The Sonnets, Triumphs, and Other Poems of Petrarch

by Francesco Petrarca

PART III.

Like one by wonder reft of speech, I stood
Pond'ring the mournful scene in pensive mood,
As one that waits advice. My guide in haste
Began:—"You let the moments run to waste
What objects hold you here?—my doom you know;
Compell'd to wander with the sons of woe!"—
"Oh, yet awhile afford your friendly aid!
You see my inmost soul;" submiss I said.
"The strong unsated wish you there can read;
The restless cravings of my mind to feed
With tidings of the dead."—In gentler tone
He said, "Your longings in your looks are known;
You wish to learn the names of those behind
Who through the vale in long procession wind:
I grant your prayer, if fate allows a space,"
He said, "their fortunes, as they come, to trace.—
See that majestic shade that moves along,
And claims obeisance from the ghostly throng:
'Tis Pompey; with the partner of his vows,
Who mourns the fortunes of her slaughter'd spouse,
By Egypt's servile band.—The next is he
Whom Love's tyrannic spell forbade to see
The danger by his cruel consort plann'd;
Till Fate surprised him by her treacherous hand.—
Let constancy and truth exalt the name
Of her, the lovely candidate for fame,
Who saved her spouse!—Then Pyramus is seen,
And Thisbe, through the shade, with pensive mien;—
Then Hero with Leander moves along,—
And great Ulysses, towering in the throng:
His visage wears the signs of anxious thought
There sad Penelope laments her lot:
With trickling tears she seems to chide his stay,
While fond Calypso charms her love-delay.—
Next he who braved in many a bloody fight.
For years on years, the whole collected might
Of Rome, but sunk at length in Cupid's snare
The shameful victim of th' Apulian fair!—
Then she, that, in a servile dress pursued,
(Reft of her golden locks) o'er field and flood,
With peerless faith, her exiled spouse unknown,
With whom of old she fill'd a lofty throne.—
Then Portia comes, who fire and steel defied,
And Julia, grieved to see a second bride
Engage her consort's love.—The Hebrew swain
Appears, who sold himself his love to gain
For seven long summers—a vivacious flame,
Which neither years nor constant toil could tame!—
Then Isaac, with his father, joins the band,
Who, with his consort, left at God's command,
Led by the lamp of faith, his native land.—
David is next, by lawless passion sway'd;
And, adding crime to crime, at last betray'd
To deeds of blood, till solitude and tears
Wash'd his dire guilt away, and calm'd his fears.
The sensual vapour, with Circean fume,
Involved his royal son in deeper gloom,
And dimm'd his glory, till, immersed in vice,
His heart renounced the Ruler of the Skies,
Adopting Stygian gods.—The changeful hue
Of his incestuous brother meets your view,
Who lurks behind: observe the sudden turn
Of love and hatred blanch his cheek, and burn!
His ruin'd sister there, with frantic speed,
To Absalom recounts the direful deed.—
Samson behold, a prey to female fraud!
Strong, but unwise, he laid the pledge of God
In her fallacious lap, who basely sold
Her husband's honour for Philistian gold.—
Judith is nigh, who, mid a host in arms,
With gentle accents and alluring charms
Their chief o'ercame, and, at the noon of night,
From his pavilion sped her venturous flight
With one attendant slave, who bore along
The tyrant's head amid the hostile throng;
Adoring Him who arms the feeble hand.
And bids the weak a mighty foe withstand.—
Unhappy Sichem next is seen, who paid
A bloody ransom for an injured maid:
His guiltless sire and all his slaughter'd race,
With many a life, attend the foul disgrace.
Such was the ruin by a sudden gust
Of passion caused, when murder follow'd lust!—
That other, like a wise physician, cured
An abject passion, long with pain endured:
To Vashti for an easy boon he sued;
She scorn'd his suit, and rage his love subdued:
Soon to its aid a softer passion came,
And from his breast expell'd the former flame:
Like wedge by wedge displaced, the nuptial ties
He breaks, and soon another bride supplies.—
But if you wish to see the bosom (war
Of Jealousy and Love) in deadly jar,
Behold that royal Jew! the dire control
Of Love and Hate by turns besiege his soul.
