ECLOGUE II.
SILVA III.
NEMOROSO. SALICIO.
NEMOROSO.
Hark then awhile, and I will tell of things
Strange and amazing: Spirits of these springs,
Nymphs, I invoke you! Silvans, Satyrs, Fauns,
That haunt the glens, the greenwoods, and the lawns!
Sweet from my lips let each clear accent part,
All point or grace, all harmony or art,
Since neither pastoral pipe, Arcadian quill,
Nor syrinx sounds in concord with my will.
To such rare heights Severo's powers aspire,
His chanted verse and smooth harmonious lyre
Can stay fleet whirlwinds in their mid career,
His golden words and messages to hear,
And make them from austere, rebellious lords,
Obsequious slaves to dance around his chords
In voluntary song; old Tormes knows
His incantation, and, commanded, shows
The Senior all his secrets: once he led
The mighty master to his fountain-head,
And showed him where mid river-flowers and fern
He lies, incumbent o'er a crystal urn;
On this he saw a thousand things embossed,
Foreseen, and sculptured with surprising cost;
With so divine a wit the sage has wrought
This vase, each object seems instinct with thought.
On every side the figured bas-reliefs
Depict the deeds and virtues of the chiefs,
Who by illustrious titles dignified,
And ruled the tract through which his waters glide.
There the brave youth, Don Garcia, stood confessed
By his disdainful mien, dilated chest;
He 'gainst a wise and potent king that held
His sire in bondage, gallantly rebelled,[7]
Each bold retainer summoning, to aid
His pious aims; with him the God pourtrayed
His son, who showed, whilst earth enjoyed his light,
At court a Phœbus, and a Mars in fight:
Young though he seemed, he promised in his look
Supreme success in all he undertook;
Ev'n in his youth, upon the Moors he dealt
Severe rebukes, and made his puissance felt;
And as the chieftain of the Christian band,
Confirmed his heart and exercised his hand.
Elsewhere, with more assured renown, and now
With more of manhood on his martial brow,
He harassed the fierce Franks: sublime he stood
To sight, his armours red with hostile blood.
Long in the straitened siege had he sustained
The woes of want; no measure now remained,
But through the breaches of the rending wall
In furious sally on the foe to fall.
What numbers died that day beneath his spear!
What other numbers fled like hunted deer!
No pictured tale, no sculptured argument,
No poet's flame could fitly represent
How fierce Fadrique smote them as they fled,
The chaser's rage, and the pursued one's dread.
Near him is seen in bold relief his son,
Don Garcia, equalled upon earth by none,
Unless by his Fernando! who could view
The ardent light of his dear beauty, who
The expression of his frank fair countenance,
Nor own his grandeur in that single glance?
Alas! in cruelty the Furies hurled
War's fires abroad, and snatched him from the world,
The world so happy in his light! sad Spain,
Thy weeping eyes how oft didst thou in vain
Roll toward Gelves! Acting his sad part,
The youth is sculptured with such lively art,
That should you see it, you would say each stroke
Was fraught with life, and that the crystal spoke.
The broad sands burned, the sun of bloody red,
His soldiers round him fell down faint or dead;
With earnest vigilance he only cursed
That dull delay, and reckless as at first,
Praised glorious death; when suddenly the sound
Of Illa Allah shook the skies, the ground
Rang with strong trampling, and a dusty host
Of fierce barbarians the young chief enclosed;
But he, nought daunted, cast to them his gage,
In generous frenzy of audacious rage,
And bore up bravely, making many pay
The price of their temerity; these lay
In deep disorder, some whose vital threads
He had already slit, with cloven heads,
Wallowing in blood; some silent dying; some
Yet breathing free, not wholly overcome,
Showed palpitating bowels, strangely gored
By the deep gashes given by his sharp sword.
But Fate was in the conflict, and at last,
Deaf with the din, his spirits failing fast,
Pierced through with thousand swords, and craving grace
For all his sins, he laid his pallid face
On the burnt soil, and sighed away, forlorn,
His soul of beauty like the rose of morn,
That smit by the hot season, sickening grieves,
Hangs its gay head, and pales its crimson leaves;
Or as a lily which the passing share
Leaves cruelly cut down, whereby its fair
Transparent hue, though not all perished, now
That its maternal earth neglects to throw
Juice through its veins, fades soon as noontide tells
Her wonted rosary on its dewy bells;
So on the mimic sands, in miniature,
Shows thy fair face, fresh rose, white lily pure!
