ECLOGUE II.
SILVA II.
CAMILLA. ALBANIO. SALICIO. NEMOROSO.
CAMILLA.
Echo the sound did much misrepresent,
If this is not the way the roebuck went
After 'twas struck; how swift it must have fled,
And with what strength, considering how it bled!
So deep the bearded shaft transfixed its side,
That the white feather was alone descried;
And now the search of what eludes my sight
Tires me to death. It can't have stretched its flight
Beyond this valley; it must surely be
Here, and perhaps expiring! oh that she,
My Lady of the Groves, would of her pack
Lend me a hound to follow up the track,
The whilst I sleep away the hours of heat
Within these woods!—Oh visitants most sweet!
Fresh, amorous, gentle, flavourous breezes, blow
In deeper gusts, and break this burning glow
Of the meridian sun! at length, I pass
My naked soles upon the cold green grass;
Thy sylvan toils this raging noon commit
To men, Diana, whom they best befit!
For once I dare thy horn to disobey;
Thy favourite chase has cost me dear to-day.
Ah my sweet fountain! from what paradise
Hast thou too cast me by a mere surprise?
Know'st thou, clear mirror, what thy glass has done?
Driven from me the delightful face of one,
Whose kind society and faith approved
I now no less desire than then I loved,
But not as he supposed; God grant that first
Her heart may break, ere vowed Camilla burst
The virgin band that binds her with the maids
Of dear Diana, and her sacred shades!
With what reluctance thought renews the sense
Of this sad history, but the youth's offence
Exculpates me; if of his absence I
Were the prime cause, I would most willingly
Myself condemn, but he, I recollect,
Both wilful was, and wanting in respect.
But why afflict myself for this? I yet
Would live contented, and the boy forget.—
These clear cool springs a lulling murmur make,
Here will I lie, and my sweet siesta take;
And when the sultry noon is over, go
Again in search of my rebellious roe:
Still 'tis a mystery and surprise to me
With such a wound how it so far could flee!
ALBANIO.
Methought, or frolic fancy must delight
With false presentments to deceive my sight,
I saw a wood-nymph, gliding through the groves,
Reach the near fountain; haply, if she loves,
She may advise me of some charm, may name
Some dear deceit to ease this painful flame:
No given advice but aggravates my grief,
If 'tis in discord with my own belief,
And to the hopeless harm can none accrue:
Oh holy Gods! what is it that I view?
Is it a phantom changed into the form
Of her whose beauty makes my blood run warm?
No, 'tis herself, Camilla, sleeping here;
It must be she—her beauty makes it clear!
But one such wonder Nature wished to make,
Then broke the die for admiration's sake.
How could I then suppose her not the same,
When Nature's self no second such can frame!
But now, though certain is the bliss displayed,
How shall I venture to awake the maid,
Dreading the light that lures me to her side?
And yet—if only for the pleasing pride
Of touching her, methinks that I might shake
This fear away; but what if she should wake?
To seize and not to loose her—soft! I fear
That daring act might make her more austere;
Yet, what is to be done? I wish to reach
My former seat beneath the shady beech,
And hers is slumber deep as death; she lies,
How beautifully blind! the bee that flies
Near her, the quarrelling birds, that old sweet tune
Hummed by the spring, all voices of the noon
Tease, but disturb her not; her face is free—
A charming book—to be perused by me,
And I will seize the' occasion; if the boughs
In being parted should from slumber rouse,
Strong to detain her I am still, though not
As when we last were seated on this spot:
Oh hands, once vigorously disposed to end me!
See you how much your power can now befriend me?
Why not exert it for my welfare!—small
The risk—one effort will suffice for all.
CAMILLA.
Aid me Diana!
ALBANIO.
Stir not! from my hold
Thou canst not break; but hear what I unfold.
CAMILLA.
Who would have told me of so rude a stroke?
Nymphs of the wood, your succour I invoke!
Save me, oh save! Albanio, this from thee?
Say, art thou frenzied?
ALBANIO.
