THE CAPTIVITYANORATORIOTHE PERSONS.FIRSTISRAELITISHPROPHET.SECONDISRAELITISHPROPHET.ISRAELITISHWOMAN.FIRSTCHALDEANPRIEST.SECONDCHALDEANPRIEST.CHALDEANWOMAN.CHORUS OFYOUTHS ANDVIRGINS.SCENE—The Banks of the River Euphrates, near Babylon.THE CAPTIVITYACT I—SCENEI.Israelites sitting on the Banks of the Euphrates.FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.YE captive tribes, that hourly work and weepWhere flows Euphrates murmuring to the deep,Suspend awhile the task, the tear suspend,And turn to God, your Father and your Friend.Insulted, chain’d, and all the world a foe, 5Our God alone is all we boast below.FIRST PROPHET.AIR.Our God is all we boast below,To him we turn our eyes;And every added weight of woeShall make our homage rise. 10SECOND PROPHET.And though no temple richly drest,Nor sacrifice is here;We’ll make his temple in our breast,And offer up a tear.[The first stanza repeated by the Chorus.SECOND PROPHET.RECITATIVE.That strain once more; it bids remembrance rise, 15And brings my long-lost country to mine eyes.Ye fields of Sharon, dress’d in flow’ry pride,Ye plains where Jordan rolls its glassy tide,Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crown’d,Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes around, 20These hills how sweet! Those plains how wond’rous fair,But sweeter still, when Heaven was with us there!AIR.O Memory, thou fond deceiver,Still importunate and vain;To former joys recurring ever, 25And turning all the past to pain;Hence intruder, most distressing,Seek the happy and the free:The wretch who wants each other blessing,Ever wants a friend in thee. 30FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.Yet, why complain? What, though by bonds confin’d,Should bonds repress the vigour of the mind?Have we not cause for triumph when we seeOurselves alone from idol-worship free?Are not this very morn those feasts begun? 35Where prostrate error hails the rising sun?Do not our tyrant lords this day ordainFor superstitious rites and mirth profane?And should we mourn? Should coward virtue fly,When impious folly rears her front on high? 40No; rather let us triumph still the more,And as our fortune sinks, our wishes soar.AIR.The triumphs that on vice attendShall ever in confusion end;The good man suffers but to gain, 45And every virtue springs from pain:As aromatic plants bestowNo spicy fragrance while they grow;But crush’d, or trodden to the ground,Diffuse their balmy sweets around. 50SECOND PROPHET.RECITATIVE.But hush, my sons, our tyrant lords are near;The sounds of barb’rous pleasure strike mine ear;Triumphant music floats along the vale;Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale;The growing sound their swift approach declares;— 55Desist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs.EnterCHALDEANPRIESTSattended.FIRST PRIEST.AIR.Come on, my companions, the triumph display;Let rapture the minutes employ;The sun calls us out on this festival day,And our monarch partakes in the joy. 60SECOND PRIEST.Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies,Both similar blessings bestow;The sun with his splendour illumines the skies,And our monarch enlivens below.A CHALDEAN WOMAN.AIR.Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure; 65Love presents the fairest treasure,Leave all other joys for me.A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT.Or rather, Love’s delights despising,Haste to raptures ever risingWine shall bless the brave and free. 70FIRST PRIEST.Wine and beauty thus inviting,Each to different joys exciting,Whither shall my choice incline?SECOND PRIEST.I’ll waste no longer thought in choosing;But, neither this nor that refusing, 75I’ll make them both together mine.RECITATIVE.But whence, when joy should brighten o’er the land,This sullen gloom in Judah’s captive band?Ye sons of Judah, why the lute unstrung?Or why those harps on yonder willows hung? 80Come, take the lyre, and pour the strain along,The day demands it; sing us Sion’s song.Dismiss your griefs, and join our warbling choir,For who like you can wake the sleeping lyre?SECOND PROPHET.Bow’d down with chains, the scorn of all mankind, 85To want, to toil, and every ill consign’d,Is this a time to bid us raise the strain,Or mix in rites that Heaven regards with pain?No, never! May this hand forget each artThat speeds the power of music to the heart, 90Ere I forget the land that gave me birth,Or join with sounds profane its sacred mirth!FIRST PRIEST.Insulting slaves! If gentler methods fail,The whips and angry tortures shall prevail.[Exeunt ChaldeansFIRST PROPHET.Why, let them come, one good remains to cheer; 95We fear the Lord, and know no other fear.CHORUS.Can whips or tortures hurt the mindOn God’s supporting breast reclin’d?Stand fast, and let our tyrants seeThat fortitude is victory.[Exeunt.ACT II.Scene as before.CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.O PEACE of mind, angelic guest!Thou soft companion of the breast!Dispense thy balmy store.Wing all our thoughts to reach the skies,Till earth, receding from our eyes, 5Shall vanish as we soar.FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.No more! Too long has justice been delay’d,The king’s commands must fully be obey’d;Compliance with his will your peace secures,Praise but our gods, and every good is yours. 10But if, rebellious to his high command,You spurn the favours offer’d from his hand,Think, timely think, what terrors are behind;Reflect, nor tempt to rage the royal mind.SECOND PRIEST.AIR.Fierce is the whirlwind howling 15O’er Afric’s sandy plain,And fierce the tempest rollingAlong the furrow’d main:But storms that fly,To rend the sky, 20Every ill presaging,Less dreadful showTo worlds belowThan angry monarch’s raging.[Illustration: ]GOLDSMITH’S AUTOGRAPH(Stanzas from ‘The Captivity’)ISRAELITISH WOMAN.RECITATIVE.Ah, me! What angry terrors round us grow; 25How shrinks my soul to meet the threaten’d blow!Ye prophets, skill’d in Heaven’s eternal truth,Forgive my sex’s fears, forgive my youth!If, shrinking thus, when frowning power appears,I wish for life, and yield me to my fears. 30Let us one hour, one little hour obey;To-morrow’s tears may wash our stains away.AIR.To the last moment of his breathOn hope the wretch relies;And e’en the pang preceding death 35Bids expectation rise.Hope, like the gleaming taper’s light,Adorns and cheers our way;And still, as darker grows the night,Emits a brighter ray. 40SECOND PRIEST. RECITATIVE.Why this delay? At length for joy prepare;I read your looks, and see compliance there.Come on, and bid the warbling rapture rise,Our monarch’s fame the noblest theme supplies.Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre, 45The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire.CHALDEAN WOMAN.AIR.See the ruddy morning smiling,Hear the grove to bliss beguiling;Zephyrs through the woodland playing,Streams along the valley straying. 50FIRST PRIEST.While these a constant revel keep,Shall Reason only teach to weep?Hence, intruder! We’ll pursueNature, a better guide than you.SECOND PRIEST.Every moment, as it flows, 55Some peculiar pleasure owes;Then let us, providently wise,Seize the debtor as it flies.Think not to-morrow can repayThe pleasures that we lose to-day; 60To-morrow’s most unbounded storeCan but pay its proper score.FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.But hush! See, foremost of the captive choir,The master-prophet grasps his full-ton’d lyre.Mark where he sits, with executing art, 65Feels for each tone, and speeds it to the heart;See how prophetic rapture fills his form,Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm;And now his voice, accordant to the string,Prepares our monarch’s victories to sing. 70FIRST PROPHET.AIR.From north, from south, from east, from west,Conspiring nations come;Tremble thou vice-polluted breast;Blasphemers, all be dumb.The tempest gathers all around, 75On Babylon it lies;Down with her! down—down to the ground;She sinks, she groans, she dies.SECOND PROPHET.Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust,Ere yonder setting sun; 80Serve her as she hath served the just!’Tis fixed—it shall be done.FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.No more! When slaves thus insolent presume,The king himself shall judge, and fix their doom.Unthinking wretches! have not you, and all, 85Beheld our power in Zedekiah’s fall?To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes;See where dethron’d your captive monarch lies,Depriv’d of sight and rankling in his chain;See where he mourns his friends and children slain. 90Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behindMore ponderous chains, and dungeons more confin’d.CHORUS OF ALL.Arise, all potent ruler, rise,And vindicate thy people’s cause;Till every tongue in every land 95Shall offer up unfeign’d applause.[Exeunt.ACT III.Scene as before.FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.YES, my companions, Heaven’s decrees are past,And our fix’d empire shall for ever last;In vain the madd’ning prophet threatens woe,In vain rebellion aims her secret blow;Still shall our fame and growing power be spread, 5And still our vengeance crush the traitor’s head.AIR.Coeval with manOur empire began,And never shall failTill ruin shakes all; 10When ruin shakes all,Then shall Babylon fall.FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.’Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head,A little while, and all their power is fled;But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train, 15That this way slowly bend along the plain?And now, methinks, to yonder bank they bearA palled corse, and rest the body there.Alas! too well mine eyes indignant traceThe last remains of Judah’s royal race: 20Our monarch falls, and now our fears are o’er,Unhappy Zedekiah is no more!AIR.Ye wretches who, by fortune’s hate,In want and sorrow groan;Come ponder his severer fate, 25And learn to bless your own.You vain, whom youth and pleasure guide,Awhile the bliss suspend;Like yours, his life began in pride,Like his, your lives shall end. 30SECOND PROPHET.RECITATIVE.Behold his wretched corse with sorrow worn,His squalid limbs with pond’rous fetters torn;Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly glare,Those ill-becoming rags—that matted hair!And shall not Heaven for this its terrors show, 35Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty low?How long, how long, Almighty God of all,Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall!ISRAELITISH WOMAN.AIR.As panting flies the hunted hind,Where brooks refreshing stray; 40And rivers through the valley wind,That stop the hunter’s way:Thus we, O Lord, alike distrest,For streams of mercy long;Those streams which cheer the sore opprest, 45And overwhelm the strong.FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.But, whence that shout? Good heavens! amazement all!See yonder tower just nodding to the fall:See where an army covers all the ground,Saps the strong wall, and pours destruction round; 50The ruin smokes, destruction pours along;How low the great, how feeble are the strong!The foe prevails, the lofty walls recline—O God of hosts, the victory is thine!CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.Down with them, Lord, to lick the dust; 55Thy vengeance be begun:Serve them as they have serv’d the just,And let thy will be done.FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails,Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails, 60The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along;How low the proud, how feeble are the strong!Save us, O Lord! to thee, though late, we pray,And give repentance but an hour’s delay.FIRST AND SECOND PRIEST.AIR.Thrice happy, who in happy hour 65To Heaven their praise bestow,And own his all-consuming powerBefore they feel the blow!FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.Now, now’s our time! ye wretches bold and blind,Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind, 70Too late you seek that power unsought before,Your wealth, your pride, your kingdom, are no more.AIR.O Lucifer, thou son of morn,Alike of Heaven and man the foe;Heaven, men, and all, 75Now press thy fall,And sink thee lowest of the low.FIRST PROPHET.O Babylon, how art thou fallen!Thy fall more dreadful from delay!Thy streets forlorn 80To wilds shall turn,Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey.SECOND PROPHET.RECITATIVE.Such be her fate. But listen! from afarThe clarion’s note proclaims the finish’d war!Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand, 85And this way leads his formidable band.Give, give your songs of Sion to the wind,And hail the benefactor of mankind:He comes pursuant to divine decree,To chain the strong, and set the captive free. 90CHORUS OF YOUTHS.Rise to transports past expressing,Sweeter from remember’d woes;Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing,Comes to give the world repose.CHORUS OF VIRGINS.Cyrus comes, the world redressing, 95Love and pleasure in his train;Comes to heighten every blessing,Comes to soften every pain.SEMI-CHORUS.Hail to him with mercy reigning,Skilled in every peaceful art; 100Who from bonds our limbs unchaining,Only binds the willing heart.THE LAST CHORUS.But chief to Thee, our God, defender, friend,Let praise be given to all eternity;O Thou, without beginning, without end, 105Let us, and all, begin and end, in Thee!VERSES IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION TODINNER AT DR. BAKER’S.