
MARIA.
[Page 127]So dangerous a foe has Spain ne'er seen
Since from the brindled North, the savage hords
Pour'd from their frozen hives, where gendering storms
Have rush'd, and swell'd fair Ebro's banks with blood.
DON JUAN.
We have been free e'er since the mighty Goths,
In barb'rous swarms, compell'd the peaceful swain
To bare his breast, and meet the stranger's sword;
The raw and hardy peasants of the field,
Train'd up to arms, inur'd to feats of war,
Op'd their full veins, and wash'd in native gore
The field, the village, and their father's tombs,
Ere they establish'd liberty and peace.
Their ancient victories shall be recall'd
By the warm fluid from Don Juan's heart,
Ere he'll submit to drag about this shell
Through nature's system, as an useless drone,
Or live the slave of any lawless power.
MARIA.
O Heaven forbid!—nor dash my country's hopes;
Or premature, cut down before the noon
A life of glory and heroic worth,
And blast success, while virtue lifts the sword.
DON JUAN.
Sure life protracted is a vulgar wish,
Unless some noble end blows up the flame.
MARIA.
Spite of myself, I have betray'd a tear;
But feel my courage brighten by thy side;
Nor shall the weakness of my sex again,
Create a fear that may disturb thy peace.
DON JUAN.
[Page 128]Haste back, my love, lest some mishap befal;
The good Zemora guards Toledo's gates
With vigilance and faith;—there thou art safe.
Protect my son, and guard his infant years;
In his young bosom nurture every truth,
'Till ripen'd worth and manly virtue glow,
And mark him thine and thy Padilla's son.
The hasty moments fly—I must away—
I risque a battle on the morning dawn.
MARIA.
O may we meet again with brighter hopes!—
DON JUAN.
We meet again with glory and renown—
Or, meet no more.—
MARIA.
—Or meet no more!
The dread idea stiffens every nerve.
DON JUAN.
Let no ill omen'd word escape thy lip.
Fair freedom stands, and waves her laurel high;
She, on the acme of her burnish'd throne,
Shall hail the morrow with applauding shouts,
And greet Maria, as the guardian queen
Of union, peace, and liberty to Spain.
Exeunt.
[Page 129]
SCENE V.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA and DON PEDRO.
PEDRO.
TOLEDO's banners reach the pendant skies,
And kiss the winds, and hail the work begun:
I sicken for the signal to the field,
When a decisive conflict must ensue;
I burn, I languish, till the tyrant falls,
With all the flatt'rers that surround his throne.
DON JUAN.
Be temperate in words, but bold in deeds;
Most men are brave till courage has been try'd,
And boast of virtue till their price is known:—
But thirst of gold—the cursed thirst of gold,
Which plunder'd Mexico of all its wealth,
And broil'd her valiant sons in quest of more,
Is a severer tyrant of the mind,
Than coarser vice that mark'd our simpler state,
Ere cruel Spain explor'd that distant world.
Then golden bribes corrupted not the mind;
No son of Castile, or of Arragon,
E'er sold his honour, or relinquish'd fame,
For soft refinements that flow in with wealth,
Nor stoop'd to wear the liv'ry of a slave.
PEDRO.
Let not a coward, or a knave be spar'd,
Who shrouds his head from danger or from death,
When freedom's cause stands trembling on the sword.
DON JUAN.
[Page 130]Tomorrow gives a glorious test of worth;
Courage will shine conspicuously bright,
Or guilt may shake and dash the nerveless arm,
That draws a sword to massacre the brave.
PEDRO.
Virtue's fair image then will shield thy head,
And animate the man who dare be free.
Flourish of trumpets, and alarm without▪
DON JUAN.
The hostile clarion summons to the field.
PEDRO greatly agitated.
Ha [...]—pale and trembling at the trumpet's sound!—
Pedro haste o [...] and take thy destin'd post,
'Tw [...] [...]ead to glory, conquest, and to fame;
To sure renown, if valour guides thy arm;
But certain infamy, disgrace and death,
If treason lurks beneath the guise of zeal.
Exit DON JUAN.
DON PEDRO,
solus.
Curse on Don Juan's penetrating eye—
He's prob'd my soul—suspects I am a villain:—
'Tis true that envy of his fame at first,
Bound the bright helmet on Don Pedro's brow,
And not the bubble freedom—empty name!—
'Tis all a puff—a visionary dream—
That kindles up this patriotic flame;
'Tis rank self love, conceal'd beneath a mask
Of public good. The hero's brain inflates—
He cheats himself by the false medium,
Held in virtue's guise, till he believes it just▪
But the vile rabble—the plebeian race,
Made for the yoke, bend like the servile [...]e,
And own mankind were made [...]or slaves to power.
[Page 131]A waxen pillar in the central point
Of sol's meridian beams, melts not so fast,
As will their army waste by court intrigues,
By fraud, by bribes, by flattery and fear:
A slow campaign ensures success to Charles—
A weak, plebeian, discontented band,
Will soon grow weary, and desert their chiefs.
I will retard, embarrass, and delay;
Sow discord round, while they inactive lie:
Then fly secure to Don Urano's roof.
My sire detests this noisy factious rout,
And opes his arms to welcome my return;
And Don Velasco pays a noble price—
His price would bribe a prince to quit his crown.
Let nations sink—posterity be thrall'd—
Vice reign triumphant—liberty expire—
May I but humble haughty Juan's pride,
And gain Louisa—as the bless'd reward.
Exit.
[Page 132]
ACT III.
SCENE I.
CONDE HARO and LOUISA.—(DE HARO arm'd and equipt for battle.)
LOUISA.
ALAS my brother!—
Already arm'd—the burnish'd helmet on!—
The hostile trump awakes from broken sleep
Before the bird of morn has hail'd the day.
False glory throbs within thy beating breast—
Thy lifted sword displays its whetted point,
Not to dispel the fierce, barbarian Moor,
Or chase the alien from these blighted shores:
It wounds the sons—the citizens of Spain.
DE HARO.
Upbraid me not—nor sharpen thus the pangs
That rankle here, and wound thy brother's breast.
Words cannot paint—nor can Louisa feel,
The agonizing pains that pierce my heart.
LOUISA.
What can disturb the hero arm'd for fame?—
The prince's favour, and his father's love,
Anticipate the glory he pursues.
DE HARO.
The secret dies within De Haro's breast,
Unless some strange, fortuitous event,
Should heal my heart, and reinstate my peace.
LOUISA.
[Page 133]O might I weep my weary life away,
And close mine eyes on misery at large!—
Yet I could bear my griefs tenfold enhanc'd,
If this might heal, or mitigate thy pain,
Or sooth the anguish of a brother's heart.
DE HARO.
Bear up thyself against the storms of life—
The sharpen'd pangs of disappointed love.
LOUISA.
Canst thou forgive th' involuntary sigh,
The starting tear—that, as an April morn,
Pours down in torrents and obscures the sun?
DE HARO.
I know the secret thorn that wounds thy peace.
LOUISA.
I would conceal the weakness of my heart;
Yet not from thee—but from a sterner eye.
DE HARO.
Blush not, Louisa—'tis a noble flame,
And Francis' virtues merit all thy love.
LOUISA.
Yet he's thy foe—the brother and the friend
Of noble Juan—and can this lead thy hand—
This gentle hand—bath'd in a sister's tears,
To plunge thy dagger in a hero's breast,
From whence may rush a most exalted soul,
Adorn'd with every grace that wins the heart,
Or dignifies the man?—
DE HARO.
Great souls—form'd in the same etherial mould,
Are ne'er at war—they, different paths
[Page 134]Of glory may pursue, with equal zeal;
Yet not a cruel, or malignant thought,
Or rancorous design, deform the mind.
I much esteem Don Juan and his friends,
But numerous ties engag'd my sword to Charles,
And gratitude had bound the buckler on,
Ere I was nam'd the champion in his cause:
Yet if success my loyal purpose crowns,
Mercy shall spare, where justice don't condemn;
Believe Louisa, not Don Francis' life
Is more thy care than it shall be my own.
LOUISA.
The indiscriminating arrow flies,
And often wounds where friendship's arm would save;
Should war's uncertain chance make him thy captive—
DE HARO.
The monarch and the laws must then decide.
LOUISA.
My bleeding heart anticipates my fate:
Oh! what a bubble 'tis, ye glory call—
Mistaken name—a phantom of the brain,
That leads the hero on to leap the bounds
Of every social tie—till blood—till death,
Spreads horror over nature's frighted face:—
Ambition rears his fierce and furious fang—
In grizly tresses jealousy attends—
'Till discord reigns, and civil fury burns,
And arms the son against a father's life,
Or plants a poignard in a dearer heart.
Oh! how severely mark'd my hapless fate;
The best of brothers wh [...]ts the dagger's point—
The fondest husband wields the sharpen'd lance,
And both are aim'd at sad Louisa's breast.
DE HARO.
[Page 135]Thy husband!—hah—rash maid—
LOUISA.
Yes—by each sacred tie.—
Thus incoherent my distracted prayer,
Prophanes the altar when to God I bow;
I start—I tremble—lest kind heaven grant
The boon I ask. Affrighted at myself,
I call it back, and quick revoke my wish,
Lest it involve me in supreme distress.
Trumpets and martial music without.
DE HARO.
A day decides—the trumpet sounds to arms;
Tomorrow will disclose new scenes of woe,
Or ope the gates to happiness and peace.
LOUISA.
My heart's too full—it bends me to the grave;
My anger'd sire suspects—he solemn moves,
Majestically grave—with awful brow,
And chides severe whene'er I meet his eye;
Oh!—could I hide forever from his frown!—
Exeunt.
[Page 136]
SCENE II.
DON VELASCO and DONNA LOUISA.
VELASCO.
FOND foolish maid—what secret guilt's conceal'd,
That thus in tears—all pensive and alone,
Thou seek'st to hide, e'en from a father's eye?—
LOUISA.
Alas! I weep for human woes at large:—
I weep my country and my hapless friends.
Man, the vile sport of restless passion, roves
Through sad inquietudes and painful cares,
'Till his ambition sets the world on fire.
'Mongst all the ills that hover o'er mankind,
Unfeign'd, or fabled, in the poet's page,
The blackest scrawl the sister furies hold,
For red ey'd wrath, or malice to fill up,
Is incomplete to sum up human woe,
'Till civil discord, still a darker fiend,
Stalks forth unmask'd from his infernal den,
With mad Alecto's torch in his right hand
To light the flame, and rend the soul of nature.
VELASCO.
But most of all, a daughter is a curse,
Whene'er she lets her wanton thoughts run loose,
Weak maid retire—in thy apartment hide,
Nor dare to shew thy weeping face abroad,
'Till war shall cease, and business gives me time
To crown thy nuptials with a noble lord,
To whom thou art betroth'd—who claims thy hand;
[Page 137]Thou shalt be his—when from the field are chas'd
These bold conspirators—I've pledg'd my faith.
LOUISA.
Let thy Louisa wake compassion up.
Falls on her knee.
Revoke thy vow, and let me live a maid.
VELASCO.
Both by the host, and by St. Peter's key,
I've sworn, nor will revoke my plighted faith;
Prepare thyself for wedlock's sacred vows;
One week completes the matrimonial tie.
LOUISA.
O let me live in some dark hermitage,
Or in some gloomy cell—I'll cloister'd die,
But can't this once obey my father's will.
LOUISA trembling and faint—VELASCO, enraged, leads her off.
SCENE III.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA and DON FRANCIS.
FRANCIS.
ALAS! my lord, an unexpected blow!
But thou'rt prepar'd for all that fate can do,
Too great to fear—too good to be dismay'd.
DON JUAN.
So well I know the shifting tide of life,
I'm not appall'd whene'er its ebb runs off,
And leaves man shallow'd on the oozy strand.
FRANCIS.
[Page 138]Tordesilas is seiz'd—the queen betray'd—
Don Pedro fled, and join'd the emperor's troops.
DON JUAN.
No genuine faith, or patriotic worth,
Had ere a place in his corrupted breast.
While justice holds the golden scales aloft,
And weighs our glorious cause with equal hand,
And bids each valiant chief support her claim,
Needless the aid of Pedro's dastard arm.
FRANCIS.
High heav'n in wrath supports the royal cause,
And gives success o'er Charles's foreign foes;
E'en Solyman the great, fatigu'd with war,
Of Mustapha afraid, sighs to return
To Roxalana's captivating charms,
Agrees a truce, and leaves th' Hungarian plains.
DON JUAN.
Resentful, brave, and nurs'd in valour's school,
Francis still waits him at the Pavian gate.
FRANCIS.
The king of France, whose evil stars combine
To g [...]ve his rival empire o'er the world,
Has lost a battle at the Pavian gate,
And languishes a prisoner to Charles.
DON JUAN.
Hah!—is Francis made the fiekle sport of fortune?
A ruder game the wanton never play'd,
To strip the wreaths, and blast a monarch's fame.
Must Gallia's generous, brave and valiant king,
Do homage for his crown at Charles's feet?
If victory declares on freedom's side,
My arm shall aid in all his just demands.
[Page 139]Ere Ferdinand had seiz'd the neighbouring crowns,
He form'd a system to enslave mankind:
But Charles improves on his despotic plan;
Yet one campaign, one signal victory gain'd,
May shake the tyrant from his triple throne,
And once again, o'er the European world,
Relight the torch by tyranny obscur'd.
But if his cruel sword at last prevails,
Europe will bleed from Tagus to the Scheld,
Beneath his barb'rous persecuting race.
We then must strike one bold decisive blow;
The rights of man were, rescu'd by the sword,
From Nimrod down to Caesar or to Charles—
Haste on this moment and rejoin the troops.
FRANCIS.
At freedom's pedestal I've laid my hopes,
The brightest boon of life—my promis'd bride—
My lov'd Louisa's charms;—to be her lord,
I would not riot in her arms a slave.
Exit FRANCIS.
SCENE IV.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA, solus.
DON JUAN.
THIS day decides, and gives the world to Charles,
And plunges Spain in darkness and despair;
Enwraps the mind in superstition's veil,
While freedom dies on his all conquering sword;
Or spreads victorious her expanded wing,
And shrouds the rights which reason lends to man.
[Page 140]I give my life a cheerful sacrifice;
'Tis a just debt my country may demand.
And if I fall in such a glorious cause,
I'll boast my lot;—let future pens record
Don Juan's arm once shook a tyrant's throne.
'Twas on the spot, where now Toledo stands
Our ancestors defeated Pompey's troops;
And in the height of Rome's exalted fame,
Numantia's plains have smok'd with Roman blood.
E'en in the zenith of republic pride,
The virtuous Scipio found it no mean task,
To subjugate Numantia's warlike sons;
Nor does our blood so cold and languid run,
That [...] not the courage to be free.
The [...] I only hold a boon,
When [...] lights to glory and to fame;
But when she sits beneath a r [...]ked shrine,
With moss grown tresses o'er [...]r furrow'd brow,
And lays her laurels at a tyrant's feet,
Let vulgar souls embrace the servile chains,
And adulation bask in courtly smiles,
'Till liberty herself expires in tears.—
My spirit's unsubdu'd—I'll ne'er submit:
I yet must play a noble, glorious game,
That shakes the sceptre, or secures a grave.
Tumult, and noise of battle, without.
Exit.
[Page 141]
SCENE V.
Shouts of victory, hurry and confusion.—DONNA MARIA, sola.
MARIA.
THE clarion roars and scatter'd parties fly,
Confusion, tumult, hurry and dismay,
O'erspread each guilty face.—
What mean the rumours that assail my ear?—
Throw down their arms—as cowards fly the field!—
Could the brave Cortes thus forsake their lord?—
My throbbing heart augurs a thousand ills,
That shake my frame and terrify my soul,
As if I saw their new flown ghosts advance,
Just reeking from the carnage of the field;
Yet feel within a manly force of mind
Urging to deeds heroic and sublime,
Which but to name, one half my timid sex,
Would fall the victims of their own despair.
I scorn the feeble soul that cannot brave,
With magnanimity, the storms of life.
Then why disturb'd with these ill omen'd fears?—
Yet what am I, if my Padilla falls?—
Ah! if the dastard citizens have fled—
Just anger'd heaven surely has decreed
That on the point of Charles's conquering sword,
Each vestige of their ancient rights should die.
I'll wander down to yonder darksome grove,
(And prostrate fall before th' etherial king,
Who holds his empire o'er a jarring world,
Makes pea [...] and freedom smile at his command,
Or the fell tyrant's suffer'd to succeed,
[Page 142]To chain the will, or manacle the mind;)
There will I calm my agitated breast,
Dry off those tears which, starting, have betray'd
The soften'd weakness of a female mind.
Enter SOCIA.
SOCIA.
Fly, dearest lady—save thyself and son—
And let the faithful Socia guard thy steps.
MARIA.
Is all then lost—and is Don Juan slain?—
Tell the whole tale, and set my soul on fire,
Ere yet it freeze with agony and doubt.
SOCIA.
Haste, my dear mistress—fly these cruel scenes
Of murder, rapine, perfidy and blood.
The routed troops, with hasty frighted steps,
All backward tread, nor could Don Juan's zeal,
His valour, virtue, fortitude or fame,
Subdue their fears and rally them again,
Nor damp the ardour of the hot pursuit.
MARIA▪
And does he live to glu [...] their barb'rous rage▪
Or did some seraph catch the hero's breath,
His latest sigh to see his country free,
And gently waft his kindred son away?
SOCIA.
Our foes may boast that victory was theirs;
But royal ranks lie weltering on the plain
Where Juan's blood has mark'd the glorious pet.