Frenzy should it be,
That makes me love—oh more than life,—the cause
Of all my grief, who scorns me and abhors.
CAMILLA.
I ought, methinks, to be abhorred by thee,
To make thy speeches with thy deeds agree;
To seek to treat me so, at such a time!
Outrage on outrage heaping, crime on crime.
ALBANIO.
I commit outrage against thee! May I
In thy disgrace, my dear Camilla, die,
CAMILLA.
Hast thou not
Infringed our friendship on this very spot,
Seeking to turn it by a course amiss
From placid thoughts?
ALBANIO.
Oh holy Artemis!
Must the distraction of a single hour
Whole years of fond attention overpower,
When, too, repentance mourns the fault, and when—
CAMILLA.
Ah, this is always the sly way with men!
They dare the crime, and if the' event goes wrong,
Cry your forgiveness with the meekest tongue.
ALBANIO.
What have I dared, Camilla?
CAMILLA.
It is well;
Ask these dumb woods, this fountain, it shall tell;
There it remains in face of the pure skies,
The living witness of thy wrong device.
ALBANIO.
If death, disgrace, or pain can expiate
My fault, behold me here prepared to sate
Thy anger to the full.
CAMILLA.
Let go my wrist!
Scarce can I breathe; let go, I do insist!
ALBANIO.
Much, much I fear that thou wilt take the wing
Of the wild winds, and flee.
CAMILLA.
Fear no such thing!
With pure fatigue I am quite overcome;
Unhand me! Oh, my dislocated thumb!
ALBANIO.
Wilt thou sit still, if I my grasp forego,
Whilst by clear reasons I proceed to show
That without any reason thou with me
Wert wroth?
CAMILLA.
A pretty reasoner thou wilt be!
Well, free me that I may.
ALBANIO.
Swear first in sooth,
By our past friendship and our bygone youth.
CAMILLA.
Soothly I swear by the pure law sincere
Of our past friendship, to sit down and hear—
Thy chidings, sure enough; to what a state
Hast thou reduced my hand in this debate
By thy fierce grasp!
ALBANIO.
To what a state hast thou
Reduced my soul by leaving me till now!
CAMILLA.
My golden clasp, if that be lost—woe's me!
Unlucky that I am! 'tis gone, I see,
Fallen in this fatal vale! what mischief more?
ALBANIO.
I should not wonder if it dropped before,
In the deep Vale of Nettles.
CAMILLA.
I desire,
Where'er it dropped, to seek it.
ALBANIO.
That will tire
Still more my dear Camilla; leave that toil!
I'll find the clasp; I cannot bear the soil
Should scorch my enemy's white feet;—
CAMILLA.
Well, well,
Since you're so good—behold that beechen dell
In sunshine, look straight forward, there, below;
A full round hour I've there been spending:
ALBANIO.
So!
I see it now; but meanwhile pray don't go.
CAMILLA.
Swain, rest assured that I will die before
Thy apprehending hands affright me more.
ALBANIO.
Ah, faithless nymph! and is it in this mode
Thou keep'st thy plighted oath? Oh heavy load
Of curst existence! oh false love, to cheer
My drooping soul with hopes so insincere!
Oh painful mode of martyrdom! oh death,
Cool torturer, slow to claim my hated breath!
You give me cause to call high Heaven unjust;
Gape, empty earth, and repossess the dust
Of this rebellious body, which debars
The swift-winged soul from soaring to the stars!
I, I will let it loose; let them that dare
Resist—resist me?—of themselves take care,
It much concerns them! Can I not fulfil
My threats? die, go—here—there—where'er I will,
Spirit or flesh?
CAMILLA.
Hark! he desires to do
Himself some mischief; my worst fears were true,
And his mind wanders.
ALBANIO.
Oh that here I had
The man whose malice seems to drive me mad!
I feel discharged of a vast weight! it seems
I fly, disdaining mountains, woods, and streams,
My farm, flock, field, and dairy! Are not these
Feet? yes, with them I fly where'er I please.