‘Thisisa poem! Thisisa copy of verses!’YOUR mandate I got,You may all go to pot;Had your senses been right,You’d have sent before night;As I hope to be saved, 5I put off being shaved;For I could not make bold,While the matter was cold,To meddle in suds,Or to put on my duds; 10So tell Horneck and Nesbitt,And Baker and his bit,And Kauffmann beside,And the Jessamy Bride,With the rest of the crew, 15The Reynoldses two,Little Comedy’s face,And the Captain in lace,(By-the-bye you may tell him,I have something to sell him; 20Of use I insist,When he comes to enlist.Your worships must knowThat a few days ago,An order went out, 25For the foot guards so stoutTo wear tails in high taste,Twelve inches at least:Now I’ve got him a scaleTo measure each tail, 30To lengthen a short tail,And a long one to curtail.)—Yet how can I when vext,Thus stray from my text?Tell each other to rue 35Your Devonshire crew,For sending so lateTo one of my state.But ’tis Reynolds’s wayFrom wisdom to stray, 40And Angelica’s whimTo be frolick like him,But, alas! Your good worships, how could they be wiser,When both have been spoil’d in to-day’sAdvertiser?OLIVERGOLDSMITH.LETTER IN PROSE AND VERSE TOMRS. BUNBURYMADAM,I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candour could require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer.I am not so ignorant, Madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms contained in it, and solecisms also. (Solecism is a word that comes from the town of Soleis in Attica, among the Greeks, built by Solon, and applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains, from a town also of that name;—but this is learning you have no taste for!)—I say, Madam, there are sarcasms in it, and solecisms also. But not to seem an ill-natured critic, I’ll take leave to quote your own words, and give you my remarks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows:—‘I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here,And your spring-velvet coat very smart will appear,To open our ball the first day of the year.’Pray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet ‘good,’ applied to the title of Doctor? Had you called me ‘learned Doctor,’ or ‘grave Doctor,’ or ‘noble Doctor,’ it might be allowable, because they belong to the profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my ‘spring-velvet coat,’ and advise me to wear it the first day in the year,—that is, in the middle of winter!—a spring-velvet in the middle of winter!!! That would bea solecism indeed! and yet, to increase the inconsistence, in another part of your letter you call me a beau. Now, on one side or other, you must be wrong. If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a spring-velvet in winter: and if I am not a beau, why then, that explains itself. But let me go on to your two next strange lines:—‘And bring with you a wig, that is modish and gay,dance with the girls that are makers of hay.’The absurdity of making hay at Christmas, you yourself seem sensible of: you say your sister will laugh; and so indeed she well may! The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous sort of laughter, ‘Naso contemnere adunco’; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you in the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit. But now I come to the most extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your and your sister’s advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice! and from whom? You shall hear.First let me suppose, what may shortly be true,The company set, and the word to be, Loo;All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure,And ogling the stake which is fix’d in the centre.Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn 5At never once finding a visit from Pam.I lay down my stake, apparently cool,While the harpies about me all pocket the pool.I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly,I wish all my friends may be bolder than I: 10Yet still they sit snug, not a creature will aimBy losing their money to venture at fame.’Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,’Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold:All play their own way, and they think me an ass,— 15‘What does Mrs. Bunbury?’ ‘I, Sir? I pass.’‘Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage, come do,’—‘Who, I? let me see, Sir, why I must pass too.’Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil. 20Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,Till made by my losses as bold as a lion,I venture at all,—while my avarice regardsThe whole pool as my own—‘Come, give me five cards.’‘Well done!’ cry the ladies; ‘Ah, Doctor, that’s good! 25The pool’s very rich—ah! the Doctor is loo’d!’Thus foil’d in my courage, on all sides perplex’d,I ask for advice from the lady that’s next:‘Pray, Ma’am, be so good as to give your advice;Don’t you think the best way is to venture for ’t twice?’ 30‘I advise,’ cries the lady, ‘to try it, I own.—Ah! the Doctor is loo’d! Come, Doctor, put down.’Thus, playing, and playing, I still grow more eager,And so bold, and so bold, I’m at last a bold beggar.Now, ladies, I ask, if law-matters you’re skill’d in, 35Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding?For giving advice that is not worth a straw,May well be call’d picking of pockets in law;And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy. 40What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought!By the gods, I’ll enjoy it; though ’tis but in thought!Both are plac’d at the bar, with all proper decorum,With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before ’em;Both cover their faces with mobs and all that; 45But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.When uncover’d, a buzz of enquiry runs round,—‘Pray what are their crimes?’—‘They’ve been pilfering found.’‘But, pray, whom have they pilfer’d?’—‘A Doctor, I hear.’‘What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near!’ 50‘The same.’—‘What a pity! how does it surprise one!Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!’Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering,To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung, 55‘Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.’