Yet lose no time, for hither hastes a guard
To seize and drag to Conde Haro's tent
The wife and infant of my much lov'd lord.
MARIA.
[Page 143]Alas! my child—my son—my darling boy!
The fairest virtues beam in his young eye;
Each dawning grace sits blooming on his cheek,
And speaks him heir of all his father's fame.
Shall he, an orphan on the world be toss'd,
And lose his name among a group of slaves?
Forbid it, heaven!—a mother's fears
Shall not disarm my heart.—
SOCIA.
I thought the strength of thy superiour mind
Could nobly brave the worst that fate could do.
MARIA.
It shall—come, lead me on—
To my Padilla's tomb—
His clay cold corpse I'll bathe in streams of blood,
Drawn from his foes, and sprinkled o'er his grave.
The cypress gloom, in dark fix'd shades shall bow,
And weeping willows drop a silent tear▪
'Till rolling years see the last sands run out,
When wither'd Time throws down his useless glass,
And shrouds beneath eternity's big orb.
SOCIA.
If thou would'st be more wretched than thy lord,
Then weep and linger—thoughtless of thy son.
MARIA.
Go, bring him hither—rob'd in funeral pomp—
Attended by my retinue and guards;
I will not fly—Toledo yet is strong:
Maria ne'er will drag a wretched life,
To wall Don Juan's fate in vulgar grief:
Nor yet in slavery meet a lingering death,
Beneath a tyrant's foot.
[Page 144]I will avenge my lord—
Though the rough surges in loud tempests roar,
'Till the rude billows meet the lowering clouds—
I never will despair, till my soul flies
And mixes with the bold exalted shades,
The stern brow'd spirits of the feudal lords—
Who now bend down, and frowning from the skies,
Chide back their dastard sons to take the field,
Bravely to fight—to conquer or to die.
SOCIA.
My heart misgives—I fear thy rash resolve,
Yet I obey.—
Exit SOCIA.
MARIA.
Ye powers who sit in judgment o'er the world,
Or ye malignant fiends who blast our hopes,
Grant Charles's restless soul may be condemn'd
With Sisyphus to roll in endless pain,
Up the Tartarean hill—the load of empire—
That envy'd bauble which mankind adore;
Then drag him down, successlessly to weep,
This shadow hunted long in human blood.
Exit,
[Page 145]
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
DON JUAN and DON FRANCIS in Chains, led by the Guards across the Stage.—Pass off.
DON VELASCO and CONDE HARO.
DE HARO.
TO see my country bleed, distracts my soul;
But suffering virtue moves the gods themselves.
I must implore my father's lenient [...]and
To hold suspended yet the prisoner's fate,
Until the emperor himself arrives:—
His clemency may fix his royal power,
And make him worthy of the crown he wears.
A pardon granted to the good and brave
Will bind their faith by gratitude and grace.
VELASCO.
The laws have fix'd their signet on their fate;
Nor will I pause, or hesitate between,
The wide extremes of pity and revenge.
Did conscience melt, and bid me spare their lives,
I'd spurn her back—bid the rude phantom fly,
And cease to check me in my fix'd design;
They die tomorrow ere the sun retires.
DE HARO.
I plight my sword, my honour, faith and life,
Those sacred sanctions that bind men of worth,
That Francis' pardon, or Don Juan's life,
[Page 146]Shall not impede the glory of the king,
Nor cause new ruptures, or disturb the realm.
VELASCO.
The block's prepar'd—by justice' hand they [...]ie.
DE HARO.
Let pity touch thy breast—let innocence—
Let infant tears—let virgin sorrow plead—
And let the matron's grief torn bosom urge
A husband's cause:—O spare Padilla's life!—
VELASCO.
And does my son—the glory of his house,
Stand half dissolv'd by pity's softening tear?
DE HARO.
There is a secret cause I dare not name,
That yet might soften a fond father's heart.
VELASCO.
This cursed cause—alas! too long conceal'd,
Unbends thy purpose, and unmans thy arm.
Louisa knows her secret guilt's betray'd;
Her trembling steps too weak to bear her there,
I yesterday confin'd her to her room;
Bade her paepare to pay her nuptial vows
To one I'd chosen for her rightful lord,
To save her honour from a wanton love.
DE HARO.
Do not precipitate the lovely maid,
But gently lead with a paternal hand;
And let time heal her agitated breast.
VELASCO.
Stay not to prattle here for pardoning grace▪
Though weeping maids▪ or aged sires combin'd,
Or lisping infants join the matron's tears
[Page 147]To plead their cause, my resolution's fix'd:
These outcasts of the world shall be cut off,
As nature's shreds, and blotted out of time.
DE HARO.
Then I repair to visit and console
Afflicted worth in its extreme distress▪
VELASCO.
Go, take thy leave—salute thy treacherous friends,
Ere my right hand shall send them to the shades.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA, solus.—In Prison.
DON JUAN.
TRUE dignity may acquiese in ills,
None can foresee, nor value can repel;
Meekness becomes the Christian and the man,
Nor less the hero, when his God decrees
The palm of victory to a stronger hand.
Here mimic justice rears his scaffold high—
I feel the knife already at my throat;
Death is the certain doom of all mankind—
To learn to die is an heroic work:—
But thus to die an ignominious death—
Without a trial, or the forms of law,
Pronounc'd a traitor—hurry'd from the stage—
Torn from existence as an useless worm,
By a base, vile, assassinating hand,
Fires all my soul with fury and revenge.
[Page 148]Had I have met my fate at Villabar,
And as a soldier fell, and mix'd my blood
With the rich stream that yesterday pour'd off,
(While freedom's genius stoop'd and drop'd a tear,
And held a golden urn in her right hand,
To catch the fluid from each gaping wound,
And rear'd her altar on the field of fame;)
I'd died content, and spurn'd this nether world,
And glori'd in the deathless name I left:—
But, though tomorrow severs me from time,
My soul is firm:—I view this little globe
Hung on a single, half extinguish'd point:—
That's not the sting which barbs the hand of death,
But my Maria—my lov'd, my virtuous wife:—
Oh! could oblivion wrap her from my thoughts
Until we meet where souls are free indeed.
Enter CONDE HARO.
Hah! who bends this way?—the Conde Haro—
Rank cowardice in guilt's gigantic garb!—
Has victory eras'd the noble flame
Of sympathy in thine heroic breast,
That thou can'st wish, mid'st glory and applause,
To taste the triumph of infernal minds,
And thus insul [...] e'en in the pangs of death?—
DE HARO.
Far other thoughts pervade my friendly br [...]st.
Though in the field, the king commands my sword,
My heart I give to virtue in distress.
Though warmly urg'd thy pardon or reprieve,
Velasco's will, inexorably stern,
Has fix'd the moment that completes thy date.
What can I more—to sooth thy wounded mind?
Say—dost thou wish to see thy lov'd Maria?—
[Page 149]Or pour a blessing on the infant head
Of thy young son, and bid a last adieu?—
But if this tender scene's too big with grief,
Then write whate'er conjugal love inspires,
Or the paternal heart would wish to say:—
De Haro's honour is the pledge of truth;
I'll sacredly transmit the precious charge,
Nor shall a mortal eye profane the seals.
DON JUAN.
Too generous De Haro!—my full heart,
In tears of blood, shall mark my gratitude;
And my last breath its benediction pour
On worth—on glory—dignify'd as thine,
With all that's noble in a human soul.
But ah!—too flattering to such a wretch—
To see Maria once, is fancy'd bliss
The Deity has plac'd beyond my reach.
DE HARO.
A faithful friend shall lead thee safely on,
My sword—my vest—my helmet, thy defence;
If any curious prying eye pursues,
Or asks thy errand, or demands thy name,
Pause not, nor speak, but shew De Haro's seal.
But on the moment that the midnight bell
Strikes its last note, and grates thy wounded ear,
With the severest pang thou yet hast felt,
Thou must return—and when we meet again,
Then say my friend—
If one base thought has e'er deform'd my soul.
Hurries off DON JUAN in his own habit.
Exeunt.
[Page 150]
SCENE III.
DON VELASCO and DONNA LOUISA.
VELASCO.
PRESUMPTUOUS maid—how durst thou disobey,
And rush abroad, amid tumultuous scenes,
And risque the wrath of an offended sire?
LOUISA.
Excuse, my lord, this hasty, bold intrusion;
The boon I ask admits of no delay.
LOUISA.
What means this daring importuning girl?
What brought thee to the threshold of a jail?
Thy trembling gestures and thy frighted mein,
Are sad presages that relieve thy tongue
Ere it betrays some bold accurs'd request.
LOUISA.
All gracious sire, whose goodness I adore,
Thus on my bended knee, my bleeding heart,
Swell'd with its gratitude, as if 'twould burst,
Intreats thee once to hear Don Francis speak,
Ere thy lip dooms to death the bravest [...]an.
VELASCO.
What int'rest hast thou in a rebel life,
That thus in tears—in agonies of grief—
In weeds of woe, thou pleadest for Don Francis?
LOUISA.
The first impression of my early youth,
Thine own injunction, and my infant heart,
[Page 151]Taught me to love—whate'er Maria lov'd—
Her brother.—
VELASCO.
—dies, as her husband shall;
Nor will thy tears retard the blow
Due to a traitor's crimes.—
LOUISA.
Oh! grant an audience ere his fate is seal'd.
VELASCO.
Think not I am deceiv'd, audacious maid!
'Tis not a childish fondness for Maria
Wakes up a zeal that misbecomes thy sex—
'Tis baser passions foster'd in thy soul;
Don Francis is the object of thy love:—
Thy quick blood flows, and loose desires now play
About thy heart, and wanton in thy eye;
Yet sense of shame, still burns thy redden'd cheek,
And cinders the smooth blush of innocence;
But I've the means to cool thy hot brain'd flame,
And from disgrace my family retrieve.
LOUISA.
Oh! spare Louisa—save thy hapless child!
VELASCO.
Think not to melt my rigid purpose down;
Forbear to practise hackney'd female arts,
Thy sex's tears have ruin'd half mankind.
My heart near bursts whene'er I bend my eye
On such a worthless fragment of my house:
But for Zelinda's image on thy brow
I'd spurn at once from my indignant soul
The lying semblance of so fair a form.
LOUISA.
[Page 152]By the dear mem'ry of that sainted name
Forgive her daughter's agony of soul.
Zelinda, oh▪—compassionate my woes—
Look down, bless'd saint, from thy divine abode,
And teach my sire to pity thy Louisa.
VELASCO.
While guilt hangs on thy base degen'rate lip,
Durst thou appeal to purity itself?—
LOUISA.
This keen reproach distracts my tortur'd soul—
A thought unworthy of Zelinda's self,
Ne'er found a place in this my spotless heart.
Enter DON PEDRO.
VELASCO.
Then will I now bestow thee caste and pure,
And bless the noble Pedro with thy hand;
Thou art his bride—bound by my solemn oath,
A just reward for loyalty and faith.
LOUISA.
Now all ye powers of earth and heaven, save
From this last stroke—this worst of human ills!—
PEDRO.
I am too bless'd, by such an heavenly gift.
LOUISA.
Revoke thy sentence—snatch me from perdition—
Or let me die with him my heart adores.
Sinks on her knee before her father, and faints.
VELASCO.
I've gone too far—yet there's some curs'd design,
Some mystery conceal'd—that neither she,
Nor yet De Haro's bold and dauntless tongue,
[Page 153]Dare ope before an injur'd father's eye.
Poor lifeless maid—sure she's not dead;—
Lays his hand on her forehead.
She almost wakes compassion in my breast:
But let my ear be deaf—my heart be fear'd
To every soft sensation of the soul,
'Till infamy is wip'd from off my house.
PEDRO.
Spare her awhile, and let the storm subside;
The mind that's soften'd thus by love and grief,
Must, like the babe of innocence, be lull'd
And gently sooth'd, and fondled into peace.
Raises, and holds LOUISA in his arms.
See, she revives—speak soft and kindly
To the charming maid.—
LOUISA.
The tardy hand of death still lengthens out
A life of woe—Hah! where am I—
Opens her eyes and finds herself in PEDRO's arms—shrieks, and starts from him.
On earth—the grave—in hades—or in hell▪—
Art thou the fiend chain'd to my frighted soul,
To add new tortures to the shades below?—
VELASCO.
Be calm, thou frantic girl—
Stops, and holds her.
Nor thus enrag'd fly from thy husband's arms.
LOUISA.
Was I the price, for [...]ch at Villabar,
That perjur'd wight, betray'd and sold his friends?
Go, minion! traitor I hide thy guilty head,
Thy country blushes that she gave thee birth.
VELASCO.
[Page 154]Respect becomes thy lip—he is thy lord.—
LOUISA.
As much as does my soul abhor his name,
If possible, I more despise than hate,
The infamous—the cowardly Don Pedro.
VELASCO.
Pedro, retire—I'll bend her to thy will—
She shall be thine—thou a [...]t my son—
By all the saints and angels I adore,
This eve shall solemnize the nuptial rights;
Ere Francis dies—let consummation crown
Don Pedro's wish, and wake full vengeance up.
Exit PEDRO.
LOUISA.
Alas! my sire—Oh! let religion plead▪—
Forgive thy child, and bless me ere I die.
Pardon the purpose of my daring soul:
But ere I yield, I'll bare my filial breast,
Meet the drawn dagger's point, and kiss the poignard
In my father's hand—uplift in wrath,
Its edge to bury in this spotless breast—
A b [...]east replete with duty and respect—
With every sentiment that heaven requires,
Or to paternal or conjugal love—
From thy fond daughter, or Don Francis' wife.
VELASCO.
Don Francis' wife!—Heaven blast my ears!—
LOUISA.
His wife—his wedded wife—
Nor let the grave, the sacred tie dissolve:
By the same sanction let us perish both,
Or both be bless'd, and by thy pardon live.
VELASCO.
[Page 155]Could my Louisa prostitute her fame;
In a mad fit of wanton love, entail
Disgrace eternal, on the illustrious name
Of Don Velasco!—abandon'd girl!—
Then take my sword, and use it as ye list;
Thy paramour this moment meets the death
Thy perfidy extorts and his deserves.
Exit VELASCO.
SCENE IV.
Street before DON JUAN's House.
DON JUAN DE PADILLA and DON FRANCIS.
DON JUAN.
FRIEND of my early youth—my brave Don Francis—
Unlike the world—a friend in fortune's wane;
Thou hast a soul that dares to mix with grief,
And kindly seek'st thy wretched sister out
To sooth the anguish of extreme distress.
But how did'st thou escape thy gloomy cell?—
Or by what means elude the watchful guard?—
FRANCIS.
In sables clad, my face bedew'd with tears,
The guards suppos'd I was thy noble sire,
Who had permission to embrace his son,
Ere death had seal'd an heirless father's woe.
But on parole, I have De Haro's leave
To [...]ly to Charles, and in Velasco's name,
[Page 156]To sue for pardon from the emperor's hand,
And claim my bride by his Zelinda's ring:—
He gave me both his signet and command,
And bade me on the moment haste away;
The next he said perhaps betray'd to death.
I caught the letters with a rapturous hand,
And kiss'd the seals, and dropt a grateful tear;
I've waited but to bid my friend adieu,
But not to see thy wife till I return.
DON JUAN.
Ah!—if thou can'st retrieve so brave a life,
Protect Maria, and her infant son;
Let them not languish in a servile land,
To watch the nod of some imperious lord.
Then tell the gazing citizens, who o'er
My breathless corpse, before the morrow close,
Will weep, and sigh, and curse my hapless fate,
That they have cherish'd many valiant sons,
Who amply may avenge my early death,
And teach the world that fortune ne'er stands still:—
In the routine of her uncertain wheel,
She soon [...]ay jilt her fondled, favour'd sons.
The sycophant and prince may both be taught,
A sceptre's but the plaything of a day.
Then let my father, noble Lopez, know
Don Juan died, as Lopez' son should die,
A dauntless martyr in his country's cause.
FRANCIS.
Thy orders shall be punctually obey'd.
I with my blood will seal the sacred charge;
Though I could willing leave so base a world,
And share with thee, the glory of thy death;
Yet, for Louisa's sake, I wish to live.
DON JUAN.
[Page 157]Thou must away—'tis death to linger here—
'Tis rashness in extreme—thou can't escape
The prying eyes that lurk for human blood:—
Thy mein and aspect cannot be conceal'd—
Thy soul shines through, and virtue's here a crime.
Exeunt.
SCENE V.
DON JUAN's House—DONNA MARIA looking pensively into a Garden from her Apartment—Thunder and Lightning.
MARIA.
THOSE solemn groves—those spacious shaded walks,
Whose lofty tops salute the skirted clouds,
And speak the grandeur of their ancient lords,
Bend down their heads, responsive, to the skies,
Which murmur thunders o'er Hesperia's fall.
Sure nature joins to bend my spirits down,
And rive the bolts through my distracted soul,
That distant thunders shake the trembling dome,
And storms irruptive tear the shatter'd skies.
Enter JUAN in the Amour and Habit of a royal Officer.— MARIA starting, accosts him.
Hah!—dar'st thou come alone, thou miscreant slave!
Think'st thou that mine is such a dastard soul
To yield at sight of one of Charles's band?—
My single arm shall be a match for thine.
DON JUAN.
[Page 158]This interview—this moment is my own—
Approaching.
MARIA.
Off, ruffian, off!—or by the powers above,
The next shall fix a dagger in thy heart.
Draws a poignard from under her robe.
DON JUAN.
On this last night that thy Padilla lives,
Oh! let me clasp thee to my faithful breast.
Throws off his disguise.
MARIA.
Immortal powers!—Say, do my eyes behold
The injur'd ghost of my deceased lord?