Now Vengeance wins the day—the deed is done!
And now, in fell remorse, he hates the sun,
And calls his consort from the realms of night,
To which his fatal hand had sped her flight—
Behold yon hapless three, by passion lost,
Procris, and Artemisia's royal ghost;
And her, whose son (his mother's grief and joy)
Razed with paternal rage the walls of Troy,—
Another triple sisterhood is seen;
This characters of Hades. Mark their mien
With sin distain'd: their downcast looks disclose
A conscience of their crimes, and dread of coming woes.—
Semiramis, and Byblis (famed of old)
Her mother's rival there you next behold;
With many a warrior, many a lovely dame
Of old, ennobled by romantic fame.—
There Lancelot and Tristram (famed in fight)
Are seen, with many a dame and errant knight;—
Genevra, Belle Isonde, and hundreds more;
With those who mingled their incestuous gore
Shed by paternal rage; and chant beneath,
In baneful symphony, the Song of Death."
He scarce had spoken, when a chill presage
(What warriors feel before the battle's rage,
When in the angry trump's sonorous breath
They hear, before it comes, the sound of Death)
My heart possess'd; and, tinged with deadly pale,
I seem'd escaped from Death's eternal jail;
When, fleeting to my side with looks of Love,
A phantom brighter than the Cyprian dove
My fingers clasp'd; which, though of power to wield
The temper'd sabre in the bloody field
Against an armed foe, a touch subdued;
And gentle words, and looks that fired the blood,
My friend addressed me (I remember well),
And from his lips these dubious accents fell:—
"Converse with whom you please, for all the train
Are mark'd alike the slaves of Cupid's reign."—
Thus, in security and peace trepann'd,
I was enlisted in that wayward band,
Who short-lived joys by anguish long obtain,
And whom the pleasures of a rival pain
More than their proper joys. Remembrance shows
Too clear at last the source of all my woes,
When Jealousy, and Love, and Envy drew
That nurture from my heart by which they grew.
As feverish eyes on air-drawn features dwell,
My fascinated eyes, by magic spell,
Dwell'd on the heavenly form with ardent look,
And at a glance the dire contagion took
That tinged my days to come; and each delight,
But those that bore her stamp, consign'd to night.
I blush with shame when to my inward view
The devious paths return where Cupid drew
His willing slave, with all my hopes and fears—
When Phœbus seem'd to rise and set in tears
For many a spring—and when I used to dwell
A lonely hermit in a silent cell.
How upwards oft I traced the purling rills
To their pure fountains in the misty hills!
The rocks I used to climb, the solemn woods,
Where oft I wander'd by the winding floods!
And often spent, whene'er I chanced to stray,
In amorous ditties all the livelong day!
What mournful rhymes I wrote and 'rased again,
Spending the precious hours of youth in vain!
'Twas in this school I learn'd the mystic things
Of the blind god, and all the secret springs
From which his hopes and fears alternate rise:
'Graved on his frontlet, the detection lies,
Which all may read, for I have oped their eyes.
And she, the cause of all my lengthen'd toils,
Disdains my passion, though she boasts my spoils.
Of rigid honour proud, she smiles to see
The fatal triumph of her charms in me.
Not Love himself can aid, for Love retires,
And in her sacred presence veils his fires:
He feels his genius by her looks subdued,
And all his spells by stronger spells withstood.
Hence my despair; for neither force nor art
Can wound her bosom, nor extract the dart
That rankles here, while proudly she defies
The power that makes a captive world his prize.
She is not one that dallies with the foe,
But with unconquer'd soul defies the blow;
And, like the Lord of Light, displays afar
A splendour which obscures each lesser star.
Her port is all divine; her radiant smile,
And e'en her scorn, the captive heart beguile;
Her accents breathe of heaven; her auburn hair
(Whether it wanton with the sportive air,
Or bound in shining wreaths adorns her face,)
Secures her conquests with resistless grace;
Her eyes, that sparkle with celestial fire,
Have render'd me the slave of fond desire.
But who can raise his style to match her charms?