‘The younger the worse,’ I return him again,‘It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.’‘But then they’re so handsome, one’s bosom it grieves.’‘What signifieshandsome, when people are thieves?’ 60‘But where is your justice? their cases are hard.’‘What signifiesjustice? I want thereward.There’s the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds; there’s the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds; there’s the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-the-Pound to St. Giles’s watchhouse, offers forty pounds,—I shall have all that if I convict them!’—‘But consider their case,—it may yet be your own!And see how they kneel! Is your heart made of stone?’This moves:—so at last I agree to relent, 65For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.I challenge you all to answer this: I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep;—but now for the rest of the letter: and next— but I want room—so I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.I don’t value you all!O. G.VIDA’S GAME OF CHESSTRANSLATEDARMIES of box that sportively engageAnd mimic real battles in their rage,Pleased I recount; how, smit with glory’s charms,Two mighty Monarchs met in adverse arms,Sable and white; assist me to explore, 5Ye Serian Nymphs, what ne’er was sung before.No path appears: yet resolute I strayWhere youth undaunted bids me force my way.O’er rocks and cliffs while I the task pursue,Guide me, ye Nymphs, with your unerring clue. 10For you the rise of this diversion know,You first were pleased in Italy to showThis studious sport; from Scacchis was its name,The pleasing record of your Sister’s fame.When Jove through Ethiopia’s parch’d extent 15To grace the nuptials of old Ocean went,Each god was there; and mirth and joy aroundTo shores remote diffused their happy sound.Then when their hunger and their thirst no moreClaim’d their attention, and the feast was o’er; 20Ocean with pastime to divert the thought,Commands a painted table to be brought.Sixty-four spaces fill the chequer’d square;Eight in each rank eight equal limits share.Alike their form, but different are their dyes, 25They fade alternate, and alternate rise,White after black; such various stains as thoseThe shelving backs of tortoises disclose.Then to the gods that mute and wondering sate,You see (says he) the field prepared for fate. 30Here will the little armies please your sight,With adverse colours hurrying to the fight:On which so oft, with silent sweet surprise,The Nymphs and Nereids used to feast their eyes,And all the neighbours of the hoary deep, 35When calm the sea, and winds were lull’d asleepBut see, the mimic heroes tread the board;He said, and straightway from an urn he pour’dThe sculptured box, that neatly seem’d to apeThe graceful figure of a human shape:— 40Equal the strength and number of each foe,Sixteen appear’d like jet, sixteen like snow.As their shape varies various is the name,Different their posts, nor is their strength the same.There might you see two Kings with equal pride 45Gird on their arms, their Consorts by their side;Here the Foot-warriors glowing after fame,There prancing Knights and dexterous Archers cameAnd Elephants, that on their backs sustainVast towers of war, and fill and shake the plain. 50And now both hosts, preparing for the stormOf adverse battle, their encampments form.In the fourth space, and on the farthest line,Directly opposite the Monarchs shine;The swarthy on white ground, on sable stands 55The silver King; and then they send commands.Nearest to these the Queens exert their might;One the left side, and t’other guards the right:Where each, by her respective armour known.Chooses the colour that is like her own. 60Then the young Archers, two that snowy-whiteBend the tough yew, and two as black as night;(Greece call’d them Mars’s favourites heretofore,From their delight in war, and thirst of gore).These on each side the Monarch and his Queen 65Surround obedient; next to these are seenThe crested Knights in golden armour gay;Their steeds by turns curvet, or snort or neigh.In either army on each distant wingTwo mighty Elephants their castles bring, 70Bulwarks immense! and then at last combineEight of the Foot to form the second line,The vanguard to the King and Queen; from farPrepared to open all the fate of war.So moved the boxen hosts, each double-lined, 75Their different colours floating in the wind:As if an army of the Gauls should go,With their white standards, o’er the Alpine snowTo meet in rigid fight on scorching sandsThe sun-burnt Moors and Memnon’s swarthy bands. 80Then Father Ocean thus; you see them here,Celestial powers, what troops, what camps appear.Learn now the sev’ral orders of the fray,For e’en these arms their stated laws obey.To lead the fight, the Kings from all their bands 85Choose whom they please to bear their great commands.Should a black hero first to battle go, |Instant a white one guards against the blow; |But only one at once can charge or shun the foe. |Their gen’ral purpose on one scheme is bent, 90So to besiege the King within the tent,That there remains no place by subtle flightFrom danger free; and that decides the fight.Meanwhile, howe’er, the sooner to destroyTh’ imperial Prince, remorseless they employ 95Their swords in blood; and whosoever dareOppose their vengeance, in the ruin share.Fate thins their camp; the parti-coloured fieldWidens apace, as they o’ercome or yield,But the proud victor takes the captive’s post; 100There fronts the fury of th’ avenging hostOne single shock: and (should he ward the blow),May then retire at pleasure from the foe.The Foot alone (so their harsh laws ordain)When they proceed can ne’er return again. 105But neither all rush on alike to proveThe terror of their arms: The Foot must moveDirectly on, and but a single square;Yet may these heroes, when they first prepareTo mix in combat on the bloody mead, 110Double their sally, and two steps proceed;But when they wound, their swords they subtly guideWith aim oblique, and slanting pierce his side.But the great Indian beasts, whose backs sustainVast turrets arm’d, when on the redd’ning plain 115They join in all the terror of the fight,Forward or backward, to the left or right,Run furious, and impatient of confineScour through the field, and threat the farthest line.Yet must they ne’er obliquely aim their blows; | 120That only manner is allow’d to those |Whom Mars has favour’d most, who bend the stubborn bows. |These glancing sidewards in a straight career,Yet each confin’d to their respective sphere,Or white or black, can send th’ unerring dart 125Wing’d with swift death to pierce through ev’ry part.The fiery steed, regardless of the reins,Comes prancing on; but sullenly disdainsThe path direct, and boldly wheeling round, |Leaps o’er a double space at ev’ry bound: 130 |And shifts from white or black to diff’rent colour’d ground. |But the fierce Queen, whom dangers ne’er dismay,The strength and terror of the bloody day,In a straight line spreads her destruction wide,To left or right, before, behind, aside. 