Or does my husband—my Don Juan live?—
DON JUAN.
He lives indeed—this one short hour he lives.
When through the sharpest storms of life he sees
Thee firmly stand—by fortitude secur'd,
'Tis worth a world to fold thee to my heart.
MARIA.
Did not my lord—my lov'd Padilla fall,
Amidst the carnage of the noon tide rout?—
DON JUAN.
The faithful Socia reported thus,
Lest thou should'st perish in some rash attempt
To see thy Juan, and neglect thy son.
But a severer doom awaits my fate;
I, on the morrow, as a traitor die.
MARIA.
Jehovah stoop, and lend thy potent arm,
To snatch the virtuous from so vile a [...]ate;
[Page 159]Or let these curling fires, which, from the North,
Emblazon nature's face from pole to pole,
In mantling flames, in one devouring wreck,
Sweep down the stars and crush this nether world.
DON JUAN.
The Deity enwraps his dark decrees
Beyond the ken of man's presumptuous eye:—
Yet souls sublime, serenely look abroad,
And bid the howling tempests rage in vain.
Though livid lightnings blaze from north to south,
The tempests of this last tremendous night
Are as the breeze that wafts the gentle bark
Down the still tide, when every gale is hush'd—
If my Maria's mind supports its poise,
And smiles, superiour to the shocks of fate,
They cannot reach the soul that spurns the world—
Its tinsel'd toys—its titles, and its wealth.
The tribute of a life, I hold but small,
Could it repurchase liberty to Spain:—
Yet he is free—and he alone is free—
Who conquers passion, and subjects his will,
When his misfortunes thicken in the skies.
MARIA.
No more, my lord—the test is too severe—
I feel my boasted fortitude will fail.
DON JUAN.
Oh! spare my heart—
The plaintive accents of thy voice restrain,
Nor sharpen, by thy tears, the pangs of death.
My heart I leave—nought else can I bestow,
And once ye thought the world could give no more.
MARIA.
[Page 160]Ah!—every tender pang that woe can paint,
Or for my country—or my much lov'd lord,
Distracts and wounds my agitated breast.
DON JUAN.
Forbear to pain my tortur'd soul afresh;
Exert thyself—magnanimously stand,
And save thy son—the city, and thyself.
Protect and guard the lovely smiling boy,
The only pledge of our unspotted loves,
'Till he, enraptur'd, hangs upon thy lip;
While his bright eyeballs swim in filial tears,
To hear the accents of his dying sire,
Tenfold enhanc'd by thy descriptive tongue.
MARIA.
Maternal softness weakens my resolve,
And wakes new fears—thou dearest, best of men,
Torn from thy side, I'm levell'd with my sex.
The wife—the mother—make me less than woman.
MARIA opens an adjacent apartment, and shews the infant in the arms of his nurse.
DON JUAN.
Let angel innocence lie soft and still,
Nor call the dew drops to the infant eye
By sympathetic, fond, parental tears.
Tell him, the last bequest his father gave,
The only legacy that heaven has lent,
Was this strict charge, breath'd in his latest sigh,
Be good, and just, as thou art nobly born,
Nor yield thy liberty but with thy life.
JUAN wipes off a tear, and attempts to withdraw in silence.
MARIA.
[Page 161]Oh! leave me not, thus wretched and forlorn!—
DON JUAN.
How like a thief has time stol'n on my wish!—
Clock strikes one.
Must I away—hah!—this is death—
The bitterness of death.—
MARIA.
Wilt thou return, and on the scaffold bare
Thy yielding neck, and as a traitor die?
DON JUAN.
Though tottering on the margin of the grave,
For Charles's fortune balanc'd in the scale,
Or all the gold in Montezuma's realm,
I'd not exchange for probity of soul,
Unsulli'd honour, and unblasted fame.
MARIA.
Is sentence past—irrevocably past—
Then try the courage of a female heart,
And let me die with thee—the treasons I avow—
The crime is mine:—I can as bravely die,
As e'er a Grecian, or a Roman dame—
And smile at Portia's celebrated feat,
Who drew her blood to worm a secret out:—
I'll kiss the glittering ax and hug the shroud
That wraps me ever from a servile world.
DON JUAN.
Retard me not—but bid me haste away.
Thy virtue's rais'd so far above thy sex,
Come plight thy vow, thy sacred, faithful vow,
That fortune's roughest blasts, blight not thy fame.
This moment, by appointment, is my friend's,
It is the last that time has lent to love;—
My honour calls—her voice I must obey.
Going.
MARIA.
[Page 162]Oh stay!—Oh stay!—'twas not the midnight toll—
One hour more let envious time bestow.
DON JUAN.
My throbbing heart from guile was ever free:
No breach of faith shall mark me for a knave.
Thou dost not wish—not ev'n to purchase life,
To stain my honour by a fraudful deed:—
No—when I'm shrouded in my peaceful tomb,
No impious, servile tongue shall e'er reproach
My name—my memory—my life, or fame.
Adieu! my love—Adieu! to life and time—
One last embrace, and I am gone—forever.
Embraces, and retires hastily.
MARIA.
Oh! harsh and cruel sound—adieu!—forever—
He's gone—
And heav'n's broad eye beholds the fatal stroke,
And thunders vengeance from the louring skies.
—
A solemn pause.
When his great soul ascends the broad expanse,
let angels guard him through the widen'd dome.
But shall Maria shroud herself in grief,
And sink beneath life's disappointed hopes,
A feeble victim to her own despair?—
A soul, inspir'd by freedom's genial warmth,
Expands—grows firm—and by resistance, strong:
The most successful prince that offers life,
And bids me live upon ignoble terms,
Shall learn from me that virtue seldom fears.—
Death kindly opes a thousand friendly gates,
And freedom waits to guard her votaries through.
Exit.
[Page 163]
ACT V.
SCENE I
MARIA, with her young Son clad in mourning—a Standard borne before him, on which is represented his Father's Death—accompanied by ZAMORA and a Procession of Friends—she addresses the Citizens, Soldiers, &c. &c. &c.
BEHOLD, ye virtuous citizens of Spain,
The remnant of Don Juan's noble house;
See here the son of your late murder'd lord;
Behold his infant innocence that weeps
A father's fall, ere yet he'd learn'd to lisp
That sacred name, which cruelty dissolv'd.
If heaven and earth decree the world to Charles—
If Spain's prepar'd to wear the badge of slaves,
And degradation marks the bleeding realm—
Then, in the front of this respected band,
Grant me one boon—that yet some gen'rous arm,
Unstain'd by vice, or dip'd in guiltless blood,
Would smite the breast of this his infant son,
And lay him gently in his father's tomb,
As the last heir of Spain's expiring worth
That freedom's genius offers to the gods:—
She stoop'd, and dip'd her target in the gore
That copious rush'd from noble Juan's wounds.
'Tis the cement, she cry'd, in stronger league
To bind the liberal and unite the brave.
'Tis in thine option, wisely did ye judge,
To flourish long beneath her lenient reign;
But if, ungratefully, ye spurn the gift,
[Page 164]And fly the field, and yield the proffer'd prize—
Bend thy weak necks, and servilely submit,
Affronted virtue leaves such dastard slaves
To faint and tremble at a despot's nod.
I, for myself, a bolder part design;
And here, before the soldiers and the Cortes,
In presence of the eternal King, I swear,
Most solemnly I bind my free born soul,
Ere I will live a slave, and kiss the hand
That o'er my country clanks a servile chain,
I'll light the towers, and perish in the flames,
And smile and triumph in the general wreck.
Come, shew one sample of heroic worth,
Ere ancient Spain, the glory of the west,
Bends abject down—by all the nations scorn'd:—
Secure the city—barricade the gates,
And meet me arm'd with all the faithful bands:
I'll head the troops, and mount the prancing steed;
The courser guide, and vengeance pour along
Amidst the ranks, and teach the slaves of Charles
Not Semiramis' or Zenobia's fame
Outstrips the glory of Maria's name.
Exit.
The people shout, and fly to arms.
[Page 165]
SCENE II.
A Battle without—the City taken by CONDE HARO—DONNA MARIA fled to the Citadel—the little Son of DON JUAN asleep on a Sofa—MARIA weeping over him.
MARIA.
THOUGH all is lost, and subjugated Spain
Lies bleeding at the footstool of a king,
I yet would live, for this young cherub's sake:—
Yet what insures his mind urstain'd and pure▪
Nurtur'd in venal, sycophantic schools—
Eras'd each sterling virtue of the soul—
Debas'd—new coin'd in flattery's servile mint,
He may become a pander to a prince.
Ah!—thus to see Don Juan's son enslav'd,
Shocks more than death in its most frightful form.
O guard him, angels—guard him, powers supreme,
From the contagion of each vulgar vice,
Or the more splendid guilt that stalks in courts!—
Enter CONDE HARO.
Why this fresh insolence, thou barbarous man!
Thus to obtrude and doubly wound my soul,
And blast my eyes by such a hated sight,
The blood stain'd murd'rer of my injur'd lord.
DE HARO.
O hear me once, and then pronounce my doom.
MARIA.
Thy every word accumulates thy guilt,
And barbs the pointed dagger in my breast.
DE HARO.
[Page 166]Fain would I sooth and mitigate thy grief.
Advancing.
MARIA.
O death relieve, and shroud from mortal eye—
Give my indignant soul a larger field—
It burns—it beats—it bursts—oh! give it way,
Ere it in atoms tears thy trembling frame—
This shatter'd casement opes—
Lays her hand on breast.
Traitor, stand off—
Or, like a furious spectre, bath'd in blood,
Arm'd with the fangs of horror and despair,
It hastens on, and drags thee down to hell.
Runs wildly across the stage.
DE HARO.
Though nature works this storm of passion up,
Reason must calm, and justice hear my plea.
Follows, and detains her.
MARIA.
By force detain'd a prisoner—a slave—
Oh! heavens and earth, and gods and men relieve—
Revenge this outrage on my feeble sex!
DE HARO.
Not disrespect—'tis veneration holds;—
The Conde Haro's not the guilty thing,
Thy sufferings, fate, and fortune represent.
I fought Don Juan as my duty urg'd,
Yet my heart bled when brave Padilla fell;—
Now once permit—I'll lay a bosom ope,
And bare a breast that heaven itself may read.
The purest passion had subdu'd my heart,
Before ill fortune made me Juan's foe;
O! heav'n forgive—I lov'd his virtuous wife,
[Page 167]And secret bore the heart corroding pangs.
I lov'd in silence—smother'd all my flame—
While honour—justice—every sacred tie,
Had made its utterance the blackest crime.
MARIA.
And dost thou think to mitigate thy guilt,
Thus to torment the brave Don Juan's wife?—
To add to wretchedness—to fill up woe—
Force her to hear thy black adulterous tongue?—
Alas! the dismal croak—the voice of love
From hell's dark gloom, would less dismay than thine.
DE HARO.
I wept the pangs that thy great soul must feel
When thy Padilla was my prisoner made.
Just heaven can witness what my soul endur'd
When martial law announc'd his forfeit, life—
A debt his sovereign and the date might claim.
My ear reluctant, heard the sentence pass'd,
And instant death decreed to worth like his.
MARIA.
Forbear thy false dissimulating strains;
Thy tongue pronounc'd the vile inglorious doom,
That wrap'd in death the hero and the saint?
And now complet'st the measure of thy guilt,
Thus by compulsion, to detain his wife,
To hear a moment thy detested love.
DE HARO.
What furious passions play in that fair breast!—
MARIA.
Old time shall tell, and every age record,
Don Juan's worth, contrasted with thy guilt,
When curious eyes shall seek the mouldering tomb;
Where freedom wastes in tears beside the turf,
[Page 168]And points the stranger to the sacred spot,
Where death enrols her last distinguish'd son,
Urg'd to his fate by probity and zeal,
To save his country from a servile yoke.
DE HARO.
I, the first witness of his merit stand—
A generous wish to save and bless mankind,
Urg'd him to glory in a devious path;
No man can tread, but on perdition's brink,
While standing armies swell the monarch's train,
And kingdoms bend, and empires own the claim,
Of mighty Charles, to keep the world in awe.
MARIA.
Away, thou coward!—cringing, dastard slave!
Go fawn on kings, and boast thy prowess there;
Tell that the brave, who ne'er could meanly bend,
By cowardice were hurry'd to the block:
'Twas coward fear that hasten'd Juan's death:
As fortune play'd him once a losing game,
Thou durst not let him live another day.
Lest his good genius might have lent the means
To extricate his country and himself,
Thou'st added murder to thy list of crimes.
DE HARO.
Reproach like this from any tongue but thine,
Should on itself recoil, and blast the lip
That wounds my honour—ne'er before impeach'd.
MARIA.
Resent it as thou ought—I'm not afraid
Of Conde Haro's sword—strike here, assassin!
Lays her hand on her breast.
And complete thy work—dar'st thou not strike,
Who hast beheld Don Juan on a scaffold,
[Page 169]Breathless and pale, and as a felon die?—
Give me a sword, I'll measure it with thine,
For by the powers above, to thee I swear,
Maria lives but to avenge his death.
DE HARO.
What lioness has nurs'd thy tender years?
Or can'st thou feel for every pain but mine?
MARIA.
Then let me haste, and fly thy sight forever.
DE HARO.
Pardon me, madam, while I urge my suit;
I have some merit—so thy Juan thought—
When grateful tears ran down his manly cheek.
I have one plea that may restore my fame.
A short adieu permitted by Velasco,
I left my tent, and hasten'd to Don Juan,
To sooth the sorrows of his noble soul,
And make the tenders of a generous friend.
'Twas his last wish—the latest boon of life,
To see thee once, before the fatal stroke,
Sever'd forever from the world's best gift:—
I, in a soldier's habit, sent him on,
As with a message from De Haro's hand,
Myself a prisoner till he should return;
As well I knew, not wealth, or crowns, or life,
Nor thy superiour charms, would tempt abuse
Of confidence thus plac'd in honour's breast.
MARIA.
Immortal powers!—am I a debtor made
For the last blissful moment of my life,
To him my soul, of all mankind, abhors?
DE HARO.
The debt was cancell'd when he call'd me, friend,
[Page 170]And [...]de me, with a tender, gentle hand,
Wipe off Maria's tears, and save her son,
And guard them both from peril and disgrace:
Not honour's self, or gratitude, or love,
Can plead a claim his merit don't erase.
The godlike pleasure of conferring good
On hearts so worthy▪ leaves me in arrears:—
I stand indebted to thy noble lord.
MARIA.
To what extremes is human nature wrought!—
Can dignity and real greatness dwell,
Thus mix'd and blended, in a servile soul?—
Or hast thou seen thy error, and renounc'd
The bloody standard of the tyrant Charles?—
To make atonement to the injur'd dead,
Come, wield thy sword in a more glorious cause,
And lend thine arm to make thy country free.
DE HARO.
Tempt not my loyalty, nor wound my fame.—
MARIA.
If there is aught of truth or love in thee—
Hast thou a wish to see Maria more—
These are the terms from which she'll ne'er recede.
But see thy vengeful sire bends this way;—
Where shall I find an asylum for woe?
DE HARO.
Live as a queen in Don Emanuel's court.
A trusty friend escorts thy son and thee
To Portugal's more hospitable shore,
Beyond the reach of Don Velasco's rage,
'Till time restore thy peace, and make thee mine.
MARIA and her son hurried off the stage by DE HARO's friends and guards.
Exit.
[Page 171]
SCENE III.
DON VELASCO and CONDE HARO.
VELASCO.
WRETCH that thou art!—thou hast debas'd the house,
The noble name—the blood of Don Velasco.
DE HARO.
None but thyself, should, with impunity,
Upbraid a man, whose honour ne'er was stain'd
By one base act—whose soul disdains a thought
But what ennobles both thy son and thee.
VELASCO.
My son—no, I renounce the claim,
And ras [...] thy memory from thy blasted line;
A mean soul, prostrate at a woman's foot—
A traitoress, both to her God and king,
Was ne'er ally'd to the Velascan blood.
DE HARO.
If virtue stands at variance with worth,
Or if true greatness can abuse the wretched,
Then may my father's much revered lip,
With cruel insult, wound the fairest fame.
Thou knowest not the lustre that adorns
Maria's soul, and lifts her o'er her sex—
The virtues that combine to make her great:
Her angel form commands profound respect;
Her beauty, grace, her constancy and truth—
Her noble mind and energy of thought,
Would dignify the most illustrious name.
VELASCO.
[Page 172]Thy love tales whine in her disdainful ear.
This idle, rapturous pageantry of words,
This play of fancy, fann'd by lustful gales,
These loose, mad ravings of a hot brain'd youth,
Have made me sick of life. Oh! how debas'd
Is honour—duty—gratitude and fame!—
How are thy laurels stain'd, and meanly laid
Beneath the pedestal of wanton love;
A transient beam, shot from a sorc'ress' eye,
Whom mercy yet has spar'd to rave and weep
Her husband's fall—her disappointed pride.
But by the eternal thunderer above,
She shall not triumph thus—
Mine aged arm, inur'd to war and blood,
Is not so worn by time, nor yet so weak,
But it can send her murmuring soul to hell;
Nay, harder still, has strength to grasp the hilt,
And plunge this vet'ran sword in thy base breast,
To let out that false blood that taints thy soul
And poisons all my peace.
Draws.
DE HARO.
What means my sire?—
VELASCO.
To make thee worthy of thy noble name.—
DE HARO.
If death alone entitles to the claim,
I fear it not in any form but this.
Retires backward, and bows respectfully as going off.
VELASCO.
Fly not my vengeance—dastard—villain—slave!—
DE HARO.