And now I come to think, my body's gone;
It is the spirit I command alone.
Some one has stolen and hid it as I gazed
On the clear sky, somewhat too much amazed;
Or has it stayed behind asleep? I swear
A figure coloured like the rose was there,
Slumbering most sweetly; now, if that should be
My shape—no, that was far too fair for me.
NEMOROSO.
Poor head! I would not give a coin of brass
For thy discretion now.
ALBANIO.
To whom, alas,
Shall I give notice of the theft?
SALICIO.
'Tis strange,
And passing sad, to see the utter change
In this once sprightly youth, with whom we two,
My Nemoroso, have had much to do;
Mild, pleasant, good, wise, sociable, and kind,
The sweetest temper and sincerest mind.
ALBANIO.
I will find witness, or small power is left
Me 'gainst the man that did commit the theft,
And though my body's absent, as a foe
Will drive him on to death; ah, dost thou know
Aught of the thief, my gentle fountain fair?
Speak, if thou dost! so may the swart star ne'er
Sear thy fresh shades, or scorch thy silver spring,
But still green fairies round thee dance and sing.
There stands a man at bottom of the brook,
With laurel crowned, and in his hand a crook
Shaped like mine own, of oak: ho! who goes there?
Answer, my friend! Heaven help me! I declare
Thou' art deaf or dumb, some mortal foe I fear
To life's humanities; holla! give ear;
I am a disembodied soul; I seek
My body, which, in a malicious freak,
Some cruel thief has stol'n, it much has stirred me;
Deaf or not deaf I care not—have you heard me?
O gracious God! either my wayward brain
Wanders, or I behold my shape again;
Ha, my loved body! I no longer doubt thee,
I clearly see thy image; whilst without thee
I have been most unhappy—come, draw nigher,
End both thy exile and my lorn desire.
NEMOROSO.
I much suspect that his continual thought
And dreams of death, have in his fancy wrought
This pictured separation.
SALICIO.
As in sleep,
Ills which awake perpetually we weep,
Fraught with the grief that haunts the soul, remain,
And print their shadowy species on the brain.
ALBANIO.
If thou art not in chains, come forth to' endow
Me with the true form of a man, who now
Have but the title left; but if thou' art bound
By magic art, and rooted to the ground,
I pray thee speak! for if my piteous pleading
Should fail to touch the ear of Heaven unheeding,
I to the bowers of Tartarus will depart,
And storm fierce Pluto's adamantine heart,
As for his absent consort, unalarmed,
Did the fond lover, who with music charmed
Hell's grisly maids, and hushed, sweet harmonist,
The raging snakes that round their temples hissed!
NEMOROSO.
With what good arguments does he enforce
His mad opinions!
SALICIO.
The accustomed course
Of ingenuity awhile holds on,
When genius fails, and apprehension's gone;
Thus, though now frenzied, still a lucid vein
Runs through the dark ideas of his brain,
Having been what we knew him once.
NEMOROSO.
No more,
Praise him not to me, for my heart runs o'er
With grief to see him in so lost a strait.
ALBANIO.
I was considering what a painful state
This strange, sad exile is; for, to my mind,
Nor woods, nor oceans warred on by the wind,
Nor moated towers, nor mountains, pathless proved,
Nor others' sweet society beloved,
Cuts us asunder, but a slender wall
Of water, lucid, but preventing all
The blissful union we desire so much;
For from that surface where we all but touch
Thou never dost depart, and seemest never
Satiate with gazing, by each fond endeavour
Of becks, and smiles, and gestures, signifying
Desire of junction, duteous, but denying;
Brother, reach out thy arm, that we may shake
Hands like good friends, and for past friendship's sake,
Once more embrace! ha! mock'st thou me? dost thou
Fly from me thus? 'tis acting not, I vow,
As a friend should; I from the fountain's froth
Am dripping wet, and thou, too, art thou wroth—
Poor Sir Unfortunate? ha! ha! how swift
Thy—what is it? thy figure thou dost shift;
Ruffled, disturbed, and with a writhen face!