What mortal bard can sing the soft alarms
That flutter in the breast, and fire the veins?
Alas! the theme surmounts the loftiest strains.
Far as the ocean in its ample bed
Exceeds the purling stream that warbles through the mead,
Such charms are hers—as never were reveal'd
On earth, since Phœbus first the world beheld!
And voices, tuned her peerless form to praise,
Suffer a solemn pause with mute amaze.
Thus was I manacled for life; while she,
Proud of my bonds, enjoy'd her liberty.
With ceaseless suit I pray'd, but all in vain;
One prayer among a thousand scarce could gain
A slight regard—so hopeless was my state,
And such the laws of Love imposed by fate!
For stedfast is the rule by Nature given,
Which all the ranks of life, from earth to heaven.
With reverent awe and homage due obey,
And every age and climate owns its sway.
I know the cruel pangs by lovers borne,
When from the breast the bleeding heart is torn
By Love's relentless gripe; the deadly harms
Of Cupid, when he wields resistless arms;
Or when, in dubious truce, he drops his dart,
And gives short respite to the tortured heart.
The vital current's ebb and flood I know,
When shame or anger bids the features glow,
Or terror pales the cheek; the deadly snake
I know that nestles in the flowery brake,
And, watchful, seems to sleep, and languor feigns,
When health-inspiring vigour fills the veins.
I know what hope and fear assail the mind
When I pursue my love, yet dread to find.
I know the strange and sympathetic tie,
When, soul in soul transfused, a fond ally
For ever seems another and the same,
Or change with mutual love their mortal frame.
From transient smiles to long protracted woe
The various turns and dark degrees I know;
And hot and cold, and that unequall'd smart
When souls survive, though sever'd from the heart.
I know, I cherish, and detect the cheat
Of every hour; but still, with eager feet
And fervent hope, pursue the flying fair,
And still for promised rapture meet despair.
When absent, I consume in raging fire;
But, in her presence check'd, the flames expire,
Repress'd by sacred awe. The boundless sway
Of cruel Love I feel, that makes a prey
Of all those energies that lift the soul
To her congenial climes above the pole
I know the various pangs that rend the heart;
I know that noblest souls receive the dart
Without defence, when Reason drops the shield
And, recreant, to her foe resigns the field.—
I saw the archer in his airy flight,
I saw him when he check'd his arrow's flight:
And when it reach'd the mark, I watched the god,
And saw him win his way by force or fraud,
As best befits his ends. His whirling throne
Turns short at will, or runs directly on.
The rapid follies which his axle bear,
Are short fallacious hope and certain fear;
And many a promise given of Halcyon days,
Whose faint and dubious gleam the heart betrays.
I know what secret flame the marrow fries,
How in the veins a dormant fever lies;
Till, fann'd to fury by contagious breath,
It gains tremendous head, and ends in death.
I know too well what long and doubtful strife
Forms the dire tissue of a lover's life;
The transient taste of sweet commix'd with gall,
What changes dire the hapless crew befall.
Their strange fantastic habitudes I know,
Their measured groans in lamentable flow;
When rhyming-fits the faltering tongue employ,
And love sick spasms the mournful Muse annoy;
The smile that like the lightning fleets away,
The sorrows that for half a life delay;
Like drops of honey in a wormwood bowl,
Drain'd to the dregs in bitterness of soul.

Boyd.

PART IV.

So fickle fortune, in a luckless hour,
Had close consigned me to a tyrant's power,
Who cut the nerves that, with elastic force,
Had borne me on in Freedom's generous course—
So I, in noble independence bred,
Free as the roebuck in the sylvan glade,
By passion lured, a voluntary slave—
My ready name to Cupid's muster gave.
And yet I saw their grief and wild despair;
I saw them blindly seek the fatal snare
Through winding paths, and many an artful maze,
Where Cupid's viewless spell the band obeys.