Hah!—dastard—villain—slave—Oh! heavens!
[Page 173]Can the great God command I should submit
To such reproach—ev'n from a father's lip?—
Suddenly lays his hand on his sword.
VELASCO.
Come, try its point against my wounded breast,
Or hoary head, grown grey in honour's path—
That bends and bows and blushes for his son.
DE HARO.
Not the rich sands of Chili or Peru,
Nor all the wealth Potosi has in store,
Shall bribe me from my duty and respect,
My filial love and reverence for thee.
Bends on his knee.
VELASCO.
I do not wish to make thee more a coward.—
DE HARO.
A coward—traitor—villain and a slave!—
My honour stain'd by epithets so vile.—
None but thyself within this ample round,
Should dare unite a base, opprobrious term
With Conde Haro's name—but thou'rt my sire—
Then take a life I wish not to preserve.
Throws his sword from him, and bares his breast.
VELASCO.
Take up thy dagger—plunge it in my breast,
Or give thy foolish passion to the winds.
DE HARO.
No—neither.—
VELASCO.
Bring back the fugitive to justice' arm—
Renounce thy love.—
DE HARO.
Never.—
VELASCO.
[Page 174]Never?—
DE HARO.
Not if Maria hears my faithful vows—
'Tis honour, wealth and empire to my soul.
VELASCO.
Fly from my vengeful hand—thou'rt not my son—
I've been deceiv'd—alas! too long deceiv'd.
Thou art some low—some vile imposter—palm'd
Upon my house—and nature feels no pang,
To send thy soul to wander with the dead.
Makes a furious pass at DE HARO, but is so enraged he trembles and drops his sword.
DE HARO.
When nature shall cut off thy thread of life,
I'll meet thee there, by thy Zelinda's side—
That angel form that gave a son to thee.
VELASCO.
Hah!—my Zelinda—her sacred name
Has wak'd the father up, and checks my rage;—
Oh! had this rash, this guilty hand sent down
The mangled ghost of her belov'd De Haro—
Her darling son—slain by a father's hand—
In Hades to accuse his barbarous heart
For such an outrage on so brave a son;—
Both wandering spirits, and the saints above,
Alike would curse his cruelty and crime;—
But as thy sword—thy valiant conquering arm
Has quell'd rebellion, and cut off their chiefs,
Let me intreat—
Enter DON FRANCIS—a bloody sword extended in his hand.
—Hah! what do I see?—
Heav'n blast my eyes!—Say, can Don Francis live?—
FRANCIS.
[Page 175]—Thou see'st thy duteous son—
The wedded husband of thy lov'd Louisa—
Thou see'st his sword wet with the blood of Pedro,
Who would have robb'd me of my lovely bride;
His coward ghost now murmurs in the shades,
And groans repentance for his faithless deeds.
VELASCO.
Thy rebel insolence my hand shall crush
When thou hast told by what infernal fiend,
Or hellish arts, thy life's protracted thus,
To plunge my house in infamy and guilt.
FRANCIS.
Thy generous son has sav'd me from the grave;
That noble friend, when, on the verge of death,
Set ope the prison gates, and bade me fly
To mighty Charles, and boldly sue for grace.
Know'st thou thy lov'd Zelinda's bridal ring?—
Presents it to VELASCO.
This precious pledge made thy Louisa mine,
And, often seen upon Velasco's hand,
Procur'd and seal'd a pardon from the emperor.
VELASCO.
That guardian angel of my happier days,
Sure hovers here, and guides my sanguine steps;
Protects her children from their father's rage,
And smooths my passions down the vale of life.
Go, Francis, see if yet Louisa lives,
And heaven forgive my cruelty to her!—
Each passion dies but love to my Louisa,
And strong affection to the best of sons.
Exeunt.
[Page 176]
SCENE IV.
LOUISA, sola, on her knees, looking up to Heaven in agony, with her Father's Sword in her hand, pointed to her breast.
LET this bright canopy spread o'er my head,
And all the wonders of the vast concave—
Each radiant flame that shoots its friendly beam
O'er nature's empire, and proclaims a god,
Lend me their aid to solemnize my soul;
To hush the tumult of life's various cares,
That rage without, or reign within my breast.
'Tis heav'n bids me leave this mazy world,
To its own guilt, ambition, pride and blood.
Hah!—does my purpose flag—
Trembles, and drops the sword.
I feel my courage firm—yet fear my God—
Will he forgive a suffering wretch,
Weary of life—yet not afraid to die—
Who quits her post, ere nature makes demand—
Unbidden rushes to his awful throne—
A ghastly—grim—a discontented soul,
Bath'd in the blood of suicide!
My trembling frame shrinks at the dread idea—
Yet what—ah! what can sad Louisa do?
Recovers the sword.
I cannot live—to see Don Francis die—
Yet worse to live, and be Don Pedro's wife—
I must not live—my father bids me die.—
Stabs herself.—DON FRANCIS and DE HARO enter at the moment.
FRANCIS.
Oh! my Louisa—my love—my bride!—
[Page 177]My wife—my soul's whole treasure—stay—
Thy dreadful purpose hold!—
LOUISA.
Ah! my dear lord—permitted thus to live
But to receive and aid on its escape—
My soul just rushing from my bleeding breast.
Fainting.
FRANCIS.
Thou must not die—Oh! lovely maid, revive—
Thy father's blessing beckons thee to life.
LOUISA.
It was my father's will impell'd to death—
His rigorous command I have obey'd—
My filial design may God forgive,
Nor rank me with the hateful suicide,
Who rushes on his fate from passion storms,
And dies the martyr of his guilty hand.
Retard me not—now on the marge of death—
My conscious soul, unstain'd by one base act,
Looks back serene on life's tempestuous surge,
Nor feels a pang, but for my Francis' sake;—
Ye [...] bliss is crown'd by dying in his arms.
Dies.
FRANCIS.
I'll catch in ether that last balmy breath,
And meet her gentle spirit in the skies.—
Falls on his sword.
DE HARO.
Ha! Francis, hold—nor cowardly revolt
From nature's post, assign'd by nature's lord.
Heaven has decreed the just, the brave, should die,
But 'tis a dastard soul that fears to live.
FRANCIS.
Life lost all worth in her expiring sigh—
Adieu, my friend, for time has lost its charms.
[Page 178]The free born mind mounts upwards with the gods,
And soars and spurns a base, ignoble world.
Dies.
DE HARO.
Alas! the horrors of this awful hour—
What misery's entail'd on all mankind
But those who rise and view life from the stars!—
Oh! thou whose word directs the pointed flame,
When the blue lightnings curl about the clouds,
And thunders roll across the ragged vault,
Let down thy benediction from the skies!—
To virtue bend the wayward mind of man—
Let not the father blast his children's peace
By rancour—pride—and cursed party rage;—
Let civil feuds no more distract the soul—
Blast the dark fiends who wake mankind to war,
And make the world a counterpart to hell.
Exeunt Omne [...] ▪
[Page]
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
[Page]
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
To Mrs. MONTAGUE, Author of "OBSERVATIONS on the GENIUS and WRITINGS of SHAKESPEARE."
WILL Montague, whose critic pen adds praise,
Ev'n to a Shakespeare's bold exalted lays;
Who points the faults in sweet Corneille's page,
Sees all the errors of the Gallic stage—
Corrects Voltaire with a superior hand,
Or traces genius in each distant land?
Will she across the Atlantic stretch her eye,
Look o'er the main, and view the western sky;
And there Columbia's infant drama see—
Reflect that Britain taught us to be free;
Survey with candour what she can't approve;
Let local fondness yield to gen'rous love;
And, if fair truth forbids her to commend,
Then le [...] the critic soften to the friend.
The bard of Avon justly bear [...] the meed
Of fond applause, from Tyber to the Tweed;
[Page 182]Each humbler muse at distance may admire,
But none to Shakespeare's fame ere dare aspire.
And if your isle, where he so long has charm'd,
If Britain's sons, when by his mantle warm'd,
Have soar'd in vain to reach his lofty quill,
Nature to paint with true Shakespearean skill—
A sister's hand may wrest a female pen,
From the bold outrage of imperious men.
If gentle Montague my chaplet raise,
Critics may frown, or mild good nature praise;
Secure I'll walk, and placid move along,
And heed alike their censure or their song;
I'll take my stand by fam'd Parnassus' side,
And for a moment feel a poet's pride.
Plymouth, July 10, 1790.
[Page 183]
To TORRISMOND.
A young Gentleman educated in Europe, recommended to the Author's acquaintance, by a Friend of distinction.
My soul is sicken'd when I see the youth,
That sports and trifles with eternal truth.
WHEN ancient Britain pip'd the rustic lays,
And tun'd to woden notes of vocal praise,
The dismal dirges caught the listening throng,
And ruder gestures join'd the antique song.
Then the grey druid's grave, majestic air,
The frantic priestess, with dishevell'd hair
And flaming torch, spoke superstition's reign;
While elfin damsels dancing o'er the plain,
Allur'd the vulgar by the mystic scene,
To keep long vigils on the sacred green.
Then Gothic bards might dress the magic tale,
And monkish legends over truth prevail;
As weak credulity, with hood wink'd eyes,
Had never peep'd behind the thin disguise—
The party colour'd veil, at once inwove
With ignorance, and some faint fears of Jove;
Wrought up to madness by the crafty priest,
While artful politicians saw the jest,
And laugh'd at virtue as a state machine,
An engine fit the multitude to rein;
With more facility to rule mankind,
They lent their efforts to obscure the mind.
Folly and fraud the manly powers debas'd,
And from the soul th' etherial spark eras'd,
[Page 184]Plung'd in the depth of black and dreary night,
No [...]e could trace one avenue to light.
B [...] from the dark impenetrable shade,
Reason appear'd, a bright, a heav'n born maid;
The moral system, nature's early code,
Improv'd by reason, and the voice of God,
Dispell'd the mists of error's tenfold maze,
And truth triumphant, held a crown of bays.
Celestial reason, thus again restor'd,
Her gentle wand through all the world ador'd,
She reign'd resplendent o'er the human mind,
With brow worn science, hand in hand combin'd,
To prove the powers of the active soul,
That mounts from earth to nature's farthest pole;
'Till Anglia boasts the birth of Locke and Boyle,
And Newton's name adorn'd Britannia's isle;
O'er the learn'd world, this heavenly genius shone,
And light diffus'd as the meridian sun,
Through the vast solar system late defin'd,
By vast exertions of his godlike mind;
And while investigating nature's laws,
He still defended virtue's sacred cause:
At once he taught philosophy to shine,
Own'd and rever'd the oracles divine;
That pens inspir'd had op'd a brighter day,
That revelation lent its heavenly ray
To lift, exalt, and elevate the soul,
To scale the stars, and soar from pole to pole.
But as the clearest hemisphere displays
The wandering star, amidst the radiant blaze,
Of orb o'er orb, that aids the nightly dance,
Of planets rolling through the broad expanse;
[Page 185]Some visionary souls have lost their way,
Eccentric wandering 'mid the noon tide ray.
Thus man, frail man, to wide extremes so prone,
Truth's perfect path by him so little known,
That when emerging from the dismal gloom,
Of night and fable, wrap'd in chaos' womb;
Some danc'd and play'd around the boundless shore,
The depths of erudition just skim'd o'er;
Nurs'd in refinements of a sceptic age,
They spurn the precepts of the sacred page;
Hold revelation but the dream of pride,
The wish of man to be to God ally'd:
Thus the vain reptile of a fleeting hour,
Presumes he knows the plenitude of power.
Through nature's system, through her grand design,
He strips the veil from Providence divine;
Sees clearly through the vast mysterious plan,
Can prove that Heaven forgot its creature, man:
That when to rationals God first gave birth,
And chain'd them down to this low distant earth,
To guide their path lent not one friendly beam,
No intimation of his will supreme;
But the weak reasoner's left to grope his way,
To Jove, Jehovah, or to Bacchus pray,
As he by chance, or caprice, may be led,
Born in Italia, or in Athens bred.
Lost in wild passion—prattling much of fate,
His highest hope a non existing state;
Yet fears alarm, or secret dread of shame;
His brutal wishes, pride, or love of fame,
[Page 186]Alternate drag him with magnectic force,
'Till infidelity's his last resource;
By turns exploding grace, free will, and fate,
Still apprehensive of some future state,
Suspense distracts his oscillating brain,
'Till — assures him death shall end his pain.
Ah! Torrismond! poor trembling, doubting youth,
Pale with thy fears, and yet affronting truth;
Come, my young friend, forsake the sceptic road,
And tread the paths superiour genius trod;
Leave all the modern metaphysic fools,
To reason on by false logistic rules;
Leave all the quibblers of a mimic age,
By rote to cavil at th' inspired page;
Let learned trash their arguments sustain,
While common sense, ejected from their brain,
They through each jarring incoherence run,
Until entangled in the web they've spun,
They all things doubt but their superiour sense,
And live and die the dupes of dark suspense.
Come, spite of low born pleasures, nobly rise,
And seek true happiness beyond the skies,
Ere this short whirl of fancy'd joys are o'er,
When time shall land thee on some unknown shore;
Where truth array'd in silvern robes shall stand,
With justice' sword uplifted in her hand.
When thy soul quivers on the awful marge,
And death throws ope eternity's broad verge;
When conscience whispers, thy probation's o'er,
Or her soft voice may loud as thunder roar;
[Page 187]With what amaze you'll find the christian scheme
Is not the product of a brain sick dream.
Then not the wits who grace the lists of fame,
Sanction'd by Hume, or by a Shaftsbury's name,
Or celebrated Voltaire's pointed pen,
Who cheats the weak, or charms ev'n wiser men;
Nor all the train of infidels combin'd,
Can sooth a moment thy immortal mind.
[Page 188]
A POLITICAL REVERIE.
As fairy forms, the elfin airy train,
And sylphs, sometimes molest the learned brain,
Delusive dreams the matron's bosom swell,
And, ancient maids, the fancied vision, tell;
So beaux and belles see routs and balls in dreams,
And drowsy preachers chop polemic themes;
The statesman's dream, in theory creates,
New perfect forms, to govern broken states.
Logistic scribblers dream of sleeping souls,
And dreaming bucks drown reason o'er their bowls;
The doubting deist dreams of Styx and fate,
Yet laughs at fables of a future state,
'Till Charon's boat shall land him on a shore
Of which the dreamer never dreamt before:
As sportive dreams infest all ranks of men,
A dream, the visionary world, may read again.
[This Reverie was first published, January, 1774, previous to the breaking out of the Civil War, while America was oscillating between a Resistance by Arms and her ancient Love and Loyalty to Britain.]
LET Grecian bards and Roman poets tell,
How Hector fought, and how old Priam fell;
Paint armies ravaging the 'Ilian coast,
Shew fields of blood and mighty battles lost;
Let mad Cassandra, with dishevell'd hair,
With streaming eye, and frantic bosom bare,
Tell dark presages, and ill boding dreams,
Of murder, rapine, and the solemn themes,
Of slaughter'd cities, and their sinking spires,
By Grecian rage wrap'd in avening fires;
[Page 189]To bolder pens I leave the tragic tale,
While some kind muse from Tempe's gentle vale,
With softer symphony shall touch the string,
And happier tidings from Parnassus bring.
Not Caesar's name, nor Philip's bolder son,
Who sigh'd and wept, when he'd one world undone;
Who drop'd a tear, though not from pity's source,
But grief, to find some bound to brutal force,
Shall tune my harp, or touch the warbling string;
No bold destroyers of mankind I sing;
These plunderers of men I'll greatly scorn,
And dream of nations, empires yet unborn.
I look with rapture at the distant dawn,
And view the glories of the opening morn,
When justice holds his sceptre o'er the land,
And rescues freedom from a tyrant's hand;
When patriot states in laurel crowns may rise,
And ancient kingdoms court them as allies;
Glory and valour shall be here display'd,
And virtue rear her long dejected head;
Her standard plant beneath these gladden'd skies,
Her fame extend, and arts and science rise;
While empire's lofty spreading sails unfurl'd,
Roll swiftly on towards the western world.
Long she's forsook her Asiatic throne,
And leaving Afric's barb'rous burning zone,
On the broad ruins of Rome's haughty power
Erected ramparts round fair Europe's shore;
But in those blasted climes no more presides,
She, o'er the vast Atlantic surges rides,
Visits Columbia's distant fertile plains,
Where liberty, a happy goddess, reigns.
[Page 190]
No despot here shall rule with awful sway,
Nor orphan's spoils become the minion's prey;
No more the widow'd bleeding bosom mourns,
Nor injur'd cities weep their slaughter'd sons;
For then each tyrant, by the hand of fate,
And standing troops, the bane of every state,
Forever spurn'd, shall be remov'd as far
As bright Hesperus from the polar star;
Freedom and virtue shall united reign,
And stretch their empire o'er the wide domain.
On a broad base the commonwealth shall stand,
When lawless power withdraws its impious hand;
When crowns and sceptres are grown useless things,
Nor petty pretors plunder here for kings.
Then bless'd religion, in her purest forms,
Beyond the reach of persecuting storms,
In purest azure, gracefully array'd,
In native majesty shall stand display'd,
'Till courts revere her ever sacred shrine,
And nobles feel her influence divine;
Princes and peasants catch the glorious flame,
And lisping infants praise Jehovah's name.
But while methought this commonwealth would rise,
And bright Millenian prospects struck my eyes,
I wept [...] once Europa's pride,
To [...] vir [...]ue long she stood ally'd;
Th [...] [...] queen, the mistress of the isles,
Torn up by [...]a [...]on, and intestine broils,
Became the prey of each rapacious arm,
Strip'd and disrob'd of every native charm.