That this unlucky thing now should take place!
I was consoled in seeing so serene
Thy amorous image and thy smiling mien.
No happy thing with me will now endure!
NEMOROSO.
Nothing at least that will thy frenzy cure.
SALICIO.
Let us depart; fresh furies now begin
To storm his soul.
ALBANIO.
Oh heav'n! why not leap in,
And reach the centre of the fountain cold?
SALICIO.
What foolish fancy's this, Albanio? hold!
ALBANIO.
Oh the clear thief! but how? what? is it well
To' invest thyself with my secreted shell
Of flesh, before my face? oh insolence!
As if I were a block devoid of sense
And common feeling; but this hand shall slay,
And pluck thy daring spirit out.
SALICIO.
Away!
Come thou; I am not equal to the task
Of mastering him.
NEMOROSO.
What would'st thou?
SALICIO.
Canst thou ask,
Kinsman unkind, what would I? disengage
My hand and throat, if his malicious rage
Give me but power.
NEMOROSO.
Act no such petty part;
Thou canst but do thy duty where thou art.
SALICIO.
Is this a time for pleasantry and play?
Sport'st thou with life? come instantly, I pray!
NEMOROSO.
Anon: I'll stand awhile aloof, and see
How from a madcap thou thyself canst free.
SALICIO.
Alas! I strike for self-defence.
ALBANIO.
Although
You die—
NEMOROSO.
It is too true; madman, let go!
ALBANIO.
I'll end him; but one moment let me be.
NEMOROSO.
Off, off this instant!
ALBANIO.
Why, how harm I thee?
NEMOROSO.
Me? not in any wise.
ALBANIO.
Then homeward turn,
And meddle not in what you've no concern.
SALICIO.
Ha, madman! pinion him and hold him tight,
For mercy's sake; I'll do for thee, sir knight!
Hold fast his elbows whilst the cord I tie;
Sound of the switch perchance may terrify
His proud soul to submission.
ALBANIO.
Noble lords,
If I be still, will you put up your swords?
SALICIO.
No.
ALBANIO.
Would you kill me?
SALICIO.
Yes.
ALBANIO.
A harmless gnat!
Look how much higher this rock is than that.
NEMOROSO.
'Tis well; he shortly will forget his vaunt.
SALICIO.
Soft; for 'tis thus they use such minds to daunt.
ALBANIO.
What! lashed and pinioned?
SALICIO.
Hush, give ear.
ALBANIO.
Woe's me!
Dark was the hour when first I strove with thee,
So harsh thou smitest; were we not before
As brothers fond; shall we be such no more?
NEMOROSO.
Albanio, friend beloved, be silent now;
Sleep here awhile, and move not.
ALBANIO.
Knowest thou
Any news of me?
SALICIO.
Mad, poor fool!
ALBANIO.
Agreed.
Soft, for I sleep.
SALICIO.
Indeed dost thou?
ALBANIO.
Indeed!
Sound as the dead! what motion do I make?
Only observe me.
SALICIO.
Hush! the wand I shake
Shall pay the price of thy rebellious will,
If thou unclose an eye.
NEMOROSO.
He is more still
And tranquil than he was: Salicio,
What are thy thoughts; can he be cured, or no?
SALICIO.
To use all gentle methods that may tend
Or to the life or health of such a friend,
Is our just duty.
NEMOROSO.
Hark then for a space
To what I say; a singular strange case
Will I relate, of which—but let that pass—
I both the witness and the subject was.
On Tormes' banks, the sweetest stream of Spain,
Mild, sacred, clear, extends a spacious plain,
Green in mid-winter, green in autumn, green
In sultry summer as in spring serene;
At the far end of which, the eye's delight,
Charming in form, and of a pleasing height,
A hill o'erlooks the scene, whose wood-crowned crest
Fair towers surmount, whereon heaven seems to rest:
Towers of strange beauty, not so much admired
For their fine structure, although Toil has tired
Thereon his curious chisel, as renowned
For their grand Lords by glory haloed round.