Here, as I turn'd my anxious eyes around,
If any shade I then could see renown'd
In old or modern times; the bard I spied
Whose unabated love pursued his bride
Down to the coast of Hades; and above
His life resign'd, the pledge of constant love,
Calling her name in death.—Alcæus near,
Who sung the joys of Love and toils severe,
Was seen with Pindar and the Teian swain,
A veteran gay among the youthful train
Of Cupid's host.—The Mantuan next I found,
Begirt with bards from age to age renown'd;
Whether they chose in lofty themes to soar,
Or sportive try the Muse's lighter lore.—
There soft Tibullus walk'd with Sulmo's bard;
And there Propertius with Catullus shared
The meed of lovesome lays: the Grecian dame
With sweeter numbers woke the amorous flame
While thus I turn'd around my wondering eyes,
I saw a noble train with new surprise,
Who seem'd of Love in choral notes to sing,
While all around them breathed Elysian spring.—
Here Alighieri, with his love I spied,
Selvaggia, Guido, Cino, side by side—
Guido, who mourn'd the lot that fix'd his name
The second of his age in lyric fame.—
Two other minstrels there I spied that bore
His name, renown'd on Arno's tuneful shore.
With them Sicilia's bards, in elder days
Match'd with the foremost in poetic praise,
Though now they rank behind.—Sennuccio nigh
With gentle Franceschino met my eye.—
But soon another tribe, of manners strange
And uncouth dialect, was seen to range
Along the flowery paths, by Arnald led;
In Cupid's lore by all the Muses bred,
And master of the theme.—Marsilia's coast
And Narbonne still his polish'd numbers boast.—
The next I saw with lighter step advance;
'Twas he that caught a flame at every glance
That met his eye, with him who shared his name.
Join'd with an Arnald of inferior fame.—
Next either Rambold in procession trod,
No easy conquest to the winged god.
The pride of Montferrat (a peerless dame)
In many a ditty sung, announced his flame;
And Genoa's bard, who left his native coast,
And on Marsilia's towers the memory lost
Of his first time, when Salem's sacred flame
Taught him a nobler heritage to claim,—
Gerard and Peter, both of Gallic blood,
And tuneful Rudel, who, in moonstruck mood,
O'er ocean by a flying image led,
In the fantastic chase his canvas spread;
And, where he thought his amorous vows to breathe,
From Cupid's bow received the shaft of Death.—
There was Cabestaing, whose unequall'd lays
From all his rivals won superior praise.—
Hugo was there, with Almeric renown'd;—
Bernard and Anselm by the Muses crown'd.—
Those and a thousand others o'er the field
Advanced; nor javelin did they want, or shield;
The Muses form'd their guard, and march'd before.
Spreading their long renown from shore to shore.—
The Latian band, with sympathising woe,
At last I spied amid the moving show:
Bologna's poet first, whose honour'd grave
His relics hold beside Messina's wave.
O fickle joys, that fleet upon the wind,
And leave the lassitude of life behind!
The youth, that every thought and movement sway'd
Of this sad heart, is now an empty shade!
What world contains thee now, my tuneful guide,
Whom nought of old could sever from my side?
What is this life?—what none but fools esteem;
A fleeting shadow, a romantic dream!—
Not far I wander'd o'er the peopled field,
Till Socrates and Lælius I beheld.
Oh, may their holy influence never cease
That soothed my heart-corroding pangs to peace!
Unequall'd friends! no bard's ecstatic lays
Nor polish'd prose your deathless name can raise
To match your genuine worth! O'er hill and dale
We pass'd, and oft I told my doleful tale,
Disclosing all my wounds, end not in vain:
Their sacred presence seem'd to soothe my pain.
Oh, may that glorious privilege be mine,
Till dust to dust the final stroke resign!
My courage they inspired to claim the wreath—
Immortal emblem of my constant faith
To her whose name the poet's garland bears!
Yet nought from her, for long devoted years,
I reap'd but cold disdain, and fruitless tears.—
But soon a sight ensued, that, like a spell,
Restrain'd at once my passion's stormy swell:
But this a loftier muse demands to sing,
The hallow'd power that pruned the daring wing
Of that blind force, by folly canonized
And in the garb of deity disguised.
Yet first the conscious muse designs to tell
How I endured and 'scaped his witching spell;
A subject that demands a muse of fire,
A glorious theme, that Phœbus might inspire—
Worthy of Homer and the Orphean lyre!