Next a strange sculpture draws and so detains
The' observer's notice, that he entertains
No curiosity aught else to view,
How wild soe'er, or beautiful, or new.
The three sweet Graces there are seen pourtrayed
With Phidian skill, transparently arrayed;
One only garment of celestial white
Veils their soft limbs, but shuts not out the sight.
Drawn are they cheering, strengthening for the throe,
A noble lady in her hour of woe.
Soon the dear infant is seen born; ne'er smiled
The ripening moon upon a lovelier child;
Upon his little cradle, overspread
With flowers, the name of Don Fernando's read.
From sweetly singing on the shady crown
Of Pindus, the Nine Lights of life come down;
And with them Phœbus, rosy and unshorn,
Goes, like the moon amidst the stars of morn,
With graceful step; arriving, they confess
His charms, and long and tenderly caress.
Elsewhere winged Mercury is drawn beholding
Mars, the plumed warrior, cautiously enfolding
The new-born infant in his rude embrace,
Soon giving courteous and respectful place
To Venus, smiling at his side; in turn
She kissed his cheek, and from a golden urn
Sprinkled Elysian nectar o'er the boy
With lavish hand, and fond familiar joy:
But Phœbus from her arms the child displaced,
And gave the office to his sisters chaste.
They were delighted with the sweet employ;
Time waves his wings, the babe becomes a boy,
Rising and flourishing in youthful grace,
Like a tall poplar in a shady place.
Talents he showed untaught, and undisguised
Gave now such proofs of genius, as surprised
The associate nymphs, and they the boy consigned
To one of blameless life and cultured mind,
Who to the world might make more manifest
The rich endowments which the child possessed;
An ancient man, whose face, ungiven to guile,
Expressed severeness sweetening to a smile,
Received the youth; Severo, when his gaze
Fell on this form, stood spell-bound with amaze;
For as within a looking-glass he viewed
Himself depicted, air, age, attitude,
All were conformable, just so he trod,
So looked, so greeted; turning to the god,
He saw him smiling at his frank surprise;
"And why this so great wonder?" Tormes cries;
"Seem I so ignorant as not to' have known,
Ere to thy yearning mother thou wert shown,
That thou wouldst be, when future suns should shine,
The wise Director of his soul divine?"
The Ancient, with deep joy of wonder bred,
His eager eyes upon the picture fed.
Next, as his looks along the sculptures glanced,
A youth with Phœbus hand in hand advanced;
Courteous his air, from his ingenuous face,
Informed with wisdom, modesty, and grace,
And every mild affection, at a scan
The passer-by would mark him for a man,
Perfect in all gentilities of mind,
That sweeten life and harmonize mankind.
The form which lively thus the sculptor drew,
Assur'd Severo in an instant knew,
For him who had by careful culture shown
Fernando's spirit lovely as his own;
Had given him grace, sincerity, and ease,
The pure politeness that aspires to please,
The candid virtues that disdain pretence,
And martial manliness, and sprightly sense,
With all the generous courtesies enshrined
In the fair temple of Fernando's mind.
When well surveyed, his name Severo read,
"Boscán!!" whose genius o'er the world is spread:
In whose illumined aspect shines the fire
That, streamed from Delphos, lights him to the lyre,
And warms those songs which with mankind shall stay,
Whilst endless ages roll unfelt away!
More ripeness marked the youth, as to his rules
Listening, he culled the learning of the schools;
These left at length, he in gymnastic games,
War's mimic symbols, strives with youths, whose names
Had never else been known to after years
In the wide world; the tilt of canes and spears,
Wrestling, the course, the circus, toil and dust,
Gave his arm skill, and made his limbs robust.
Next, amorous Venus shows her rosy face,
Seizing his hand, she leads him for a space
From the severe gymnasium, and aside
Points out his fault with all a lecturer's pride;
Tells him how ill he acts; that some few hours
The roughest soldier wreathes his sword with flowers,
And that in endless turmoil so to waste
The May of life was treason to good taste.
Entering a myrtle bower, she shows him, laid
Midst leaves and violets blue, a slumbering maid:
Flushed was her cheek, and as she slept she smiled,
As some delightful dream her brain beguiled:
He saw, the crimsoning cheek his passion spoke;
The bowers they rustled, and the nymph awoke.