Strong and erect, like some fair polish'd tower,
She long defy'd each neighb'ring hostile power,
[Page 191]And sent her brave and valiant sons in quest
Of foreign realms, who by no fear repress'd,
The sinking cliffs of Europe's happy shore,
They left behind, new climates to explore.
They quitted plenty, luxury and ease,
Tempted the dangers of the frozen seas—
While hope's soft breezes fann'd the swelling sails,
And fame and glory spurn'd the ruder gales,
And smooth'd the surge that roll'd from shore to shore,
A race of heroes safely wafted o'er.
Who pitch'd their tents beneath the dismal shade,
Where wild woods roar'd, and savages betray'd;
Cities they rear'd around barbarian coasts,
And planted vineyards o'er the barren wastes.
In Britain's lap the rich produce was pour'd,
(Which heaven, benignant, plentifully shower'd,)
'Till she, ungrateful, join'd an impious band,
And forging shackles with a guilty hand,
Broke the firm union whence her vigour grew,
Dissolv'd the bands, and cut the sinews through.
Here a bright form, with soft majestic grace,
Beckon'd me on through vast unmeasur'd space;
Beside the margin of the vast profound,
Wild echos play'd and cataracts rebound;
Beyond the heights of nature's wide expanse,
Where mov'd superb the planetary dance,
Light burst on light, and suns o'er suns display'd
The system perfect, nature's God had laid.
This scale of altitude presented whole,
The various movements of the human soul;
Starting, I cry'd—"Oh! sacred form forgive,
Or me from yonder nether world remove;—
[Page 192]Has freedom's genius left Britannia's shore?
And must her sleeping patriots live no more?
Arise, [...] venerable shades! inspire,
Each languid soul with patriotic fire;
'Till every bosom feels a noble flame,
And emulates a Locke, or Sydney's name."
The seraph smil'd ineffably serene,
And shew'd me truth, inscrib'd on her bright mien:
She said—"The glow from breast to breast is spread,
From sire to son the latent spark's convey'd;
Let those bless'd shades rest in their sacred urns,
Lie undisturb'd—the glorious ardour burns,
Though far transferr'd from their lov'd native soil.
Virtue turn'd pale, and freedom left the isle,
When she stretch'd out her avari [...]ious hand,
And shew'd her sons her hostile bloody wand;
United millions parried back the blow,
Britain recoil'd, and sadly learnt to know,
Cities with cities leagu'd, and town with town,
She trembled at her fate when half undone."
Think not this all a visionary scene,
For he who wields the grand, the vast machine;
Who bids the morn from eastern ocean rise,
And paler Cynthia cheer the midnight skies;
Who holds the balance—who stretch'd out the line—
O'er all creation form'd the grand design,
Ten thousand worlds to scatter o'er the plain,
And spread new glories through his wide domain;
Who rules the stars, and taught the rolling spheres
To measure round the quick revolving years▪
At awful distance from his radiant throne,
Suspended, this terrestial ball hangs down;
[Page 193]Yet still presides and watches o'er the fates,
Of all the kingdoms that his power creates.
Ere he winds up the closing act of time,
And draws the veil from systems more sublime,
In swift progression, westward throws the bowl,
'Till mighty empire crowns the spacious whole.
Then this far distant corner of the earth,
Shall boast her Decii's and her Fabii's birth;
When the young heroes, wondering, shall be told,
That Britain barter'd worth for lust of gold;
How, lost in luxury, her silken sons,
Forgot her Edwards claim'd the Bourbon crowns;
That tyrants trembled on their tott'ring throne,
And haughty monarchs fear'd Britannia's frown.
But ah! how tarnish'd her illustrious name,
Despoil'd of wealth, of grandeur, and of fame!
Buried beneath her complicated crimes,
A sad memento to succeeding times:
Dismay'd, she yet may lift her suppliant hand,
And ask protection from this injur'd land;
Whose peaceful sons will draw oblivion o'er
Unnumber'd wrongs, and rase the blacken'd score:
Yet heave a sigh, and drop the tender tear,
And weep Britannia's punishment severe;
When they researching o [...] some future chart,
Scarce find the seat of mighty Brunswick's court;
For neighbouring states may seize the venal isle,
And Ga [...]lic princes distribute the spoil.
The [...]on, prostrate on the naked strand,
May see the lilies waving o'er the land;
May see Columbia's embrio pendants play,
And infant names cut the watry way;
[Page 194]Fame's outstretch'd wing may on the eastern gales
Leave the proud Thames, and spread her whiten'd sails.
While rising empire rears her purple crest,
Triumphant commerce hails the gladden'd west,
And steers her course to Zembla's frozen pole,
Or lands in India, free from the control
Of base, monopolizing men, combin'd
To plunder millions, and enslave mankind.
From Florida to Nova Scotian shores
She pours her treasures and unlades her stores;
Round all the globe she sails from sea to sea,
And smiles and prospers, only when she's free.
But here the sweet enchanting vision fled,
And darken'd clouds flash'd lightnings o'er my head;
The seraph solemn stretch'd abroad her hand,
The stars grew pale beneath her burnish'd wand;
On her pale front disgust and sorrow hung,
And awful accents trembled on her tongue.
Behold! she said, before these great events,
Absorb'd in tears, America laments;
Laments the ravage of her fruitful plains,
While crimson streams the peaceful villa stains.
The weeping matron sighs in poignant pain
O'er her last hope, in the rude battle slain:
The bleeding bosom of the aged sire,
Pierc'd by his son, will in his arms expire;
For death promiscuous flies from ev'ry hand,
When faction's sword is brandish'd o'er the land;
When civil discord cuts the friendly ties,
And social joy from every bosom flies;
But let the muse forbear the solemn tale,
And l [...]d once more, the "Grecian painter's veil."
[Page 195]
To Mr. —.
Alluding to a Conversation which favoured the Opinion of Fatalism; that human Action, whether good or evil, springs from the Principle of self Love, void of any real Benevolence, when traced up to its Source.
THOUGH short, far short, my pen of the sublime,
Fate urges on, and bids me write in rhyme;
I hope my friend the effort will excuse,
Nor blame the heart, but chide the niggard muse.
Is it a wild enthusiastic flame,
That swel [...]s the bosom panting after fame;
Dilates the mind, while every [...]ail's unfurl'd,
To catch the plaudits of a gazing world?
Is there no permanent, no steady pole,
To point us on, and guide the wandering soul?
Does prejudice and passion rule mankind?
Are there no springs that actuate the mind,
Whose deep meanders have a nobler source,
Than vain self love, to guide their winding course?
The gen'rous ardour, stil'd benevolence,
Is it all art, to gratify the sense?
Or give imagination further scope?
That airy queen, who guides the helm of hope,
Holds a false mirror to the dazzled sight;
A dim perspective, a delusive light,
That swells the bubbles of life's shorten'd span,
While wisdom laughs at the deluded man,
Wrap'd in ecsta [...]s, by imagin'd fame,
When the next moment may blot out his name.
[Page 196]
Can't the wise precepts of a Plato's school,
Or a divine—a still more perfect rule,
Arouse, exalt, and animate the soul
Self to renounce, and rise above control
Of narrow passions, that the man debase,
And from his breast his maker's image rase;
Or are the fetters that enslave the mind
Of such a strong and adamantine kind,
So firmly lock'd, and so securely riv'd,
The more we strive, the more we're still deceiv'd;
Are truth and friendship no where to be found,
And patriot virtue nothing but a sound?
Then may a Caesar equal honours claim,
With gen'rous Brutus' celebrated name;
For the poor tribute of a short applause,
One stabb'd a tyrant, trampling on the laws;
While the proud despot mark'd his baneful way,
With virtue's tears, and triumph'd o'er his prey.
Caesar enslav'd, and Brutus would have freed,
Self, the sole point in which they're both agreed.
Self love, that stimulus to nobler aims,
Bade Nero light the capital in flames;
Bade Borgia act a most infernal part,
Or Scipio to triumph o'er his heart;
Bids — betray his native land,
And his base brother lend his perjur'd hand,
While freedom weeps, and heav'n forbears to shed
Its awful vengeance on the guilty head.
If such is life, and fancy throws the bowl,
And appetite and caprice rule the whole;
If virtuous friendship has no solid base,
But false deception holds the sacred place;
[Page 197]Then from thy mem'ry rase out every line,
Nor recollect a sentiment of mine,
But dark oblivion's sable veil draw o'er,
And I'll forbear to interrupt thee more.
For if vice boasts her origin the same
With social joy and patriotic flame,
Turn I must wish to bid the world farewel,
Turn Anchoret, and choose some lonely cell,
Beneath some peaceful hermitage reclin'd,
To weep the misery of all mankind,
'Till days and years, till time shall cease to roll,
And truth eternal strike the wondering soul.
[Page 198]
On a SURVEY of the HEAVENS.
DOES there an infidel exist?
Let him look up—he can't resist,
These proofs of Deity—so clear,
He must the architect revere,
Whene'er to heaven he lifts his eyes,
And there surveys the spangled skies;
The glitt'ring stars, the worlds that shine,
And speak the [...]r origin divine,
Bid him adore, and prostrate fall,
And own one Lord, supreme o'er all.
One God this mighty fabrick guides,
Th' etherial circles he divides;
And measures out the distant bound,
Of each revolving planet's round;
Prevents the universal jar,
That might from one eccentric star,
Toss'd in the wide extended space,
At once—a thousand worlds displace.
What else supports the rolling, spheres;
Nought but Almighty power appears,
The vast unnumber'd orbs to place,
And scatter o'er the boundless space,
Myriads of worlds of purer light,
Our adoration to excite,
And lead the wandering mind of man,
To contemplate the glorious plan.
Not even Newton's godlike mind,
Nor all the sages of mankind,
[Page 199]Could e'er assign another cause,
Though much they talk of nature's laws;
Of gravity's attractive force,
They own the gra [...]d, eternal source,
Who, from the depths of chaos' womb,
Prepar'd the vaulted? spacious dome;
He spake—a vast foundation' laid,
And countless globes thereon display'd.
His active power still sustains
Their weight, amidst the heavenly plains;
Infinite goodness yet protects,
All perfect wisdom still directs
Their revolutions;—knows the hour,
When rapid time's resistless pow'r,
In mighty ruin will involve,
And God—this grand machine dissolv [...].
Then time and death shall both expire,
And in the universal fire,
These elements shall melt away,
To usher in eternal day.
Amazing thought!—Is it decreed;
New earth and heavens, shall these succeed?
More glorious far—still more august!
In his omnific arm we trust.
But how this system 'twill excel,
Nor Angel's voice, or tongue can tell;
Nor human thought so high can soar;
His works survey, and God adore.
[Page 200]
On the DEATH of Mrs. S. —, who died within a few Days after her MARRIAGE.
THE grave with open mouth destroys,
Life's choicest blessings, purest joys.
The gay Orinda's pleasing charms,
Allur'd young Selim to her arms;
They tasted bliss one happy moon,
Nor thought their joys could end so soon,
Or dreamt that such a guest as Death
Would interrupt the bridal mirth;
But lo! his sable wings are spread,
Orinda's number'd with the dead.
Thus have I seen the opening flower
That decorates the nuptial bow'r,
Its odours shed, its bright array
Rival the lustre of the day;
But ere the glorious morning sun
Had reach'd the central point of noon,
The violets fade, the roses die,
So sunk the lustre of her eye.
The valiant Selim quits the prize,
Reluctant yields the sacrifice;
Trys in the laurell'd field of fame,
To lose the lov'd Orinda's name;
But, not the warlike, hostile scene,
That purples o'er the native green,
Nor the hoarse trumpet, loud and shrill,
The plaintive voice of grief could quell.
Selim still feels the keener smart
That rankles in his bleeding heart;
[Page 201]He rushes on amid the plain,
And courts the sword to end his pain:
He fell—but smil'd in Death's embrace,
And cry'd, here ends the idle chace;
Wealth, [...]leasure, honour, airy fame,
I've prov'd are [...]t an empty name:
He kiss'd the reeking steel, and said,
I fly to seek Orinda's shade.
[Page 202]
The SQUABBLE of the SEA NYMPHS; or the SACRIFICE of the TUSCARAROES.
The important political event of 1774, when several cargoes of teas were poured into the sea, has been replete with mighty consequences, and will never be forgotten in the history of American independence. But the author's own opinion of the equity or policy of this measure is not to be collected from a political sally, written at the request of a particular friend, now in one of the highest grades of American rank.
BRIGHT Phoebus drove his rapid car amain,
And plung'd his steeds beyond the western plain,
Behind a golden skirted cloud to rest.
Ere ebon night had spread her sable vest,
And drawn her curtain o'er the fragrant vale,
Or Cynthia's shadows dress'd the lonely dale,
The heroes of the Tuscararo tribe,*
Who scorn'd alike a fetter or a bribe,
In order rang'd, and waited freedom's nod,
To make an offering to the wat'ry god.
Grey Neptune rose, and from his sea green bed,
He wav'd his trident o'er his oozy head;
He stretch'd, from shore to shore, his regal wand,
And bade the river deities attend:
Triton's hoarse clarion summon'd them by name,
And from old ocean call'd each wat'ry dame.
In council met to regulate the state,
Among their godships rose a warm debate,
[Page 203]What luscious draught they next should substitute,
That might the palates of celestials suit,
As Nectar's stream no more meandering rolls,
The food ambrosial of their social bowls
Profusely spent;—nor, can Scamander's shore,
Yield the fair sea nymphs one short banquet more.
The Tilans all with one accord aro [...]s'd,
To travel round Columbia's coast propos'd;
To rob and plunder every neighb'ring vine,
(Regardless of Nemisis' sacred shrine;)
Nor leave untouch'd the peasant's little store,
Or think of right, while demi gods have power.
But ere on a decided mode agreed,
They, nor great Neptune, farther dare proceed,
'Till every goddess of the streams and lakes,
And lesser deities of fens and brakes—
With all the nymphs that swim around the isles,
Deign'd to give sanction by approving smiles:
For females have their influence o'er kings,
Nor wives, nor mistresses, were useless things,
Ev'n to the gods of ancient Homer's page;
Then sure, in this polite and polish'd age,
None will neglect the sex's sage advice,
When they engage in any point so nice,
As to forbid the choice nectareus sip,
And offer boh [...]a to the rosy lip.
Proud Amphytrite rejected in disdain,
Refus'd the gift, and left the wat'ry main,
With servile Proteus lagging by her side,
To take advantage of the shifting tide;
To catch a smile, or pick up golden sands,
Either from Plut [...]s, or the naked strands▪
[Page 204]Long practis'd—easy he assumes the shape
Of fox, or panther, crocodile, or ape;
When 'tis his int'rest, his step dame he'll aid,
One pebble more, and Amphytrite's betray'd.
A flaming torch she took in either hand,
(And as fell discord reign'd throughout the land,
Was well appriz'd the centaurs would conspire;)
Resolv'd to set the western world on fire,
By scattering the weed of Indian stores;
Or worse, to lodge it in Pygmalion's stores:
But if the artifice should not succeed,
Then, in revenge, attempt some bolder deed;
For while old ocean's mighty billows roar,
Or foaming surges lash the distant shore,
Shall goddesses regale like woodland dames?
First let Chinesan herbage feed the flames.
But all the Nereids whisper'd murmurs round,
And craggy cliffs reecho'd back the sound;
'Till fair Salacia perch'd upon the rocks,
The rival goddess wav'd her yellow locks,
Proclaim'd, hysonia shall assuage their grief,
With choice souchong, and the imperial leaf.
The champions of the Tuscararan race,
(Who neither hold, nor even wish a place,
While faction reigns, and tyranny presides,
And base oppression o'er the virtues rides;
While venal measures dance in silken sails,
And avarice o'er earth and sea prevails;
While luxury creates such mighty feuds,
E'en in the bosoms of the demi gods;)
Lent their strong arm in pity to the fair,
To aid the bright Salacia's generous care;
[Page 205]Pour'd a profusion of delicious teas,
Which, wafted by a soft favonian breeze,
Supply'd the wat'ry deities, in spite
Of all the rage of Jealous Amphytrite.
The fair Salacia, victory, victory, sings,
In spite of heroes, demi gods, or kings;
She bids defiance to the servile train▪
The pimps and sycophants of George's reign.
The virtuous daughters of the neighb'ring mead,
In graceful smiles approv'd the glorious deed;
(And though the Syrens left their coral beds,
Just o'er the surface lifted up their heads,
And sung soft peans to the brave and fair,
'Till almost caught in the delusive snare
To sink securely in a golden dream,
And taste the sweet inebriating stream,
Which, though a repast for the wat'ry maids,
Is baneful poison to the mountain naiades;)
They saw delighted from the inland rocks,
O'er the broad deep pour'd out Pandora's box;
They join'd, and fair Salacia's triumph sung,
Wild echo, o'er the bounding ocean rung;
The sea nymphs heard, and all the sportive train,
In shaggy tresses danc'd around the main,
From southern lakes, down to the northern rills,
And spread confusion round N— hills.
[Page 206]
To a YOUNG LADY, On shewing an excellent Piece of PAINTING, much faded.
COME, and attend, my charming maid;
See how the gayest colours fade;
As be [...]teous paintings lose their dye,
Age sinks the lustre of your eye.
Then seize the minutes as they pass;
Behold! how swift runs down the glass;
The hasty sands that measure time,
Point you to pleasures more sublime;
And bid you shun the flow'ry path,
That cheats the millions into death.
Snatch every moment time shall give,
And uniformly virtuous live;
Let no vain cares retard thy soul,
But strive to reach the happy goal;
When pale, when unrelenting Death,
Shall say, resign life's vital breath!