Still, as along the whirling chariot flew,
I kept the wafture of his wings in view:
Onward his snow-white steeds were seen to bound
O'er many a steepy hill and dale profound:
And, victims of his rage, the captive throng.
Chain'd to the flying wheels, were dragg'd along,
All torn and bleeding, through the thorny waste;
Nor knew I how the land and sea he pass'd,
Till to his mother's realm he came at last.
Far eastward, where the vext Ægean roars,
A little isle projects its verdant shores:
Soft is the clime, and fruitful is the ground,
No fairer spot old ocean clips around;
Nor Sol himself surveys from east to west
A sweeter scene in summer livery drest.
Full in the midst ascends a shady hill,
Where down its bowery slopes a streaming rill
In dulcet murmurs flows, and soft perfume
The senses court from many a vernal bloom,
Mingled with magic; which the senses steep
In sloth, and drug the mind in Lethe's deep,
Quenching the spark divine—the genuine boast
Of man, in Circe's wave immersed and lost.
This favour'd region of the Cyprian queen
Received its freight—a heaven-abandon'd scene.
Where Falsehood fills the throne, while Truth retires,
And vainly mourns her half-extinguish'd fires.
Vile in its origin, and viler still
By all incentives that seduce the will,
It seems Elysium to the sons of Lust,
But a foul dungeon to the good and just.
Exulting o'er his slaves, the winged God
Here in a theatre his triumphs show'd,
Ample to hold within its mighty round
His captive train, from Thule's northern bound
To far Taprobane, a countless crowd,
Who, to the archer boy, adoring, bow'd.
Sad fantoms shook above their Gorgon wings—
Fantastic longings for unreal things,
And fugitive delights, and lasting woes;
The summer's biting frost, and winter's rose;
And penitence and grief, that dragg'd along
The royal lawless pair, that poets sung.
One, by his Spartan plunder, seal'd the doom
Of hapless Troy—the other rescued Rome.
Beneath, as if in mockery of their woe,
The tumbling flood, with murmurs deep and low,
Return'd their wailings; while the birds above
With sweet aerial descant fill'd the grove.
And all beside the river's winding bed
Fresh flowers in gay confusion deck'd the mead,
Painting the sod with every scent and hue
That Flora's breath affords, or drinks the morning dew,
And many a solemn bower, with welcome shade,
Over the dusky stream a shelter made.
And when the sun withdrew his slanting ray,
And winter cool'd the fervours of the day,
Then came the genial hours, the frequent feast
And circling times of joy and balmy rest.
New day and night were poised in even scale,
And spring awoke her equinoctial gale,
And Progne now and Philomel begun
With genial toils to greet the vernal sun.
Just then—O hapless mortals! that rely
On fickle fortune's ever-changing sky—
E'en in that season, when, with sacred fire,
Dan Cupid seem'd his subjects to inspire,
That warms the heart, and kindles in the look,
And all beneath the moon obey his yoke—
I saw the sad reverse that lovers own,
I heard the slaves beneath their bondage groan;
I saw them sink beneath the deadly weight
And the long tortures that forerun their fate.
Sad disappointments there in meagre forms
Were seen, and feverish dreams, and fancied harms;
And fantoms rising from the yawning tomb
Were seen to muster in the gathering gloom
Around the car; and some were seen to climb,
While cruel fate reversed their steps sublime.
And empty notions in the port were seen,
And baffled hopes were there with cloudy mien.
There was expensive gain, and gain that lost,
And amorous schemes by fortune's favour cross'd;
And wearisome repose, and cares that slept.
There was the semblance of disgrace, that kept
The youth from dire mischance on whom it fell,
And glory darken'd on the gloom of hell;
Perfidious loyalty, and honest fraud,
And wisdom slow, and headlong thirst of blood;
The dungeon, where the flowery paths decoy;
The painful, hard escape, with long annoy.
I saw the smooth descent the foot betray,
And the steep rocky path that leads again to day.