135Yet may she never with a circling courseSweep to the battle like the fretful Horse;But unconfin’d may at her pleasure stray,If neither friend nor foe block up the way;For to o’erleap a warrior, ’tis decreed 140Those only dare who curb the snorting steed.With greater caution and majestic stateThe warlike Monarchs in the scene of fateDirect their motions, since for these appearZealous each hope, and anxious ev’ry fear. 145While the King’s safe, with resolution sternThey clasp their arms; but should a sudden turnMake him a captive, instantly they yield,Resolved to share his fortune in the field.He moves on slow; with reverence profound 150His faithful troops encompass him around,And oft, to break some instant fatal scheme,Rush to their fates, their sov’reign to redeem;While he, unanxious where to wound the foe,Need only shift and guard against a blow. 155But none, however, can presume t’ appearWithin his reach, but must his vengeance fear;For he on ev’ry side his terror throws;But when he changes from his first repose,Moves but one step, most awfully sedate, 160Or idly roving, or intent on fate.These are the sev’ral and establish’d laws:Now see how each maintains his bloody cause.Here paused the god, but (since whene’er they wageWar here on earth the gods themselves engage 165In mutual battle as they hate or love,And the most stubborn war is oft above),Almighty Jove commands the circling trainOf gods from fav’ring either to abstain,And let the fight be silently survey’d; 170And added solemn threats if disobey’d.Then call’d he Phoebus from among the PowersAnd subtle Hermes, whom in softer hoursFair Maia bore: youth wanton’d in their face;Both in life’s bloom, both shone with equal grace. 175Hermes as yet had never wing’d his feet;As yet Apollo in his radiant seatHad never driv’n his chariot through the air,Known by his bow alone and golden hair.These Jove commission’d to attempt the fray, 180And rule the sportive military day;Bid them agree which party each maintains,And promised a reward that’s worth their pains.The greater took their seats; on either handRespectful the less gods in order stand, 185But careful not to interrupt their play,By hinting when t’ advance or run away.Then they examine, who shall first proceedTo try their courage, and their army lead.Chance gave it for the White, that he should go 190First with a brave defiance to the foe.Awhile he ponder’d which of all his trainShould bear his first commission o’er the plain;And then determined to begin the sceneWith him that stood before to guard the Queen. 195He took a double step: with instant careDoes the black Monarch in his turn prepareThe adverse champion, and with stern commandBid him repel the charge with equal hand.There front to front, the midst of all the field, 200With furious threats their shining arms they wield;Yet vain the conflict, neither can prevailWhile in one path each other they assail.On ev’ry side to their assistance flyTheir fellow soldiers, and with strong supply 205Crowd to the battle, but no bloody stainTinctures their armour; sportive in the plainMars plays awhile, and in excursion slightHarmless they sally forth, or wait the fight.But now the swarthy Foot, that first appear’d 210To front the foe, his pond’rous jav’lin rear’dLeftward aslant, and a pale warrior slays,Spurns him aside, and boldly takes his place.Unhappy youth, his danger not to spy!Instant he fell, and triumph’d but to die. 215At this the sable King with prudent careRemoved his station from the middle square,And slow retiring to the farthest ground,There safely lurk’d, with troops entrench’d around.Then from each quarter to the war advance 220The furious Knights, and poise the trembling lance:By turns they rush, by turns the victors yield,Heaps of dead Foot choke up the crimson’d field:They fall unable to retreat; aroundThe clang of arms and iron hoofs resound. 225But while young Phoebus pleased himself to viewHis furious Knight destroy the vulgar crew,Sly Hermes long’d t’ attempt with secret aimSome noble act of more exalted fame.For this, he inoffensive pass’d along 230Through ranks of Foot, and midst the trembling throngSent his left Horse, that free without confineRov’d o’er the plain, upon some great designAgainst the King himself. At length he stood,And having fix’d his station as he would, 235Threaten’d at once with instant fate the KingAnd th’ Indian beast that guarded the right wing.Apollo sigh’d, and hast’ning to relieveThe straiten’d Monarch, griev’d that he must leaveHis martial Elephant expos’d to fate, 240And view’d with pitying eyes his dang’rous state.First in his thoughts however was his careTo save his King, whom to the neighbouring squareOn the right hand, he snatch’d with trembling flight;At this with fury springs the sable Knight, 245Drew his keen sword, and rising to the blow,Sent the great Indian brute to shades below.O fatal loss! for none except the QueenSpreads such a terror through the bloody scene.Yet shall you ne’er unpunish’d boast your prize, 250 |The Delian god with stern resentment cries; |And wedg’d him round with Foot, and pour’d in fresh supplies. |Thus close besieg’d trembling he cast his eyeAround the plain, but saw no shelter nigh,No way for flight; for here the Queen oppos’d, 255The Foot in phalanx there the passage clos’d:At length he fell; yet not unpleas’d with fate,Since victim to a Queen’s vindictive hate.With grief and fury burns the whiten’d host,One of their Tow’rs thus immaturely lost. 260As when a bull has in contention sternLost his right horn, with double vengeance burnHis thoughts for war, with blood he’s cover’d o’er,And the woods echo to his dismal roar,So look’d the flaxen host, when angry fate 265O’erturn’d the Indian bulwark of their state.Fired at this great success, with double rageApollo hurries on his troops t’ engage,For blood and havoc wild; and, while he leadsHis troops thus careless, loses both his steeds: 270For if some adverse warriors were o’erthrown,He little thought what dangers threat his own.But slyer Hermes with observant eyesMarch’d slowly cautious, and at distance spiesWhat moves must next succeed, what dangers next arise. 