May you, swift as the morning lark
That stems her course to heav'n's high arch,
Leave every earthly care, and soar,
Where numerous seraphims adore;
Thy pinions spread and wafted high,
Beyond the blue etherial sky,
May you there chant the glorious lays,
The carols of eternal praise,
To that exhaustless source of light,
Who rules the shadows of the night,
Who lends each orb its splendid ray,
And points the glorious beams of day.
[Page 207]
Time and eternity he holds;
Nor all eternity unfolds,
The glories of Jehovah's name;
Nor highest angels can proclaim,
The wonders of his boundless grace,
They bow, and veil before his face.
What then shall mortals of an hour,
But bend submissive to his power;
And learn at wisdom's happy lore,
Nature's great author to adore.
[Page 208]
To the Hon. J. WINTHROP, Esq.
Who, on the American Determination, in 1774, to suspend all Commerce with Britain, (except for the real Necessaries of life) requested a poetical List of the Articles the Ladies might comprise under that Head.
FREEDOM may weep, and tyranny prevail,
And stubborn patriots either frown, or rail;
Let them of grave economy talk loud,
Prate prudent measures to the list'ning crowd;
With all the rhetoric of ancient schools,
Despise the mode, and fashion's modish fools;
Or shew fair liberty, who us'd to smile,
The guardian goddess of Britannia's isle,
In sable weeds, anticipate the blow,
Aim'd at Columbia by her royal foe;
And mark the period when inglorious kings
Deal round the curses that a Churchill sings.
But what's the anguish of whole towns in tears,
Or trembling cities groaning out their fears?
The state may totter on proud ruin's brink,
The sword be brandish'd, or the bark may sink;
Yet shall Clarissa check her wanton pride,
And lay her female ornaments aside?
Quit all the shining pomp, the gay parade,
The costly trappings that adorn the maid?
What! all the aid of foreign looms refuse!
(As beds of tulips strip'd of richest hues,
Or the sweet bloom that's nip'd by sudden frost,
Clarissa reigns no more a favorite toast.
For what is virtue, or the winning grace,
Of soft good humour, playing round the face;
[Page 209]Or what those modest antiquated charms,
That lur'd a Brutus to a Portia's arms;
Or all the hidden beauties of the mind,
Compar'd with gauze, and tassels well combin'd?
This mighty theme produc'd a long debate,
On the best plan to save a sinking state;
The oratorial fair, as they inclin'd,
Freely discuss'd, and frankly spake their mind.
Lamira wish'd that freedom might succeed,
But to such terms what female ere agreed?
To British marts forbidden to repair,
(Where ev'ry lux'ry tempts the blooming fair,)
Equals the rigour of those ancient times
When Pharaoh, harden'd as a G— in crimes,
Plagu'd Israel's race, and tax'd them by a law,
Demanding brick, when destitute of straw;
Miraculously led from Egypt's port,
They lov'd the fashions of the tyrant's court;
Sigh'd for the leeks, and waters of the Nile,
As we for gewgaws from Britannia's isle;
That haughty isle, whose mercenary hand,
Spreads wide confusion round this fertile land,
Destroys the concord, and breaks down the shrine,
By virtue rear'd, to harmony divine.
Prudentia sigh'd—shall all our country mourn,
A powerful despot's low'ring, haughty frown,
Whose hostile mandates, sent from venal courts,
Rob the fair vintage, and blockade our ports;
While troops of guards are planted on each plain,
Whose crimes contagious, youth and beauty stain?
Fierce rancour blazen'd on each breast's display'd,
And for a crest, a gorgon's snaky head.
[Page 210]
The good, the wise, the prudent, and the gay,
Mingle their tears, and sighs for sighs repay;
Deep anxious thought each gen'rous bosom fills,
How to avert the dread approaching ills;
Let us resolve on a small sacrifice,
And in the pride of Roman matrons rise;
Good as Cornelia, or a Pompey's wife,
We'll quit the useless vanities of life.
Amidst loud discord, sadness, and dismay,
Hope spread her wing, and flit across the away:
Thanks to the sex, by heavenly hand design'd,
Either to bless, or ruin all mankind.
A sharp debate ensu'd on wrong and right,
A little warm, 'tis true, yet all unite,
At once to end the great politic strife,
And yield up all but real wants of life.
But does Helvidius, vigilant and wise,
Call for a schedule, that may all comprise?
'Tis so contracted, that a Spartan sage,
Will sure applaud th' economizing age.
But if ye doubt, an inventory clear,
Of all she needs, Lamira offers here;
Nor does she fear a rigid Cato's frown,
When she lays by the rich embroider'd gown,
And modestly compounds for just enough—
Perhaps, some dozens of more slighty stuff;
With lawns and lustrings—blond, and mecklin laces,
Fringes and jewels, fans and tweezer cases;
Gay cloaks and hats, of every shape and size,
Scarfs, cardinals, and ribbons of all dyes;
With ruffles stamp'd, and aprons of tambour,
Tippets and handkerchiefs, at least, three score;
[Page 211]With finest muslins that fair India boasts,
And the choice herbage from Chinesan coasts;
(But while the fragrant hyson leaf regales,
Who'll wear the homespun produce of the vales?
For if 'twould save the nation from the curse
Of standing troops; or, name a plague still worse,
Few can this choice delicious draught give up,
Though all Medea's poisons fill the cup.)
Add feathers, furs, rich sattins, and ducapes,
And head dresses in pyramidial shapes;
Side boards of plate, and porcelain profuse,
With fifty ditto's that the ladies use;
If my poor treach'rous memory has miss'd,
Ingenious T—l shall complete the list.
So week Lamira, and her wants so few,
Who can refuse?—they're but the sex's due.
In youth, indeed, an antiquated page,
Taught us the threatenings of an Hebrew sage
'Gainst wimples, mantles, curls, and crisping pins,
But rank not these among our modern sins:
For when our manners are well understood,
What in the scale is stomacher or hood?
"Tis true, we love the courtly mein and air,
The pride of dress, and all the debonair;
Yet Clara quits the more dress'd negligee,
And substitutes the careless polanee;
Until some fair one from Britannia's court,
Some jaunty dress, or newer taste import;
This sweet temptation could not be withstood,
Though for the purchase's paid her father's blood;
Though loss of freedom were the costly price,
Or flaming comets sweep the angry skies;
[Page 212]Or earthquakes rattle, or volcanoes roar;
Indulge this trifle, and she asks no more:
Can the stern patriot Clara's suit deny?
'Tis beauty asks, and reason must comply.
But while the sex round folly's vortex play,
Say, if their lords are wiser far than they;
Few manly bosoms feel a nobler flame,
Some cog the dye, and others win the game;
Trace their meanders to their tainted source,
What's the grand pole star that directs their course?
Perhaps revenge, or some less glaring vice,
Their bold ambition, or their avarice,
Or vanity unmeaning, throw the bowl;
'Till pride and passion urge the narrow soul,
To claim the honours of that heavenly flame,
That warms the breast, and crowns the patriot's name.
But though your wives in fripperies are dress'd,
And public virtue is the minion's jest,
America has many a worthy name,
Who shall, hereafter, grace the rolls of fame.
Her good Cornelias, and her Arrias fair,
Who, death, in its most hideous forms, can dare,
Rather than live vain fickle fortune's sport,
Amidst the panders of a tyrant's court;
With a long list of gen'rous, worthy men,
Who spurn the yoke, and servitude disdain;
Who nobly struggle in a vicious age,
To stem the torrent of despotic rage;
Who leagu'd, in solemn covenant unite,
And by the manes of good Hampden plight,
That while the surges lash Britannia's shore,
Or wild Ni'gara's cataracts shall roar,
And Heaven looks down, and sanctifies the deed,
They'll fight for freedom, and for virtue bleed.
[Page 213]
TO FIDELIO, Long absent on the great public Cause, which agitated all America, in 1776.
THE hill tops smile o'er all the blooming mead,
As I alone, on Clifford's summit tread;
Traverse the rural walks, the gurgling rills,
Survey the beauties of th' adjacent hills;
Taste the delights of competence and health,
Each sober pleasure reason lends to wealth:
Yet o'er the lawn a whisp'ring echo sighs,
Thy friend is absent—my fond heart replies—
Say—do not friendship's joys outweigh the whole?
'Tis social converse, animates the soul.
Thought interchang'd, the heavenly spark improves,
And reason brightens by the heart it loves;
While solitude sits brooding o'er her cares,
She oft accelerates the ills she fears;
And though fond hope with silken hand displays,
The distant images of halcyon days,
Her sable brow contracts a solemn air,
That treads too near the threshold of despair;
'Till heav'n benign the choicest blessings lend,
The balm of life, a kind and faithful friend:
This highest gift, by heav'n indulged, I claim;
Ask, what is happiness?—My friend, I name:
Yet while the state, by fierce internal war,
Shook to the centre, asks his zealous care,
I must submit, and smile in solitude,
My fond affection, my self love subdu'd:
The times demand exertions of the kind,
A patriot zeal must warm the female mind.
[Page 214]
Yet, gentle hope!—come, spread thy silken wing,
And waft me forward to revolving spring;
Or ere the vernal equinox returns,
At worst, before the summer solstice burns,
May peace again erect her cheerful stand,
Disperse the ills which hover o'er the land;
May every virtuous noble minded pair,
Be far remov'd from the dread din of war;
Then each warm breast where gen'rous friendships glow,
Where all the virtues of the patriot flow,
Shall taste each joy domestic life can yield,
Nor enter more the martial bloody field.
But, hark!—alas! the brave Montgomery dies,
Oh, heaven forbid that such a sacrifice,
My country or my sex should yield again,
Or such rich blood pour o'er the purpled plain:
May guilty traitors satiate the grave,
But let the sword forever—spare the brave;
I weep his fall—I weep the hero slain,
And mingle sighs with his Janetta's pain:
Yet while I weep, and lend the pitying sigh,
I bow the knee, and lift my soul on high,
That virtue, struggling with assiduous pains,
May free this country from despotic chains.
Long life I ask, and blessings to descend,
And crown the efforts of my constant friend;
My early wish, and evening prayer the same,
That virtue, health, and peace, and honest fame,
May hover o'er thee, till time's latest hour,
Commissionate the dread resistless power;
Then gently lay thee by thy Marcia's clay,
'Till both shall rise, and on a tide of day,
[Page 215]Be wafted on, and skim the ambient plains
Through lucid air, and see the God who reigns.
Where cherubims in borrow'd lustre shine,
We'll hand in hand our grateful homage join;
Beneath his throne, where list'ning angels stand,
With raptur'd seraphs wait his least command.
Clifford Farm, 1776.
[Page 216]
To HONORIA, on her JOURNEY to DOVER, 1777.
FANCY, for once, her airy wing shall spread,
And stretch her pinions o'er the verdant mead;
But not to sing of fierce, or hostile ranks,
Or heroes conq'ring on the Ganges' banks;
Nor frozen Danube, nor the Tyber's stream,
But happy Dover, is my gentler theme.
With good Honoria would I trace the scene,
The flow'ry lawns, the grots of evergreen;
The lofty elms, and all the blooming pride,
Where Dover's silv'ry winding waters glide;
Pleas'd with the bounties that kind nature pours
Profusely down from her exhaustless stores:
But yet I feel my feeble pinions droop,
Nor dare I trust the silken wing of hope;
Lest when exalted in my brittle car,
To sail aloft as phaeton in air,
I meet the fate of that presumptuous youth,
Whose mad ambition taught one solemn truth;
And bade dull genius tread his destin'd sphere,
Nor scorch his wings by venturing too near,
The sacred mount, devoted to the muse,
And thus disgusted, all the nine refuse,
To dictate numbers that may flow with ease,
And most I fail, when most I wish to please.
Will the soft mantle of a gentle friend,
Then cover all that truth cannot commend?
Yet this, perhaps, might frustrate my design,
She, in oblivion, might enwrap each line;
[Page 217]For every portrait that my pen can paint,
To her descriptive eloquence is faint;
As while beside the winding stream she roves,
And views the prospects from the pleasing groves,
She lifts her heart to celebrate the hand,
That scatters blessings o'er this happy land;
This land of plenty, this delicious vine,
By heav'n mark'd out for some august design.
Truth's sacred banners may be here unfurl'd,
And genius spread her graces o'er the world;
Here other Boyles or Newtons yet may rise,
And trace the wonders of the western skies;
More than one W—p may adorn the seat,
Of bright Apollo's favorite retreat;
When Harvard's sons may spread the arts refin'd,
Diffusing knowledge o'er the human mind;
While every star its kindly influence lends,
'Till Harvard's fame throughout the world extends.
Then smiling Ceres, placid and serene,
Shall unmolested her ripe vintage glean;
Sweet harmony erect her graceful head,
And happy peasants tread the cheerful glade.
Events roll o'er, and on the wing of time,
Disclose new wonders—systems more sublime;
Yet rapid thought anticipates the scene,
Sees empire rising with majestic mein;
When peace again shall glad Columbia's shore,
And conq'ring heroes freedom shall restore;
When troops no more are canton'd round the plain,
Nor vict'ries won, nor routed armies slain;
When fresh blown laurels spring from Warren's grave,
Freedom to dress, and decorate the brave,
[Page 218]For whom kind fortune wreathes the crown of fame,
And stamps th' initials of her fav'rite name;
When Washington, conspicuous o'er the rest,
By heroes, patriots, and by foes caress'd,
May quit the field, and court the rural scene;
There with his friend, the good and valiant Greene,
With conscious worth each victory review,
And still Columbia's happiness pursue.
Yet both must weep the cold Canadian plain,
Where a Montgom'ry, and a Wolfe were slain.
How have I left fair Dover's rippling stream,
To gurgle on, and touch'd a bolder theme!—
Forgive my wand'ring from the beauteous groves,
Where warb'ling songsters chant their vernal loves.
Vast crowded scenes, have rush'd upon the mind,
And led me far from what I first design'd.
I'll check the sallies of my rambling muse,
If candor these excursions will excuse:
Or if my friend, the good Helvidius, deign,
To hark a moment to the pu'rile strain;
If from the wonders of the vast expanse,
Where viewing long the planetary dance,
He from the starry region will descend,
And gently chide the follies a friend;
I'll mark the censure as a proof sincere
Of gen'rous friendship, and the frown revere;
Though it enjoins long silence on my pen,
The mandate I'll obey—nor write again.
[Page 219]
LINES, Written after a very severe TEMPEST, which cleared up extremely pleasant.
WHEN rolling thunders shake the skies,
And lightnings fly from pole to pole;
When threat'ning whirlwinds rend the air,
What terrors seize th' affrighted soul!—
Aghast and pale with thrilling fear,
He trembling stands in wild amaze;
Nor knows for shelter where to hide,
To screen him from the livid blaze.
Happy the calm and tranquil breast,
That with a steady equal mind,
Can view those flying shafts of death,
With heart and will at once resign'd!—
Oh! thou Supreme Eternal King,
At whose command the tempests rage,
With equal ease can worlds destroy,
Or with a word, the storm assuage.
And though impetuous tempests roar,
And penetrating flames surround,
Thou bid'st them cease—the thunder's hush'd,
And rest and silence reign profound.
Thus have we seen thy power and might,
Adoring, we thy works survey;
'Tis thou direct'st the pointed flame,
And thus thy goodness dost display.
[Page 220]
Thou hast compos'd the rapid winds,
And lull'd to rest the foaming wave;
The clouds dispers'd, each twinkling star
Proclaims aloud thy power to save.
The silver moon, the glorious orbs,
That swim aloft in boundless space,
Their rays resplendent all unite,
To celebrate at once thy praise.
[Page 221]
To a YOUNG GENTLEMAN, residing in FRANCE.
THE new year opes—the early morning dawns,
Broad sheets of silver dress the whiten'd lawns;
Bleak winter rises from the brindled north,
The tempest shakes, and furious blasts pour forth.
From nature's dawn, to nature's latest hour,
Each spangled leaf bespeaks creative pow'r;
The vernal dew drops, or autumnal breath,
That wraps the foliage in the arms of death;
The yew, the cypress, or the blooming rose,
India's long summer, or the Lapland snows,
Alike proclaim, what sceptic fools deny,
The soul's support—a providential eye.
This glorious truth my opening lids survey'd,
My grateful heart its early homage paid;
Then swiftly wafts its warmest wishes o'er
To find * * * on the Gallic shore.
"Long health, long peace, long happiness attend,"
The lovely youth, and bring me back my friend,
Unhurt, unshackled by the triple chains
Of folly, pride, or pleasure's guilty scenes.
When he has travell'd o'er from stage to stage,
The distant world, and read life's gaudy page,
Oh! may he quit th' illusive, airy chace,
And retrospect the happy path of peace.
True happiness consists in real worth,
And makes her exit when lost sight of truth;
The heaven born prize is not the gift of gold,
Of princes, statesmen, or whole countries sold;
[Page 222]'Tis not the lap of luxury display'd
In all the spoils of innocence betray'd;
Nor will the smiles of witlings or of kings,
The laugh licentious of such motley things,
Give joy or peace to sterling worth or sense,
'Tis honest probity, with competence,
That calms the mind, and smooths the manly mein,
And shews the world true happiness within.
Search o'er the globe—the circling ball traverse—
Let British bards their Gothic tales rehearse;
Let Grecian pens, or modern poets sing,
The feats of ancients, or of Bourbon's king;
The sage, the bard, the scepter'd hand, combin'd,
Have nought to barter for a virtuous mind.
The herald's page, emblazoning high birth,
The longest list of ancestry on earth,
Ennobles not, nor dignifies the son,
'Till merit makes the deeds renown'd, his own.