Smit with her beauty, he desired to wed
The enchanting shape—the Goddess shook her head—
As if she feared the parties to unite;
He gazed—he gazed, insatiate with the sight!
From her dear side he could not, could not move,
Wept on her neck, and vowed eternal love.
Next, angry Mars, imperious to behold,
Advancing, gave the youth a crown of gold:
Threatening the illustrious youth, a knight was seen,
Of a fierce spirit and insulting mien.[8]
In cautious wise beneath the setting moon
They timed their steps, and met on a pontoon;
Well had the sculptor shadowed out the fight,
His clouding crystal spoke the noon of night.
Mars was their umpire; he condemned the foe,
And placed his crown upon the conqueror's brow;
Graced with the gold, the hero shone from far,
As in blue heaven the beautiful bright star
That ushers in Aurora: thence his name
Spreads to all parts, and gathers greater fame.
Soon other happier arts he meditates
To steal from death, elusive of the Fates,
Much of himself, and live admired, unfled,
When the blind vulgar might lament him dead.
Hymen came moving to the crotal's clash,
His right foot sandalled with a golden sash;
A choir of virgins sing; on dancing feet
They part alternate, and alternate meet;
Then softly lay upon the bridal couch
A blushing girl, whom Venus did avouch
To be the same that, bowered in myrtles deep,
Erst smiled so sweetly in her dreaming sleep—
A dream as sweetly realized! she showed
Worthy the youth on whom she was bestowed;
Her pillow bore the words, impaled in flame,
Donna Maria Enríquez, her name;
Anxious to be admitted, scarce the choir
Of nymphs could check Fernando's forward fire:
At length he was received, and left beside
His virtuous, pure, and beautiful young bride.
Elsewhere, on one foot standing, never stable,
Capricious Fortune did the sculptor fable,
Calling to Don Fernando that he led
A life of idleness, and now must tread
A toilsome path, but she would be his guide,
And venture first: he with her wish complied,
Made her his boon companion, and pursued
Her who, unveiled, as beautiful is wooed,
But, veiled from sight, deemed fearful, nothing worth,
Virtue her name, the rarity of earth!
Whom does she guide along with equal pace,
But him whom thus her beauty leads to face
Each fresh fatigue, for glory to aspire,
And scorn the chains of delicate desire.
The mighty Pyrenees, which seem to shoot
To heaven their summit as to hell their root,
They traversed in mid-winter; white the snow
Colours the clime, and mute the torrents flow
Under cold crystal bridges that confine
Their tides, smooth sliding through the frozen mine;
Whilst, if a blast but stirs the pines, they bend,
And with the weight of ices crashing rend.
Through all they strive, nor will be held at bay
Or by the length or wildness of the way.
By constant toil the hero makes advance,
Till the gained summit shifts the scene to France;
His swiftness Fame renewed—his spirits cheered,
On flying wings beside him she appeared,
And signified, in act and attitude,
That the hill-tracks would soon become less rude.
Of various guides the Duke selected one,
And on they rode beneath the mounting sun;
Faint wax their horses, but they reached at last
The walls of Paris, and its portals passed.
There the gaunt form of Sickness stands to sight,
The healthy duke assisting to alight;
Touched by her hand, his colour seems to fade,
He droops, he faints, and sickens to a shade.
Soon, crossing from a shady thicket green,
The form of Esculapius might be seen
With balms and herbs, nor did he slack his tread
Till he arrived beside Fernando's bed:
With his right foot he entered, and at length
Restored the patient to his usual strength.
His way he took where white-wall'd convents shine,
And reached the passage of the lucid Rhine.
The rich romantic river on its breast
Received him, glorying in so great a guest,
And called to mind the hour when to the same
Embarking point the Latin Cæsar came.
He seemed not scanty of his waves, but swelled
Floods like a sea, and the light bark impelled,
Which flying left behind green viny bowers,
High castled crags, and old romantic towers.
Blythely his impulse the swift bark obeyed,
And passed the spot where erst a ravished maid,
And thousand virgins with her, stained the sod
With blood, recorded in the book of God.
The espoused pure virgin, Ursula, was seen
Casting her dying eyes to heaven serene,
The tyrant looking on, who, at a word,
From breast to beauteous breast the sword transferred.
Thence through wide Germany he shaped his way
To where in doubt the Christian army lay,
Till to his sight the rapid Danube gave
His affluent floods; he launched upon the wave.