There in the gloomy gulf confusion storm'd,
And moody rage its wildest freaks perform'd;
And settled grief was there; and solid night,
But rarely broke with fitful gleams of light
From joy's fantastic hand. Not Vulcan's forge,
When his Cyclopean caves the fumes disgorge;
Nor the deep mine of Mongibel, that throws
The fiery tempest o'er eternal snows;
Nor Lipari, whose strong sulphureous blast
O'ercanopies with flames the watery waste;
Nor Stromboli, that sweeps the glowing sky
With red combustion, with its rage could vie.—
Little he loves himself that ventures there,
For there is ceaseless woe and fell despair:
Yet, in this dolorous dungeon long confined,
Till time had grizzled o'er my locks, I pined.
There, dreaming still of liberty to come,
I spent my summers in this noisome gloom;
Yet still a dubious joy my grief controll'd,
To spy such numbers in that darksome hold.
But soon to gall my seeming transport turn'd,
And my illustrious partner's fate I mourn'd;
And often seem'd, with sympathising woe,
To melt in solvent tears like vernal snow.
I turn'd away, but, with inverted glance,
Perused the fleeting shapes that fill'd my trance;
Like him that feels a moment's short delight
When a fine picture fleets before his sight.

Boyd.

---

THE TRIUMPH OF CHASTITY.

Quando ad un giogo ed in Un tempo quivi.

When to one yoke at once I saw the height
Of gods and men subdued by Cupid's might,
I took example from their cruel fate,
And by their sufferings eased my own hard state;
Since Phœbus and Leander felt like pain,
The one a god, the other but a man;
One snare caught Juno and the Carthage dame
(Her husband's death prepared her funeral flame—
'Twas not a cause that Virgil maketh one);
I need not grieve, that unprepared, alone,
Unarm'd, and young, I did receive a wound,
Or that my enemy no hurt hath found
By Love; or that she clothed him in my sight,
And took his wings, and marr'd his winding flight;
No angry lions send more hideous noise
From their beat breasts, nor clashing thunder's voice
Rends heaven, frights earth, and roareth through the air
With greater force than Love had raised, to dare
Encounter her of whom I write; and she
As quick and ready to assail as he:
Enceladus when Etna most he shakes,
Nor angry Scylla, nor Charybdis makes
So great and frightful noise, as did the shock
Of this (first doubtful) battle: none could mock
Such earnest war; all drew them to the height
To see what 'mazed their hearts and dimm'd their sight.
Victorious Love a threatening dart did show
His right hand held; the other bore a bow,
The string of which he drew just by his ear;
No leopard could chase a frighted deer
(Free, or broke loose) with quicker speed than he
Made haste to wound; fire sparkled from his eye.
I burn'd, and had a combat in my breast,
Glad t' have her company, yet 'twas not best
(Methought) to see her lost, but 'tis in vain
T' abandon goodness, and of fate complain;
Virtue her servants never will forsake,
As now 'twas seen, she could resistance make:
No fencer ever better warded blow,
Nor pilot did to shore more wisely row
To shun a shelf, than with undaunted power
She waved the stroke of this sharp conqueror.
Mine eyes and heart were watchful to attend,
In hope the victory would that way bend
It ever did; and that I might no more
Be barr'd from her; as one whose thoughts before
His tongue hath utter'd them you well may see
Writ in his looks; "Oh! if you victor be
Great sir," said I, "let her and me be bound
Both with one yoke; I may be worthy found,
And will not set her free, doubt not my faith:"
When I beheld her with disdain and wrath
So fill'd, that to relate it would demand
A better muse than mine: her virtuous hand
Had quickly quench'd those gilded fiery darts
Which, dipp'd in beauty's pleasure, poison hearts.
Neither Camilla, nor the warlike host
That cut their breasts, could so much valour boast
Nor Cæsar in Pharsalia fought so well,
As she 'gainst him who pierceth coats of mail;
All her brave virtues arm'd, attended there,
(A glorious troop!) and marched pair by pair:
Honour and blushes first in rank; the two
Religious virtues make the second row;
(By those the other women doth excel);
Prudence and Modesty, the twins that dwell
Together, both were lodgèd in her breast:
Glory and Perseverance, ever blest:
Fair Entertainment, Providence without,
Sweet Courtesy, and Pureness round about;
Respect of credit, fear of infamy;
Grave thoughts in youth; and, what not oft agree,
True Chastity and rarest Beauty; these
All came 'gainst Love, and this the heavens did please,
And every generous soul in that full height.