Methinks I hear the youthful bosom sigh,
And nature whisper fancy's fond reply;
"These old ideas are quite out of date,
Can man be happy without pomp or state?
He who can wealth and pageantry disclaim,
May mark the willows with his blighted name;
Hid in the caverns of some dark retreat,
And wrap'd in canvas, the wild anchoret
May weep, or rave in silence or despair,
And groans reecho with the whistling air."
Not so, my son, did Hercules demean,
When rival goddesses adorn'd the scene;
The Cyprian queen a thousand lurements spread,
A modest glory crown'd Minerva's head;
[Page 223]Pleasure's bright nymph new deck'd her charming face,
But virtue beckon'd with a milder grace;
Love's little urchin, by his mother taught,
Ten thousand joys in fancy's bosom wrought;
Fond wishes warm'd, the youthful hero sigh'd,
'Till Virtue shew'd him to the gods alli'd.
The spark celestial kindled in his breast,
The man, the hero, and the god confess'd;
Pleasure turn'd pale, and drop'd her wither'd wand,
Triumphant Virtue lent her willing hand,
And led him on to every glorious deed
His ancestors atchiev'd, or heav'n decreed.
Thy native land is big with mighty scenes,
And fate rolls rapid o'er her vivid greens;
What time unfolds, the muse must yet conceal,
And leave a blank for bolder pens to fill;
But ere she quits the dark prophetic lays,
Let her retrace, and recollect the days,
When, by the margin of the western tide,
Young empire sprung from proud oppression's side;
The infant flourish'd, nurs'd by freedom's hand,
Who spread her banners o'er a bleeding land.
Economy, to virtue close alli'd,
A frugal pair, with wisdom by their side,
And ruddy health, Aurora's offspring smil'd,
And promis'd vigour to the new born child;
The maid, caress'd by potentates and kings,
Rais'd high her fame, and spread her growing wings.
But, 'midst the prospect suddenly appear'd,
A hideous form whose front by heaven was fear'd;
From envy's gulph the phantom seem'd to rise,
His head he rear'd, and roll'd his redden'd eyes;
[Page 224]His forky fang, and livid lip, reveal'd,
The crooked form, a gaudy vest conceal'd;
Large tablets mark'd the monster's gally breast,
And AV'RICE stood conspicuous on his crest;
His tainted breath infects from shore to shore,
And poisons all the generous fountains o'er.
True public spirit floated down the tide,
While dissipation danc'd by folly's side;
Soft silken breezes fan'd her fluttering wing,
And golden showers hid her guilty sting;
The molten calves fall prostrate at her shrine,
Sip the new joys, mistaken for divine.
A sudden gust, in part, the mist dispell'd,
And shew'd Columbia on a broken shield:
She wept, and totter'd on the rapid stream,
'Till it rush'd back, and broke the flattering dream:
Her trembling lip in quivering accents said,
Alas! am I by half my friends betray'd?
Though noble names from distant realms repair,
And breathe new vigour in the northern air;
Yet dangers threat, and distant thunders roar;
Convulsive storms may rage from shore to shore.
If Attic annals don't mislead the muse,
And old Amphyctions had their private views,
Some latent spark of wild, exotic growth,
Engender'd there, may flourish in the south;*
Ambitious Philips live in modern times,
And bold improvements make on Grecian crimes.
Yet in the field exalted heroes stand,
And, while he lives, may Washington command!
[Page 225]The social virtues claim him for their own,
An hero born, fair freedom's favorite son;
Fresh myrtles spring, and never fading bays,
Live where he fought, and mark his glorious days;
While virtue's hand enrols La Fayette's name,
And ranks him high on the bright list of fame.
Is thy young bosom warm'd with patriot zeal?
An ardent glow to serve the common weal?
Or does ambition lead thee to the field,
In war to conflict, and the faulchion wield?
From Hector's days to haughty Caesar's time,
When sinking Rome, ingulph'd in every crime,
When ravag'd Gaul had swell'd the tyrant's pride,
And crimson torrents wash'd the Danube's side;
Nor yet when Charles, and his more bloody son,
On carnage fed, till Europe was undone;
(The Rhine ran red, the low lands overflow'd,
And every city smoak'd with patriot blood:)
Yet history has never mark'd a page,
With feats more glorious than the present age;
No smitten plains, or reeking fields afford,
A fairer cause to draw an hero's sword,
Than does thy country, ravag'd and distress'd,
While war's hoarse clarion roars from east to west.
Yet private virtue wants the youth's support;
Leave all the fopperies of a foreign court;
* * * come, with every virtue fraught,
By principle and precept, early taught,
A bright example shine among the first,
Good as thy fire—as Aristides just;
Then may thy youth and manners both engage,
And smile contempt on folly's pu'rile rage.
[Page 226]
When wintry blasts no more shall tear the plain,
And thy fond wishes bear thee o'er the main;
When soft Favonius fans the vernal breeze,
And Boreas' breath shall cease to lash the seas;
My forest birds sweet warbling notes shall sing,
And hail thy welcome with returning spring.
The long lov'd mansion that first gave thee birth,
The happy dome that nurs'd thy early youth,
Is left awhile to taste the sylvan gale,
As life treads downwards thro' time's narrow vale;
And if benignant heaven still protect,
And tow'rds thy natal soil thy steps direct,
Haste to the villa on the southern side
Of sweet Tremont, whose wavy waters glide
Near the fair summit of a lofty mount,
Where wild woods shade a soft meandering fount,
That gently rolls and forms a small cascade,
By nature's hand irregularly made;
The towering oaks and rising hill tops vie
To shade the radiance of the western sky;
The sloping lawns and flowery meads combine
To form the landscape on a bold design;
The opening bay a winding river bounds,
And scatter'd isles erect their verdant mounds;
The grey ey'd morn her streaked pinions spreads,
And distant mountains rear their blushing heads;
The broad Atlantic's rolling tide between,
Heightens the grandeur of th' enchanting scene;
The whiten'd surges gently wash the shore,
While silver rills run softly rippling o'er.
The fragrant banks, whose native borders rise
In beauteous foliage of a thousand dyes;
[Page 227]The tufted flowers meet the clustering vine,
That wildly rambles o'er the conic pine;
The darkening cedars form the grotto's shade,
And greener willows fan the fertile glade;
A little alcove opes on either hand,
Where the tall larch and vivid limes ascend;
The lengthen'd vista widens through the dale,
Where sportive flocks play o'er the glossy vale;
From hence we view along the watery way,
Great Bourbon's flag and streaming pendants play.
In this retreat reside thy happy friends,
Content and health benignant heaven lends;
A social board, with frugal plenty crown'd,
A generous welcome smiles on all around;
The day glides on, and when the eve returns,
Fraternal love in every bosom burns;
Each virtue planted in the youthful breast,
The parents smile, in future prospects blest.
Domestic peace, a conscious upright mind,
Is honour, wealth, and every good combin'd:
Return, my son, for nothing else we need,
To see thee happy, would be bliss indeed.
Milton, January 1, 1782.
[Page 228]
To a patriotic Gentleman, who presented a small Book of Bark, requesting a POEM might be written therein, on PRIMITIVE SIMPLICITY.
ON the smooth papyrus of ancient times,
Nature's bright charms, I'd paint in simple rhymes;
The bliss superiour of those happy days,
When on the bark the bard inscrib'd his lays;
But, when immers'd amidst ten thousand cares,
Domestic duties, and some foreign fears;
When avocations of the social kind,
Engross the heart, and fill the busy mind,
Pegasus often does his aid refuse,
And sentiment will not assist the muse.
Thus circumstanc'd, I'll not indulge the pride,
To pick one flower from Parnassus side;
Much less attempt its summit to explore,
Though much I love Scamander's rippling shore;
I'll check my wish, and drop my humble wing,
Pleas'd with the laurels that for others spring:
Yet snatch a moment, when my friends command,
And point the period with a willing hand;
And if the lagging numbers slowly move,
I'll hope a pardon from the voice of love.
Critics may censure, but if candour frowns,
I'll quit the pen, and keep within the bounds,
The narrow bounds, prescrib'd to female life,
The gentle mistress, and the prudent wife:
Maternal precepts, drawn from sacred truth,
Shall warm the bosom of the list'ning youth;
While the kind mother acts her little part,
And stamps the tablet on the infant heart,
[Page 229]Each fervent wish, I to my country lend,
And thus subscribe, the pa [...]riot's faithful friend.
SIMPLICITY.
DEEP in the bosom of old Time there stood,
Just on the margin of the sea green flood,
A virgin form, in lucid robes array'd,
Whose ebon tresses negligently play'd
In flowing ringlets, as the wavy main
Felt the soft breeze that fann'd the verdant plain;
While the young blush of innocence bespoke
Her innate worth in every graceful look;
Her meek ey'd aspect, modest and benign,
Evinc'd the fair one's origin divine;
Virtue, at once her ornament and shield,
And Truth the trident that the goddess held.
Beneath her reign, behold a happy race,
Who ne'er contested titles, gold, or place▪
[...]re commerce' whiten'd sails were wafted wide,
And every bosom caught the swelling pride
[...]f boundless wealth, surcharg'd with endless snares,
[...]xotic follies, and destructive cares;
[...]e arts, or elegance, or taste refin'd,
[...]nd tempting luxury, assail'd mankind;
[...]heir oaks and evergreens, and poplar shades,
[...] native beauty, rear'd their conic heads;
[...]he purple tinge with golden hues inwrought,
[...]n dappled forms, as sportive nature taught;
The silken foliage open'd through the mead,
And the clear font in wild meanders play'd;
Beside whose gentle murm'ring stream there stood
The humble hamlet, by the peasant trod,
[Page 230]Whose heart, unblacken'd by so mean a vice,
As lust of gold, or carking avarice;
No guilty bribes his whiten'd palm possess'd,
No dark suspicion lurk'd within his breast:
Love, concord, peace, and piety and truth,
Adorn'd grey hairs, and dignifi'd the youth;
There stingless pleasures crown'd the temp'rate feast,
And ruddy health, a constant welcome guest,
Fill'd up the cup, and smil'd at every board,
The friend and handmaid of her generous lord.
The rosy finger'd morn, and noontide ray,
The streaked twilight, or the evening grey,
Were pass'd alike in innocence and mirth,
No riot gendering [...]ow but certain death;
Unclouded reason guided all their way,
And virtue's self sat innocently gay;
The winged hours serenely glided by,
'Till golden Phoebus deck'd the western sky;
And when enwrap'd in evening's sable vest,
And midnight shadows hush'd the world to rest,
On the fam'd ladder, whose extended bars,
From earth's low surface reach'd beyond the stars,
From orb to orb, thought reach'd the airy void,
Through widen'd space the busy mind employ'd,
While angel guards to watch his fate were given
Prelusive dreams anticipated heaven.
But ere the bird of morn had hail'd the day,
Or warbling songsters chirp'd their early lay,
The grateful heart its joyful ma [...]ins rais'd,
And nature's God in morning anthems prais'd.
Thus happy that ideal golden age,
That lives descriptive in the poet's page;
[Page 231]But now, alas! in dark oblivion lost,
The sons of Adam know it to their cost;
Since God forbad the mother of mankind
To taste the fruit to which she most inclin'd:
Her taste so delicate, re [...]in'd and nice,
That the exuberance ev'n of Paradise,
The grassy banks beside the blue cascade,
The winding stream from Pison's golden head,
The spicy groves on Gihon's lengthen'd side,
Hidekel's font, Assyria's blooming pride,
The fruits luxuriant on Euphrates' shores,
The rich profusion that all Eden pours,
The shady dome, the rosy vaulted bower,
And nature deck'd with every fruit and flower,
Were insufficient, rude, and incomplete,
For taste ran wanton, and the fair must eat.
Since which the garden's closely lock'd by fate,
And flaming cherubs guard the eastern gate;
This globe is travers'd round from pole to pole,
And earth research'd to find so rich a dole
As happiness unmix'd;—the phantom flies,
No son of Eve has ever won the prize.
But nearest those, who nearest nature live,
Despising all that wealth, or pow'r can give,
Or glitt'ring grandeur, whose false optics place
The summum bonum on the frailest base;
And if too near the threshold of their door,
Pride blazes high, and clamours loud for more—
More shining pomp, more elegance and zest,
In all the wild variety of taste;
Peace and contentment are refin'd away,
And worth, unblemish'd, is the villain's prey.
[Page 232]
Easy the toil, and simple is the task,
That yields to man all nature bids him ask;
And each improvement on the author's plan,
Adds new inquietudes to restless man.
As from simplicity he deviates,
Fancy, prolific, endless wants creates;
Creates new wishes, foreign to the soul,
Ten thousand passions all the mind control;
So fast they tread behind each other's heels
That some new image on the fancy steals;
Ere the young embrio half its form completes,
Some new vagary the old plan defeats;
Down comes the Gothic or Corinthian pile,
And the new vista wears the Doric stile.
The finer arts depopulate and waste,
And nations sink by elegance and taste:
Empires are from their lofty summits rent,
And kingdoms down to swift perdition sent,
By soft, corrupt, refinements of the heart,
Wrought up to vice by each deceptive art.
Rome, the proud mistress of the world, displays
A lasting proof of what my pen essays;
High wrought refinement— usher'd in replete,
With all the ills that sink a virtuous state;
Their sumptuary laws grown obsolete,
They, undismay'd, the patriot's frown could meet;
Their simple manners lost—their censors dead,
Spruce petit maitres o'er the forum tread.
I weep those days when gentle Maro sung,
And sweetest strains bedeck'd the statt'rer's tongue;
When so corrupt and so refin'd the times,
The muse could stoop to gild a tyrant's crimes.
[Page 233]
Then paint and sculpture, elegance and song,
Were the pursuits of all the busy throng;
When silken commerce held the golden scales,
Empire was purchas'd at the public sales:
No longer liv'd the ancient Roman pride,
Her virtue sicken'd, and her glory di'd.
What blotted out the Carthaginian fame,
And left no traces but an empty name?—
Commerce! the source of every narrow vice,
And honour, barter'd at a trivial price.
By court intrigues, the Commonwealth's disgrac'd,
Both suffetes and senators debas'd:
By soft refinement, and the love of gold,
Faction and strife grew emulous and bold,
'Till restless Hanno urg'd his purpose on,
And Scipio's rival by his art's undone.
From age to age, since Hannibal's hard fate,
From Caesar's annals to the modern date,
When Brunswick's race sits on the British throne,
And George's folly stains his grandsire's crown;
When taste's improv'd by luxury high wrought,
And fancy craves what nature never taught;
Affronted virtue mounts her native skies,
And freedom's genius lifts her bloated eyes;
As late I saw, in sable vestments stand,
The weeping fair, on Britain's naked strand.
The cloud capt hills, the echoing woods and dales,
(Where pious druids dress'd the hallow'd vales;
And wrote their missels on the birchen rind,
And chanted dirges with the hollow wind,)
Breathe murmuring sighs o'er that ill fated isle,
Wrapt in refinements both absurd and vile.
[Page 234]
Proud Thames deserted—her commercial ports
Seiz'd and possess'd by hated foreign courts;
No more the lofty ships her marts supply,
The Nereids flap their watry wings and die:
Grey Neptune rises from his oozy bed,
And shakes the sea weed from his shaggy head;
He bids adieu to fair Britannia's shore,
The surge rebounds, and all the woodlands roar;
His course he bends towards the western main,
The frowning Titans join the swelling train,
Measure the deep, and lash the foaming sea,
In haste to hail the brave Columbia free:
Ocean rebounds, and earth reverberates,
And Heaven confirms the independent states;
While time rolls on, and mighty kingdoms fail,
They, peace and freedom on their heirs entail,
'Till virtue sinks, and in far distant times,
Dies in the vortex of European crimes.
Plymouth, October, 1779.
[Page 235]
On the DEATH of the Hon. JOHN WINTHROP, Esq. L. L. D. HOLLISIAN PROFESSOR of MATHEMATICKS and NATURAL PHILOSOPHY, at HARVARD COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
Addressed to his LADY.
A SERAPH shot across the plain,
The lucid form display'd,
The starry [...]ound he here explor'd,
And cry'd—"great Winthrop's dead."
Down through the planetary fields,
Where countless systems roll,
A Newton's glorious kindred shade,
Descends to meet his soul.
They through the trackless paths of light
Still wonder, and adore,
And mount towards the central source,
Of all creative power.
But lo! the sons of Harvard weep,
And science drops a tear,
Philosophy, her favorite mourns,
And stoic souls revere.
The wrangling disputant abash'd,
Adores great nature's God,
And zealously explores the path
Th' illustrious sage has trod.
As life forsook his dying lids,
Faith view'd the glorious prize,
[Page 236]Yet nature dropt a friendly tear
Before he reach'd the skies.
Though death with "dewy fingers cold,"
Pervades the sainted brow,
Compassion mov'd the quivering lip,
And in a last adieu—
He his last sanction to the truth,
To doubting sceptics leaves.
While weeping friends deplore his loss,
And sad Honoria grieves;
He sigh'd—"the ancient sages grop'd
"Through error's mazy round,
"Through earth and air, to hell's abyss,
"They sought one cause profound—
"One Great First Cause—in every form,
"In every star they greet,
"From Woden's dark and dreary cave,
"To Jove's etherial seat.
"They snatch'd each feeble ray of light,
"And cherish'd to a flame,
"As nature in ten thousand forms
"Spake one eternal name.
"Kind Heaven beheld a wandering world,
"With altars rear'd to fate,
"And condescended to reveal
"A pure, immortal state.