From the spurned shore the refluent currents strong
Winged through cleft crags his bounding boat along,
Whilst the strained oars with forcible descent
Raised showers of silver wheresoe'er it went:
On—on like lightning was it seen to fly,
Its very motion sculptured to the eye.
The heroic duke, a little farther on,
Was pictured disembarked at Ratisbon,
Where for the Imperial crown on every hand
War had convoked the magnates of the land.
Amidst his peers and princes Charles was placed,
Our Spanish Cæsar, and the duke embraced,
Charmed with his coming; all in pleased surprise
Fixed on Fernando their saluting eyes,
And the same instant they perceived him, grew
Sure of the victory when the trumpet blew.
With much vain-glory, haughtiness of mien,
And barbarous boasting, the Grand Turk was seen,
Armed, and in rich costume; pitched far and wide
Near weeping Hungary was his camp descried.
So strange a multitude o'erspread the plain,
That scarce the region could the host contain,—
A host so vast, the country, you would think,
Would fail for pasture, and the stream for drink.
Cæsar, with pious zeal and valiant soul,
These hosts despised, and bade his flags unrol;
His tribes convoked, and shortly you might see
An army form—bold, resolute, and free;
See various nations in one camp combined,
Various in speech, but influenced by one mind.
They swarmed not o'er the land in such parade
Of numbers as the Moslem, but displayed
That which these failed to show—a brave freewill,
Faith, courage, firmness, discipline, and skill.
Them with a generous zeal, by apt applause,
Fernando heartens in the common cause,
That numbers of them in his views took part,
Won to his flag with admirable art.
The fierce yet docile German he addressed
In his own style, and so to all the rest
Conformed in custom, humour, mood, and tongue,
Grave with the age'd and sprightly with the young,
That the phlegmatic Fleming would have said,
In Lisle or Antwerp he was born and bred,
In Spain the excelling Spaniard; the astute
Italian marks him, with amazement mute,
His nation's ease so well he seems to hit,
Her past proud valour, and her modern wit.
He seems in him to see arise again
Rome's last, sole hope, the youth who passed to Spain,
And closed her long, long warfare in the fall
Of rival Carthage and grim Hannibal,
Whose crimson sword, to Nemesis devote,
So oft was pointed at her naked throat.
Next sickening Envy on the crystal stood,
Severely sculptured, adverse to his good,
Gathering against Fernando, face to face,
The unfavoured faction, loud for his disgrace.
With them she armed, but in all points, with pain,
Found her arts baffled and her influence wane.
He with mild tongue and with extended hands
The tumult hushed of the censorious bands,
And by degrees soared with so high a flight,
The eyes of Envy could not reach his height,
So that successless, blinded by the blaze
Of his clear virtue, she her passion sways,
And forces her proud self, in suppliant weed,
On earth to kneel, and for forgiveness plead.
The monster's spoils he carelessly received,
And, from these rude anxieties relieved,
Walked in the cool serene of eve beside
The lonely stream, and near its tossing tide
Encountered Cæsar, full of doubt and care
For the success of the approaching war;
Since, though he banished sadness, still the thought
Of the vast stake he ventured, with it brought
Wish for wise counsel; this the duke bestowed;
They there agreed on a convenient mode
To' obstruct the plans of Solyman, destroy
His high-raised hopes, and blast his promised joy.
Their counsels ended, weary they repose
On the green turf, and as their eyelids close,
Hear the dim Danube's voice, so it might seem,
Murmur approval of their golden scheme.
Then to the pausing eye the chisel gave
The clear stream's Genius issuing from the wave,
Aged, on tiptoe moving mute, with reeds
And willows crowned, and robed in sea-green weeds;
He in that sleep uncertain showed them clear
All that concerned their ends; it would appear
That this sweet idlesse crossed their good, for swift
(As though some precious gem or cherished gift
Was burning in the flames) they start, they rise,
With terror touched and a divine surprise;
Divine surprise, that ceasing leaves behind
Hope to the heart, and gladness to the mind.
The stream without delay appeared to urge
The chiefs aboard, and smoothed its eddying surge,
That the Armada which it had to guide
O'er its broad waters might more gently glide.
What favour to the fleets its Genius bore,
Was seen in the calm wave and feathering oar.
With admirable speed you next might mark
A well-ranged army instantly embark;
The sturdy movement of dipt oars, combined
With little hindrance from the wave or wind,
Swift through the deep sonorous waters works
That fleet, obnoxious to the tyrant Turks.