He had no power left to bear the weight;
A thousand famous prizes hardly gain'd
She took; and thousand glorious palms obtained.
Shook from his hands; the fall was not more strange
Of Hannibal, when Fortune pleased to change
Her mind, and on the Roman youth bestow
The favours he enjoy'd; nor was he so
Amazed who frighted the Israelitish host—
Struck by the Hebrew boy, that quit his boast;
Nor Cyrus more astonish'd at the fall
The Jewish widow gave his general:
As one that sickens suddenly, and fears
His life, or as a man ta'en unawares
In some base act, and doth the finder hate;
Just so was he, or in a worse estate:
Fear, grief, and shame, and anger, in his face
Were seen: no troubled seas more rage: the place
Where huge Typhœus groans, nor Etna, when
Her giant sighs, were moved as he was then.
I pass by many noble things I see
(To write them were too hard a task for me),
To her and those that did attend I go:
Her armour was a robe more white than snow;
And in her hand a shield like his she bare
Who slew Medusa; a fair pillar there
Of jasp was next, and with a chain (first wet
In Lethe flood) of jewels fitly set,
Diamonds, mix'd with topazes (of old
'Twas worn by ladies, now 'tis not) first hold
She caught, then bound him fast; then such revenge
She took as might suffice. My thoughts did change
And I, who wish'd him victory before,
Was satisfied he now could hurt no more.
I cannot in my rhymes the names contain
Of blessèd maids that did make up her train;
Calliope nor Clio could suffice,
Nor all the other seven, for th' enterprise;
Yet some I will insert may justly claim
Precedency of others. Lucrece came
On her right hand; Penelope was by,
Those broke his bow, and made his arrows lie
Split on the ground, and pull'd his plumes away
From off his wings: after, Virginia,
Near her vex'd father, arm'd with wrath and hate.
Fury, and iron, and love, he freed the state
And her from slavery, with a manly blow;
Next were those barbarous women, who could show
They judged it better die than suffer wrong
To their rude chastity; the wise and strong—
The chaste Hebræan Judith follow'd these;
The Greek that saved her honour in the seas;
With these and other famous souls I see
Her triumph over him who used to be
Master of all the world: among the rest
The vestal nun I spied, who was so bless'd
As by a wonder to preserve her fame;
Next came Hersilia, the Roman dame
(Or Sabine rather), with her valorous train,
Who prove all slanders on that sex are vain.
Then, 'mongst the foreign ladies, she whose faith
T' her husband (not Æneas) caused her death;
The vulgar ignorant may hold their peace,
Her safety to her chastity gave place;
Dido, I mean, whom no vain passion led
(As fame belies her); last, the virtuous maid
Retired to Arno, who no rest could find,
Her friends' constraining power forced her mind.
The Triumph thither went where salt waves wet
The Baian shore eastward; her foot she set
There on firm land, and did Avernus leave
On the one hand, on th' other Sybil's cave;
So to Linternus march'd, the village where
The noble Africane lies buried; there
The great news of her triumph did appear
As glorious to the eye as to the ear
The fame had been; and the most chaste did show
Most beautiful; it grieved Love much to go
Another's prisoner, exposed to scorn,
Who to command whole empires seemèd born.
Thus to the chiefest city all were led,
Entering the temple which Sulpicia made
Sacred; it drives all madness from the mind;
And chastity's pure temple next we find,
Which in brave souls doth modest thoughts beget,
Not by plebeians enter'd, but the great
Patrician dames; there were the spoils display'd
Of the fair victress; there her palms she laid,
And did commit them to the Tuscan youth,
Whose marring scars bear witness of his truth:
With others more, whose names I fully knew,
(My guide instructed me,) that overthrew
The power of Love: 'mongst whom, of all the rest,
Hippolytus and Joseph were the best.