275Often would he, the stately Queen to snare,The slender Foot to front her arms prepare,And to conceal his scheme he sighs and feignsSuch a wrong step would frustrate all his pains.Just then an Archer, from the right-hand view, 280At the pale Queen his arrow boldly drew,Unseen by Phoebus, who, with studious thought,From the left side a vulgar hero brought.But tender Venus, with a pitying eye,Viewing the sad destruction that was nigh, 285Wink’d upon Phoebus (for the Goddess satBy chance directly opposite); at thatRoused in an instant, young Apollo threwHis eyes around the field his troops to view:Perceiv’d the danger, and with sudden fright | 290Withdrew the Foot that he had sent to fight, |And sav’d his trembling Queen by seasonable flight. |But Maia’s son with shouts fill’d all the coast:The Queen, he cried, the important Queen is lost.Phoebus, howe’er, resolving to maintain 295What he had done, bespoke the heavenly train.What mighty harm, in sportive mimic flight,Is it to set a little blunder right,When no preliminary rule debarr’d?If you henceforward, Mercury, would guard 300Against such practice, let us make the law:And whosoe’er shall first to battle draw,Or white, or black, remorseless let him goAt all events, and dare the angry foe.He said, and this opinion pleased around: 305Jove turn’d aside, and on his daughter frown’d,Unmark’d by Hermes, who, with strange surprise,Fretted and foam’d, and roll’d his ferret eyes,And but with great reluctance could refrainFrom dashing at a blow all off the plain. 310Then he resolved to interweave deceits,—To carry on the war by tricks and cheats.Instant he call’d an Archer from the throng,And bid him like the courser wheel along:Bounding he springs, and threats the pallid Queen. 315The fraud, however, was by Phoebus seen;He smiled, and, turning to the Gods, he said:Though, Hermes, you are perfect in your trade,And you can trick and cheat to great surprise, |These little sleights no more shall blind my eyes; | 320Correct them if you please, the more you thus disguise. |The circle laugh’d aloud; and Maia’s son(As if it had but by mistake been done)Recall’d his Archer, and with motion due,Bid him advance, the combat to renew. 325But Phoebus watch’d him with a jealous eye,Fearing some trick was ever lurking nigh,For he would oft, with sudden sly design,Send forth at once two combatants to joinHis warring troops, against the law of arms, 330Unless the wary foe was ever in alarms.Now the white Archer with his utmost forceBent the tough bow against the sable Horse,And drove him from the Queen, where he had stoodHoping to glut his vengeance with her blood. 335Then the right Elephant with martial prideRoved here and there, and spread his terrors wide:Glittering in arms from far a courser came,Threaten’d at once the King and Royal Dame;Thought himself safe when he the post had seized, 340And with the future spoils his fancy pleased.Fired at the danger a young Archer came,Rush’d on the foe, and levell’d sure his aim;(And though a Pawn his sword in vengeance draws,Gladly he’d lose his life in glory’s cause). 345The whistling arrow to his bowels flew,And the sharp steel his blood profusely drew;He drops the reins, he totters to the ground,And his life issued murm’ring through the wound.Pierced by the Foot, this Archer bit the plain; | 350The Foot himself was by another slain; |And with inflamed revenge, the battle burns again. |Towers, Archers, Knights, meet on the crimson ground,And the field echoes to the martial sound.Their thoughts are heated, and their courage fired, 355Thick they rush on with double zeal inspired;Generals and Foot, with different colour’d mien, |Confusedly warring in the camps are seen,— |Valour and fortune meet in one promiscuous scene. |Now these victorious, lord it o’er the field; 360Now the foe rallies, the triumphant yield:Just as the tide of battle ebbs or flows.As when the conflict more tempestuous growsBetween the winds, with strong and boisterous sweepThey plough th’ Ionian or Atlantic deep! 365By turns prevail the mutual blustering roar,And the big waves alternate lash the shore.But in the midst of all the battle ragedThe snowy Queen, with troops at once engaged;She fell’d an Archer as she sought the plain,— 370As she retired an Elephant was slain:To right and left her fatal spears she sent,Burst through the ranks, and triumph’d as she went;Through arms and blood she seeks a glorious fate,Pierces the farthest lines, and nobly great 375Leads on her army with a gallant show,Breaks the battalions, and cuts through the foe.At length the sable King his fears betray’d,And begg’d his military consort’s aid:With cheerful speed she flew to his relief, 380And met in equal arms the female chief.Who first, great Queen, and who at last did bleed?How many Whites lay gasping on the mead?Half dead, and floating in a bloody tide,Foot, Knights, and Archer lie on every side. 385Who can recount the slaughter of the day?How many leaders threw their lives away?The chequer’d plain is fill’d with dying box,Havoc ensues, and with tumultuous shocksThe different colour’d ranks in blood engage, 390And Foot and Horse promiscuously rage.With nobler courage and superior mightThe dreadful Amazons sustain the fight,Resolved alike to mix in glorious strife,Till to imperious fate they yield their life. 395Meanwhile each Monarch, in a neighbouring cell,Confined the warriors that in battle fell,There watch’d the captives with a jealous eye,Lest, slipping out again, to arms they fly.But Thracian Mars, in stedfast friendship join’d 400To Hermes, as near Phoebus he reclined,Observed each chance, how all their motions bend,Resolved if possible to serve his friend.He a Foot-soldier and a Knight purloin’dOut from the prison that the dead confined; 405And slyly push’d ’em forward on the plain; |Th’ enliven’d combatants their arms regain, |Mix in the bloody scene, and boldly war again. |So the foul hag, in screaming wild alarmsO’er a dead carcase muttering her charms, 410(And with her frequent and tremendous yellForcing great Hecate from out of hell)Shoots in the corpse a new fictitious soul; |With instant glare the supple eyeballs roll, |Again it moves and speaks, and life informs the whole. | 415Vulcan alone discern’d the subtle cheat;And wisely scorning such a base deceit,Call’d out to Phoebus. Grief and rage assailPhoebus by turns; detected Mars turns pale.Then awful Jove with sullen eye reproved 420Mars, and the captives order’d to be movedTo their dark caves; bid each fictitious spearBe straight recall’d, and all be as they were.And now both Monarchs with redoubled rageLed on their Queens, the mutual war to wage. 425O’er all the field their thirsty spears they send,Then front to front their Monarchs they defend.But lo! the female White rush’d in unseen,And slew with fatal haste the swarthy Queen;Yet soon, alas! resign’d her royal spoils, 430Snatch’d by a shaft from her successful toils.Struck at the sight, both hosts in wild surprisePour’d forth their tears, and fill’d the air with cries;They wept and sigh’d, as pass’d the fun’ral train,As if both armies had at once been slain. 