No human artist could, though born to' excel,
Have framed a picture which expressed so well
The fleet, the host, the speed, the waves' rich fret;
Scarce in the forge at which the Cyclops sweat,
And, tired, change arms at every hammering blow,
Could their grand Master have expressed it so.
Through the clear current who had seen them bear,
Would on that missal have been apt to swear
That the sharp prows provoked the blue profound,
And clove the billows with a silver sound;
Grey foam before, bright bubbles danced behind;
Anon the banners, trembling in the wind,
Mimicked the moving waters; on the coast
Like living things appeared the adverse host,
Shy and incredulous, which, filled of late
With barbarous scorn and haughtiness sedate,
Thought not to meet with men that would prevent
Their march; ours, piqued by such injustice, went
Measuring their way so furiously and wroth,
That the whole stream fermented into froth.
The other host, affrighted at the view,
From tent to tent in wild distraction flew,
Eager to gather from the public breath
The' unknown intelligence of life or death;
Like a vast stream by wintry breezes crost,
Through bones and marrow ran an icy frost,
Till, the whole camp in uproar, each one placed
His hopes of safety in immediate haste.
The camp is raised in tumult; on their way
They march, they speed in shameful disarray;
Leaving behind in terror, unconcealed,
Their gold and jewels strewed o'er all the field.
The tents wherein sloth, murder, revelling,
And rape, found place with each unholy thing,
They part without; armed steeds run masterless;
On their scared lords the scared dependants press;
Whilst the fierce Spaniard, hovering round their rear,
Strains the red sword, and shakes the lifted spear.
Cæsar is seen attempting to restrain
Fernando, ardent above all to stain
His sword in unbelieving blood; with bold
And eager action, not to be controlled,
He struggles with the king; as the fierce hound
Of generous Erin, on the spring to bound
After the bristly boar, restricted, whines,
And quarrels with the leash that scarce confines
His passionate desire and fleet-foot flight,
Which makes his master draw the string more tight—
So, imaged to the life, contending stand
The fixt to fly, the settled to withstand;
So Cæsar curbs, just so Fernando grieves,
As whoso views them at a glance perceives.
Next on the clear pictorial urn is feigned
Victory, contented with the laurels gained;
Cæsar embraced—unthinking, without check,
She throws her arm around Fernando's neck;
He turns away with spleen but ill concealed,
And mourns the easy triumphs of the field.
A foreign car does next the crystal grace,
Filled with the spoils of the barbaric race,
And in accompaniment the sculptured seals
Of conquest, captives fettered to the wheels,—
Mantles, and purple silks of various realms,
Brast lances, crescents, gonfalons, and helms,
Light vant-braces, cleft shields, turbans emblazed
With gems, and swords, into a trophy raised,
Shine forth, round which, as with one heart and voice,
Cities and nations gather and rejoice.
The Tyrrhene next was whitening with the sails
Of the vast ships blown home by willing gales;
Glorious, renowned, with foamy prows they sweep,
And like majestic fishes swim the deep.
Till greenly crowned with laurel, they at last
In Barcelona Bay glad anchor cast.
Thence, promised vows fulfilled, with offered prayers
And consecrated spoils, the duke prepares
To hurry instant, glowing with the fire
Of amorous hope and long-chastised desire.
He passes Catalonia, leaves behind
The towns of Arragon, and swift as wind,
Without alighting, ever with his heel
Striking his courser, treads in sweet Castile.
To home's near joys—his lady's wished embrace,
He yields his heart—he reserenes his face,
And from his eyes and from his thought drives far
Death, dangers, doubts, vexations, wounds, and war.
Then, held alone by ecstasy in thrall,
The crystal shows him in his happy hall.
On tiptoe meeting him, with many a kiss,
His wife, half dubious of so great a bliss,
Flings round his neck with all the wife's delight
Her well-shaped arms, so delicately white,
And smiling strains him to her heart, whilst rise
Unconscious tears to her rejoicing eyes;
Those lucid eyes that the clear sun outshine,—
Glittering they gush, and make them yet more fine.