All that is deemed desirable and great
May there be found, rank, wisdom, virtue, state,
The gifts of Nature, and the stores of Art,
Whatever Taste can wish, or Power impart.
There, dwells a man of genius, whose rare touch
Of the melodious lyre and pipe is such
As ne'er to satiate with its notes of grace
And flavourous tones, the Spirit of the place.
On Trebia's field stood his paternal home,
Trebia the red, the' Aceldama of Rome,
And still, though numerous years have intervened,
The favourite refuge of the same fierce fiend—
Of war, whose crimson sword its turf has stained,
Its green bowers ravaged, its pure waves profaned.
He, seeing this, abandoned it to find
Some scene more suited to his gentle mind:
Good fortune led his footsteps to the hall
Of Alba, so that splendid seat they call,
Severo him; the God of wit and light
Pours all his rays on his sciential sight.
He, when he wills, by signs and murmured spells,
Can curb the swiftest, mightiest stream that swells;
Change storms to golden calms, change night to noon,
Bid thunders bellow, and pluck down the moon,
If to his signals she will not reply,
And check the car that whirls her through the sky.
I fear, should I presume to speak in praise
Of all his power and wisdom, I should raise
His wrath, but this I must declare, above
All other things, the pangs of slighted love
He in an instant cures, removes the pain,
Converts impassioned frenzy to disdain,
Sadness to smiles, and on the soul's tuned keys
Rewakes its old familiar melodies.
I shall not know, Salicio, I am sure,
To tell the means and method of my cure,
But this I know, I came away quite sound,
Pure from desire, and vigorous from my wound.
I well remember that by Tormes' stream
I found him rapt in some pathetic theme,
Singing in strains whose sweetness might imprint
The soul of feeling in a heart of flint:
When me he saw, divining my desire,
He changed the mode, and rectified his lyre;
The praise of liberty from love he sings,
And with a sprightlier spirit smites the strings;
Reflected in his song, I stand confest
The slave of sense, and alien from all rest,
Shamed and surprised, till—how shall I explain
That strange effect?—the fascinating strain
The tincture takes of medicine, which, in brief,
Flows through my veins, and, grappling with my grief,
Roots out the venom: then was I as one
Who all night long o'er break-neck crags has run,
Not seeing where the path leads, till at last
Light dawns, and looking back, the perils passed
Rush on his sight, now so distinctly kenned,
The mere idea sets his hair on end:
So thunderstruck stood I, nor to this day
Can I, without a shudder of dismay,
Eye my past danger; my new scope of sight
Presented all things in their proper light,
And showed what I before with such a gust
Had grasped for gold, to be but worthless dust.
Such was the talisman, and such the skill
With which that ancient sage uncharmed my will;
My mind its native liveliness regained,
And my heart bounded as from bonds unchained.
SALICIO.
Oh fine old age! ev'n fruitful in thy snows,
That to the soul thus bring'st its lost repose,
Weaning the heart from love, the ungentle gust
That blasts our hopes, or weds them with the dust.
Merely from that with which thou hast amazed
My ear, I feel strong wishes in me raised,
To see and know him.
NEMOROSO.
Does thy wonder mount
So high, Salicio, at this poor account?
More could I say, if I were not afraid
To tire thy patience.
SALICIO.
What is this thou' hast said,
Unthinking Nemoroso? Can there be
Aught half so charming, half so sweet to me,
As listening to thy stories? Tell me more
Of sage Severo; tell me, I implore.
Nought interrupts the tale; our flocks at rest,
The fresh soft wind comes whispering from the west;
Sweet weeps the nightingale in song that moves
In amorous hearts the sadnesses she proves;
The turtle murmurs from her elm; the bee
Hums; the shy cuckoo shouts from tree to tree;
The wood a thousand flowers presents; the flowers
A thousand hues; and, hung with nodding bowers,
This babbling fountain with its voice invites
To social ease and interchanged delights.