435And now each troop surrounds its mourning chief,To guard his person, or assuage his grief.One is their common fear; one stormy blastHas equally made havoc as it pass’d.Not all, however, of their youth are slain; 440Some champions yet the vig’rous war maintain.Three Foot, an Archer, and a stately Tower,For Phoebus still exert their utmost power.Just the same number Mercury can boast,Except the Tower, who lately in his post 445Unarm’d inglorious fell, in peace profound,Pierced by an Archer with a distant wound;But his right Horse retain’d its mettled pride,—The rest were swept away by war’s strong tide.But fretful Hermes, with despairing moan, 450Griev’d that so many champions were o’erthrown,Yet reassumes the fight; and summons roundThe little straggling army that he found,—All that had ’scaped from fierce Apollo’s rage,—Resolved with greater caution to engage 455In future strife, by subtle wiles (if fateShould give him leave) to save his sinking state.The sable troops advance with prudence slow,Bent on all hazards to distress the foe.More cheerful Phoebus, with unequal pace, 460Rallies his arms to lessen his disgrace.But what strange havoc everywhere has been! |A straggling champion here and there is seen; |And many are the tents, yet few are left within. |Th’ afflicted Kings bewail their consorts dead, 465And loathe the thoughts of a deserted bed;And though each monarch studies to improveThe tender mem’ry of his former love,Their state requires a second nuptial tie.Hence the pale ruler with a love-sick eye 470Surveys th’ attendants of his former wife,And offers one of them a royal life.These, when their martial mistress had been slain,Weak and despairing tried their arms in vain;Willing, howe’er, amidst the Black to go, 475They thirst for speedy vengeance on the foe.Then he resolves to see who merits best,By strength and courage, the imperial vest;Points out the foe, bids each with bold designPierce through the ranks, and reach the deepest line: 480For none must hope with monarchs to reposeBut who can first, through thick surrounding foes,Through arms and wiles, with hazardous essay,Safe to the farthest quarters force their way.Fired at the thought, with sudden, joyful pace 485They hurry on; but first of all the raceRuns the third right-hand warrior for the prize,—The glitt’ring crown already charms her eyes.Her dear associates cheerfully give o’er |The nuptial chase; and swift she flies before, | 490And Glory lent her wings, and the reward in store. |Nor would the sable King her hopes prevent,For he himself was on a Queen intent,Alternate, therefore, through the field they go.Hermes led on, but by a step too slow, 495His fourth left Pawn: and now th’ advent’rous WhiteHad march’d through all, and gain’d the wish’d for site.Then the pleased King gives orders to prepareThe crown, the sceptre, and the royal chair,And owns her for his Queen: around exult 500The snowy troops, and o’er the Black insult.Hermes burst into tears,—with fretful roarFill’d the wide air, and his gay vesture tore.The swarthy Foot had only to advanceOne single step; but oh! malignant chance! 505A towered Elephant, with fatal aim,Stood ready to destroy her when she came:He keeps a watchful eye upon the whole,Threatens her entrance, and protects the goal.Meanwhile the royal new-created bride, 510Pleased with her pomp, spread death and terror wide;Like lightning through the sable troops she flies,Clashes her arms, and seems to threat the skies.The sable troops are sunk in wild affright,And wish th’ earth op’ning snatch’d ’em from her sight. 515In burst the Queen, with vast impetuous swing: |The trembling foes come swarming round the King, |Where in the midst he stood, and form a valiant ring. |So the poor cows, straggling o’er pasture land,When they perceive the prowling wolf at hand, 520Crowd close together in a circle full,And beg the succour of the lordly bull;They clash their horns, they low with dreadful sound,And the remotest groves re-echo round.But the bold Queen, victorious, from behind 525Pierces the foe; yet chiefly she design’dAgainst the King himself some fatal aim,And full of war to his pavilion came.Now here she rush’d, now there; and had she beenBut duly prudent, she had slipp’d between, 530With course oblique, into the fourth white square,And the long toil of war had ended there,The King had fallen, and all his sable state;And vanquish’d Hermes cursed his partial fate.For thence with ease the championess might go, 535Murder the King, and none could ward the blow.With silence, Hermes, and with panting heart,Perceived the danger, but with subtle art,(Lest he should see the place) spurs on the foe,Confounds his thoughts, and blames his being slow. 540For shame! move on; would you for ever stay?What sloth is this, what strange perverse delay?—How could you e’er my little pausing blame?—What! you would wait till night shall end the game?Phoebus, thus nettled, with imprudence slew 545A vulgar Pawn, but lost his nobler view.Young Hermes leap’d, with sudden joy elate;And then, to save the monarch from his fate,Led on his martial Knight, who stepp’d between,Pleased that his charge was to oppose the Queen— 550Then, pondering how the Indian beast to slay,That stopp’d the Foot from making farther way,—From being made a Queen; with slanting aimAn archer struck him; down the monster came,And dying shook the earth: while Phoebus tries 555Without success the monarch to surprise.The Foot, then uncontroll’d with instant pride,Seized the last spot, and moved a royal bride.And now with equal strength both war again,And bring their second wives upon the plain; 560Then, though with equal views each hop’d and fear’d,Yet, as if every doubt had disappear’d,As if he had the palm, young Hermes fliesInto excess of joy; with deep disguise,Extols his own Black troops, with frequent spite 565And with invective taunts disdains the White.Whom Phoebus thus reproved with quick return—As yet we cannot the decision learnOf this dispute, and do you triumph now?Then your big words and vauntings I’ll allow, 570When you the battle shall