"But clearer light in modern time
"Our wiser youth has taught,
"Whatever Socrates might preach,
"Or gloomy Plato thought,
[Page 237]
"Are but enthusiastic dreams;
"And such, the perfect code,
"Seal'd by a messenger divine,
"The sacred son of God.
"By fancy's ebullitions swell'd
"With philosophic fume,
"Both Moses and Saint Paul renounce,
"For evangelic Hume.
"Shall such intelligence and thought
"As actuates a mind,
"Like reas'ning Locke, or pious Boyle,
"To Hades be consign'd?—
"No more to live—no more to think,
"But perish as the brute;
"This for the Christian faith and hope,
"Ah! what a substitute!—
"Witlings may sport at every truth
"The sacred page contains,
"And academic fools dispute
"With mazy, muddled brains;
"The word on Sinai's mount reveal'd
"Has demonstrative proof,
"Nor less the condescending grace
"Of a redeemer's love."
An heavenly energy divine,
Retarded long his mind,
While Angels heard the dying trill
In aid to truth design'd.
The musick of the spheres resounds,
And hasten'd his delay,
[Page 238]A cherub lower'd his golden wing
To waft him on his way.
He through a galaxy of light
By Newton's eye unseen,
Beyond the telescopic view
Of weak ey'd mortal men,
Treads o'er the pavement of the skies,
And looking down surveys,
A thousand transits gliding through
The vast etherial space.
Venus may pass the nether sun,
And worlds revolving roll;
The great astronomer beholds
The author of the whole.
Huygens's little tub [...]s thrown by,
And Gravesande's narrow scale.
To view the magnitude of plan▪
An Angel's opticks fail.
Hail! bright, exalted, happy soul,
Disrob'd of earth born clay,
Thine agile wing moves o'er the orbs
Through seas of liquid day.
But, hah!—the literary world
Laments the recent blow,
Beside the yew grown cover'd tomb,
Long—virtue's tears will flow.
His kind persuasive voice allur'd
To learning's happy seat,
And truth and friendship both combin'd
To bless the lov'd retreat.
[Page 239]
The listening youth hung on the lip
Where soft instruction flow'd,
In every emulative breast
The thirst of knowledge glow'd.
Some at Apollo's shrine may bow,
And ask another name,
To fill the philosophic chair
And reach a Winthrop's fame;
But, oh! thou great all perfect source!
Of knowledge, light, and truth,
Send in the prophet's flaming car,
A guide to Harvard's youth.
[Page 240]
LINES, Written on the anniversary of the death of Mr. C—W—, an amiable and accomplished young gentleman, who died in St. Lacar, 1785. His resignation, fortitude, and piety, witnessed the excellence of that religion which supported him with dignity and calmness, and through many months of languid illness, reason justified to him the hope of the Christian.
Oh! [...]end a moment to a parent's grief,
As wounded nature asks this kind relief!—
LONG have I trod o'er life's most brilliant stage,
Read its deceptive, visionary page,
Its richest hope in rapture lifted high,
I now survey with retrospective eye.
Its brightest boon, oft my transported heart
In fancy hug'd—but time's insidious dart
Check'd each fond wish—relentless swept away
As tender foliage in a frosty day,
Youth, vigour, friendship; and the ripening bloom
Of early genius, shrouds in C—s's tomb.
A youth just form'd, as if by heav'n design'd
To shew the virtues in a youthful mind;
His manners gentle, and his heart sincere,
Mild his deportment—but to vice severe;
He aim'd alone at life's sublimest end,
Rose to the saint, and soften'd to the friend.
With manly grace, and piety serene,
Met the last foe with an unclouded mein.
A burning hectic's secret fire betray'd,
'Till yielding nature bow'd his languid head;
[Page 241]When strangers' tears were sprinkled o'er his grave,
From which no tears, nor virtue's self could save.
Kind foreign hands have dress'd his sacred urn,
While weeping friends in distant climates mourn;
No brother's foot the solemn dirge attends,
Yet innate worth commanded many friends;
The father mourns with many a heartfelt sigh,
While to the grave bends the maternal eye;
Her busy mind, too curious, would inquire,
Why was he lent—or why so soon expire?
Is it from life's best joys my heart to wean?
Or are severer pangs behind the scene?—
Let me not ask—but humbly bow my will,
And own my God, the God of mercy still;
Adore and tremble at Jehovah's name,
Whose hand, omnific, still supports my frame;
Obey each precept of his laws divine,
Nor at the darkest providence repine;
Though strip'd of all earth calls its choicest store,
Yet if upheld by all supporting power,
I'll calmly walk on to life's utmost verge,
And, undismay'd, approach the boundless marge,
Of that broad space where mighty systems roll,
And radiant glories strike the wondering soul.
Then may the youth whose soul benign on earth,
Breath'd truth and sweetness from his early birth,
Descend a moment from the realms above,
Deputed thence a messenger of love,
To aid my faith, and catch the parting breath,
And waft my soul from the cold bed of death;
Lead the glad spirit through th' etherial sea,
And ope the gates to an eternal day.
[Page 242]
To an amiable FRIEND, Mourning the DEATH of an excellent FATHER.
LET deep dejection hide her pallid face,
And from thy breast each painful image rase;
Forbid thy lip to utter one complaint,
But view the glories of the rising saint,
Ripe for a crown, and waiting the reward
Of watching long the vineyard of his Lord.*
The generous purpose of his zealous heart,
Truth to enforce, and knowledge to impart,
Insures his welcome on the unknown shore
Where choirs of saints, and angel forms adore:
A seraph met him on the trackless way,
And strung his harp to join the heavenly lay.
Complain no more of Death's extensive power,
Whose sceptre wafts us to some blissful shore,
Where the rough billows that roll o'er the head,
That shake the frame, and fill the mind with dread,
Are hush'd in silence, and the soul serene
Looks back delighted on the closing scene.
Happy, thrice happy that exalted mind,
Who, leaving [...]arth and all its cares behind,
Has not a wish t [...] [...]ffle or control
The equal temp [...] of his tranquil soul—
Who, on a retrospect, is safe within,
No private passion, nor a darling sin,
Can check his hope, when death's insatiate power
Stands hovering on [...]he last decisive hour.
[Page 243]
This dreaded tyrant throws his forky wand,
And mows down millions with resistless hand;
From his research no sceptred prince can hide,
Though deck'd in all the luxury of pride.
Not all the splendor of a Saladin,
Not those who worship at Belona's shrine,
Not Caesar's triumphs, or a Pompey's fame,
Nor all the heroes of Rome's boasted name,
Could once evade, though e'er so wise or great,
The dreaded sentence of resistless fate,
Which strips the laurel from the good and brave,
And ranks the monarch with the meanest slave.
Cohorts of old, and slaves of modern Rome,
Promiscuously meet one common doom,
And drop as leaves in the autumnal blast,
While adamantine pens record the past;
And every action stands disclos'd on high,
Inscrib'd on columns fix'd beyond the sky;
Each virtuous deed, and every base pursuit,
That dignifies the man, or marks the brute.
Not seas of tears disa [...]m the grizzly king,
And virtue only antidotes his sting;
The eastern monarch, or the Grecian sage,
May bid defiance to death's wanton rage,
If inward peace insures the glorious prize,
That crowns the victor at the grand assize;
When pearls, nor gold, nor India's wealth obtains
Applause from him who o'er creation reigns.
Then weep no more, my friend, but all resign'd,
Submit thy will to the eternal mind,
[Page 244]Who watches o'er the movements of the just,
And will again reanimate the dust.
Thy sire commands—suppress the rising sigh—
He wipes the tear from thy too filial eye,
And bids thee contemplate a soul set free,
Just safe escap'd from life's tempestuous sea.
Could my we [...]k numbers, or my plaintive strain,
Or softest sympathy, relieve thy pain,
My willing heart its ready aid should lend
To sooth the sorrows of my weeping friend.
Let gratitude—(best feeling of the heart)
Whose raptur'd smiles the highest joys impart,
Inspire thy soul, and look abroad serene,
Survey all nature with a placid mein.
See early spring its swelling leaf expand,
Or ripening harvests court the reaper's hand;
Autumnal clusters pour their juices forth,
Or frowning winter blacken all the north;
Still let content and gratitude appear,
Through all the changes of the varying year;
Let not a wayward thought thy peace molest,
Or the least murmur e'er escape thy breast:
Look round, behold the brighten'd landscape gay,
The wavy poplars fan the ve [...]dant May,
The oaken tops are with the elm combin'd,
To weave a covert for the weary mind.
On every side the vary'd sweets appear,
And speak the power that marks the rolling year▪
Pleas'd with the grot, extinguish'd [...]y [...]rs,
Expand thy heart, and breathe a grateful prayer.
[Page 245]That when time's rapid car its course has run
A few more circuits round the central sun,
Thy friends and mine from death's umbrageous womb,
May burst the mansions of the darksome tomb,
With us unite in friendships more sublime,
And smile on all the ductile scenes of time.
FAITH, reach thy hand, and lead us o'er the deep,
While smiling Hope forbids we here should weep.
[Page 246]
The GENIUS of AMERICA weeping the absurd FOLLIES of the DAY.— October 10, 1778.
"O TEMPORA! O MORES!"
BENEATH the lofty pine that shades the plain,
Where the blue mount o'erlooks the western main,
I saw Columbia's weeping Genius stand,
A blacken'd scroll hung waving in her hand.
The pensive fair, in broken accents said,
Shall freedom's cause by vice be thus betray'd?—
Behold the schedule that unfolds the crimes
And marks the manners of these modern times.
She sigh'd and wept—the folly of the age,
The selfish passions, and the mad'ning rage
For pleasure's soft debilitating charms,
Running full riot in cold avarice' arms;
Who grasps the dregs of base oppressive gains,
While luxury in high profusion reigns.
Our country bleeds, and bleeds at every pore,
Yet gold's the deity whom all adore;
Except a few, whose probity of soul
No bribe could purchase, nor no fears control.
A chosen few, who dar'd to stem the tide
Of British vengeance in the pomp of pride,
When George's fleets with every sail unfurl'd,
And by his hand the reeking dagger hurl'd,
The sharpen'd steel, the angry furies held,
And Albion's offspring strew'd the purple field
With kindred blood, warm from his brother's veins,
The crimson flood each field and village stains;
[Page 247]Yet back recoil'd the reeking bloody hilt,
And slaughter'd millions mark'd the tyrant's guilt.
But 'midst the carnage the weak monarch made,
Stern bending down his awful grandsire's shade,
Bespoke the pupil of the Scottish thane,
"Why sully thus the glories of my reign?
"The western world oft for my house has bled,
"And Brunswick's friends lie mingled with the dead
"In yon fair fields of glory and renown,
"Now independent of thy trembling crown;
"The lustre of thy diadem is fled,
"The brightest jewel that adorn'd thy head;
"America—no more supports thy reign,
"Nor freedom will forgive her martyrs slain.
"As I shot down across th' empurpled plains,
"Whole cities burn'd, and Vulcan forg'd new chains.
"Yet dying patriots clasp'd the darling son,
"And bid him gird the warlike helmet on.
"The cold lip quiver'd on the blood stain'd ground,
"The spirit rising from the ghastly wound,
"The hero sob'd—the glorious work complete,
"And Britain's barbarous policy defeat;
"'Tis heav'n commands, and freedom is the prize,
"Adieu, my son—death seals thy father's eyes."
The stern majestic form about to rise,
The guardian goddess met him from the [...]ies;
"'Tis just, she cry'd—I urg'd the battle on,"
And, pointing down—"see, there the troph [...]s won,
"While they believ'd heav'n's uncontrol' decree,
"That virtue only made them brave and free."
[Page 248]
The trump of war from shore to shore resounds,
And the shrill echo o'er the vale rebounds;
The distant nations hear the dread alarm,
Enkindled Europe for the conflict arm;
The Gallic powers, the western peasants join,
And distant legions form in freedom's line;
America is hail'd from sea to sea,
Sits independent, glorious, and free;
Propitious heaven approv'd, and smil'd benign,
And guards of angels aided her design;
While still her senate, vigilant and wise,
Spreads wide her fame, and lifts her to the skies.
But he who holds the universal chain
Of all events, his system will maintain;
He through the whole creation has decreed,
Effects must follow as our actions lead;
All nature shews that heaven ne'er design'd,
Spite of themselves, to save and bless mankind.
The friendly genius lifted slow her veil,
And still hid half the melancholy tale—
When, lo! she sigh'd, the happy prospect dies,
Guilt has provok'd the vengeance of the skies;
As wealth pour'd in [...]om every distant shore,
The gaudy lap of luxury ran o'er;
The blacken'd passions all at once let loose,
And rampant crimes scarce ask'd for an excuse.
So dissolute—yet so polite the town,
Like Hogarth's days, the world's turn'd upside down;
Old Juvenal, who censur'd former crimes,
Or Churchill's pen, in more satiric rhymes,
Or crabbed Swift, in yet a rougher stile,
Might lash the vices of a venal isle;
[Page 249]If sermons, satires, or the law of heaven,
(Though it again from Sinai's mount were given,)
Should all combine to censure modish vice,
It can't be wrong, when fashion sanctifies.
Hogarth might paint, and Churchill lash the times,
Compar'd with moderns, modest were their crimes;
Not Swift himself could now defame the age,
Truth might be told in each sarcastic page;
Whoe'er delights to shew mankind absurd▪
The life in vogue may ample room afford.*
The early creed of lisping girls and boys,
Is taste, high life, and pleasure's guilty joys;
The modish stile the heedless parent taught,
And sins run rank, from levity of thought;
Ere the big cloud that shook the north retires,
Each generous movement of the soul expires;
All public faith, and private justice dead,
And patriot zeal by patriots betray'd;
While hot bed plants of yesterday shoot up,
Erect their heads, and reach the cedar's top.
Thankless to heaven, and to the men ingrate,
Who ventur'd all to save a sinking state;
Who kept the shatter'd bark, and stood the deck,
When timid he [...]smen left her as a wreck.
Those godlike men, those lovers of mankind,
Have nought to retrospect that pains the mind;
[Page 250]Placid they move amidst an heedless band,
And sigh in silence o'er a guilty land.
But when old Time is so decrepid grown,
His worn out car no more will bear him on,
When Fame throws by her faithless tinkling tube
That carol'd falsehoods round the list'ning globe,
The evergreens on yonder ether plains,
Eternal flourish to reward their pains.
Thus truth exhibits virtue in an age,
When vice, unblushing, stalk'd across the stage,
And star'd around with hideous prowling eyes,
To catch the [...]eedless witling as he [...]ies;
The disputant, who enters on the lift,
To foil a Newton, or to win at whist.
He lives a sceptic, if you take his word,
Thinks 'tis heroic to deny his God,
Or to dispute his providential care;
Deride his precepts, or to scoff at prayer.
His coat, his creed, his faith and genius too,
Are moderniz'd as fashion forms the cue;
Prompt and alert, with erudition fraught,
Than Locke, or Boyle, in ethics better taught;
He swears the taste the bon ton of the times,
By moralists can ne'er be constru'd crimes;
Most modern writers are much better bred,
Voltaire and Hoyle, the authors he has read,
Discard such antique, odd ideas of truth,
Such musty rules for regulating youth.
Lord Bolingbroke, among the wits a toast,
And Mandeville, the sceptic's empty boast,
Reason so clear, that e'en their pigmy race
Who swarm and cluster in each public place,
[Page 251]With scientific brow can demonstrate,
Whate'er the pious sage or priest may prate,
Virtue is an enthusiastic dream,
Reveal'd religion, a long worn out theme.
At bacchanalian feasts, it is the mode
To pour libations to the red ey'd God,
'Till penetration so out runs his sense,
That the arcana of omnipotence,
Brought to the reas'ner's superficial test,
The Christian code becomes his wanton jest.
Scarce any decent principles remain,
A fool's cap, perch'd on folly's feather'd brain,
Is the learn'd signal for the warm debate
On Voltaire's creed—or the decrees of fate;
'Till graceful * * so improves the plan,
The deist blushes at his bolder strain;
His flowing stile, and easy periods such,
His influence sinks, because he doubts too much.
This smooth romantic bard, from east to west,
Has conjur'd up each sceptical protest
'Gainst all religion—ev'n the most sublime,
Oral or wrote—of late or modern time.
All hope renounc'd of an immortal state,
By rote his pupils syllogisms prate—
Annihilation dissipates all fear,
We can but suffer—and enjoy while here.
As ignis fatuus floats from lake to bog,
The vapor plays in pestilential fog,
Sparkles and sinks in the dark marshy tomb,
As modern wits in metaphysic fume.
Yet they assume a self important air,
Or to confound, or proselyte the fair,
[Page 252]Who no ideas have of other heaven,
If dress, parade, and a gallant is given;
Who rail aloud 'gainst puritanic rules,
And learn their morals in deistic schools;
Who prattle nonsense with the half fledg'd beau,
Can cog the die, and raffle high or low;
In folly's lap, by childish passions toss'd,
On vanity's delusive shallow coast;
The rippling surface hides the deep abyss,
That gapes destruction, while the hydra's hiss,
Unheard as pleasure's fascinating song,
In gales perfum'd, the triflers hurl along.
While wide spread ruin stalks from door to door,
Famine and sword still threat'ning to devour,
How many dance on dissipation's wing,
No pen can paint, nor can the poet sing.
Profoundly learn'd, investigating truth,
And thus thrown off the shackles of his youth,
He's wisest sure who makes the most of life,
Prefers a mistress to a sober wife;
The coxcomb laughs, and revels life away,
While gaming high's the business of the day;
Pleasure shall dance in every festive bowl,
The Brute's secure—the Man has not a soul.