With her beloved Fernando, earth again,
The field, the stream, the mountain, and the plain,
Were deeply,—in her view, divinely blessed,
And under various modes their bliss expressed;
More lofty rise the walls; the breathing bowers
Of lovelier colours pour forth sweeter flowers;
Tormes himself is pictured in the tale,
With all his Naiads, pouring through the vale
In greater affluence his abundant streams;
With stags the face of the green mountain teems,
Roebucks and fallow deer, that sportive browze
The savoury herb, or crop the leafy boughs;
More verdant spreads the plain, extending even
Till her charmed eye beholds it blend with heaven;
And heaven is hers, deep joy, and deeper peace,
A joy whose sense exaggerates all it sees,
Full of his presence of whose praise earth sings,
And glorying Valour tells immortal things.
This saw Severo palpably and clear,
They were no dreams, no fictions; should'st thou hear
His tale, thou would'st religiously believe
The truth of it, as though thou didst perceive
Thyself the sculptures; as the urn he eyed,
He vows he in the forms such force descried—
That had even life been given to what were wrought,
They could not look more animate with thought.
What to the mind or eye obscure remained,
The courteous River lucidly explained.
"He, the young chieftain of that army," said
The God, "from pole to pole his rule shall spread;
And that his glorious deeds, when by thy lyre
Divinely hymned, mankind may more admire,
Know that these many acts, these perils sought,
And victories won by him, shall all be wrought,
With every deed with which the vase is rife,
Within the first five lustres of his life;
Now thou hast all foreseen, go forth—the Urn
To its accustomed place I must return."
"Yet first," Severo said, "to me unfold
What that may be which blinds me to behold,
Which glitters on the shaded crystal bright
As a red comet in the noon of night?"
"More knowledge, friend, than Heav'n metes out to man,"
Said he, "can ne'er be conquered by his scan;
If I not clearly picture that which draws
Thy notice thus, thou art thyself the cause;
For whilst a veil of flesh your spirit shrouds,
A thousand things are circumfused with clouds,
Which mock the curious eyes that would inquire
Into their secrets; with inferior fire
I could not work them: know then (to thy ear
I well may trust it) that what glitters here
With an excess so radiant, hue so warm,
That the dazed vision fails to fix its form,
Is what Fernando's hand and soul sublime
Shall gloriously perform in after-time;
Deeds which, compared with what he yet has done,
Are as a sparkling star or summer sun
To an obscure low vapour; thy weak view
Is not sufficient for such warmth of hue,
Till grown accustomed to the gaze; to him
Who long has languished in a dungeon dim,
Sunshine is agony—so thou, who caged
In depths of gross obstruction wert engaged
In contemplating one that might appear,
The differing native of a lovelier sphere,
Must not much wonder that thy shrinking sight
Was dazzled by such luxury of light.
But see, within my waves the sun's bright eye
Closes—is closed—ere thou canst make reply!"
Thus saying—with a pleasant parting look,
The Senior by the hand Severo shook.
Oh wonderful! the waves where the sun sank
Were on each side restricted in a rank,
And, deep albeit before, did now disclose
The bed between them, and as high they rose,
Deepening the part near which the prophet stood,
He gave a spring, and leaped into the flood;
White flew the foam to heaven, and loud to land
Roared the stirred waters mixed with golden sand.
In a new science versed, Severo grey
Was for collecting without vain delay
Its fruits for future hope, and unbesought
Wrote down the' events exact as Tormes taught;
And though he well might judge my mind would fail
To apprehend aright the' impressive tale,
Yet not for this did he refuse to' unrol
For my survey the strange prophetic scroll;
Insatiably I read, yet thou, sweet friend,
Art wondering when the tale will have an end.
SALICIO.
No! ravishment is mine
At this strange tale divine,
So well set forth by thy enchanting tongue;
Within my breast I felt,
Long as thine accents dwelt
On the rare virtues of a prince so young,
My throbbing heart beat higher,
And glow with the desire
To contemplate him present—the foretold
Of Fame, whose visnomy,
Though absent from mine eye,
By thy divine account I now behold:
Who but must wish to see the storied scrolls,
Since o'er the lively urn the silent billow rolls!
After what thou hast told,
Religiously I hold
The opinion that Severo's powers can shed
Light on the clouded brain,
Albanio's frenzy chain,
Health to the sick, and almost to the dead
Give being; it is just
We put our perfect trust
In him to whom such secrets were revealed,
As one whose skilful hand
Disorders can withstand,
Bid ev'n disease itself fresh vigour yield,
And by his subtle wisdom quickly raise
To bloom whatever droops, or sickens, or decays.
NEMOROSO.
To this result since thine opinions tend,
Salicio, what with our distracted friend?
SALICIO.