completely gain;At present I shall make your boasting vain.He said, and forward led the daring Queen;Instant the fury of the bloody sceneRises tumultuous, swift the warriors fly 575From either side to conquer or to die.They front the storm of war: around ’em Fear,Terror, and Death, perpetually appear.All meet in arms, and man to man oppose,Each from their camp attempts to drive their foes; 580Each tries by turns to force the hostile lines;Chance and impatience blast their best designs.The sable Queen spread terror as she wentThrough the mid ranks: with more reserved intentThe adverse dame declined the open fray, 585And to the King in private stole away:Then took the royal guard, and bursting in,With fatal menace close besieged the King.Alarm’d at this, the swarthy Queen, in haste,From all her havoc and destructive waste 590Broke off, and her contempt of death to show, |Leap’d in between the Monarch and the foe, |To save the King and state from this impending blow. |But Phoebus met a worse misfortune here:For Hermes now led forward, void of fear, 595His furious Horse into the open plain,That onward chafed, and pranced, and pawed amain.Nor ceased from his attempts until he stoodOn the long-wished-for spot, from whence he couldSlay King or Queen. O’erwhelm’d with sudden fears, 600Apollo saw, and could not keep from tears.Now all seem’d ready to be overthrown;His strength was wither’d, ev’ry hope was flown.Hermes, exulting at this great surprise,Shouted for joy, and fill’d the air with cries; 605Instant he sent the Queen to shades below,And of her spoils made a triumphant show.But in return, and in his mid career,Fell his brave Knight, beneath the Monarch’s spear.Phoebus, however, did not yet despair, 610But still fought on with courage and with care.He had but two poor common men to show,And Mars’s favourite with his iv’ry bow.The thoughts of ruin made ’em dare their bestTo save their King, so fatally distress’d. 615But the sad hour required not such an aid;And Hermes breathed revenge where’er he stray’d.Fierce comes the sable Queen with fatal threat,Surrounds the Monarch in his royal seat;Rushed here and there, nor rested till she slew 620The last remainder of the whiten’d crew.Sole stood the King, the midst of all the plain,Weak and defenceless, his companions slain.As when the ruddy morn ascending highHas chased the twinkling stars from all the sky, 625Your star, fair Venus, still retains its light,And, loveliest, goes the latest out of sight.No safety’s left, no gleams of hope remain;Yet did he not as vanquish’d quit the plain,But tried to shut himself between the foe,— | 630Unhurt through swords and spears he hoped to go, |Until no room was left to shun the fatal blow. |For if none threaten’d his immediate fate,And his next move must ruin all his state,All their past toil and labour is in vain, | 635Vain all the bloody carnage of the plain,— |Neither would triumph then, the laurel neither gain. |Therefore through each void space and desert tent,By different moves his various course he bent:The Black King watch’d him with observant eye, 640Follow’d him close, but left him room to fly.Then when he saw him take the farthest line,He sent the Queen his motions to confine,And guard the second rank, that he could goNo farther now than to that distant row. 645The sable monarch then with cheerful mienApproach’d, but always with one space between.But as the King stood o’er against him there,Helpless, forlorn, and sunk in his despair,The martial Queen her lucky moment knew, | 650Seized on the farthest seat with fatal view, |Nor left th’ unhappy King a place to flee unto. |At length in vengeance her keen sword she draws, |Slew him, and ended thus the bloody cause: |And all the gods around approved it with applause. | 655The victor could not from his insults keep,But laugh’d and sneer’d to see Apollo weep.Jove call’d him near, and gave him in his handThe powerful, happy, and mysterious wandBy which the Shades are call’d to purer day, 660When penal fire has purged their sins away;By which the guilty are condemn’d to dwellIn the dark mansions of the deepest hell;By which he gives us sleep, or sleep denies,And closes at the last the dying eyes. 665Soon after this, the heavenly victor broughtThe game on earth, and first th’ Italians taught.For (as they say) fair Scacchis he espiedFeeding her cygnets in the silver tide,(Sacchis, the loveliest Seriad of the place) 670And as she stray’d, took her to his embrace.Then, to reward her for her virtue lost,Gave her the men and chequer’d board, emboss’dWith gold and silver curiously inlay’d;And taught her how the game was to be play’d. 675Ev’n now ’tis honour’d with her happy name;And Rome and all the world admire the game.All which the Seriads told me heretofore,When my boy-notes amused the Serian shore.
ANORATORIO
THE PERSONS.
SCENE—The Banks of the River Euphrates, near Babylon.
THE CAPTIVITYACT I—SCENEI.Israelites sitting on the Banks of the Euphrates.FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.
YE captive tribes, that hourly work and weepWhere flows Euphrates murmuring to the deep,Suspend awhile the task, the tear suspend,And turn to God, your Father and your Friend.Insulted, chain’d, and all the world a foe, 5Our God alone is all we boast below.
FIRST PROPHET.AIR.
Our God is all we boast below,To him we turn our eyes;And every added weight of woeShall make our homage rise. 10
SECOND PROPHET.
And though no temple richly drest,Nor sacrifice is here;We’ll make his temple in our breast,And offer up a tear.[The first stanza repeated by the Chorus.
SECOND PROPHET.RECITATIVE.
That strain once more; it bids remembrance rise, 15And brings my long-lost country to mine eyes.Ye fields of Sharon, dress’d in flow’ry pride,Ye plains where Jordan rolls its glassy tide,Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crown’d,Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes around, 20These hills how sweet! Those plains how wond’rous fair,But sweeter still, when Heaven was with us there!
AIR.
O Memory, thou fond deceiver,Still importunate and vain;To former joys recurring ever, 25And turning all the past to pain;Hence intruder, most distressing,Seek the happy and the free:The wretch who wants each other blessing,Ever wants a friend in thee. 30
FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.
Yet, why complain? What, though by bonds confin’d,Should bonds repress the vigour of the mind?Have we not cause for triumph when we seeOurselves alone from idol-worship free?Are not this very morn those feasts begun? 35Where prostrate error hails the rising sun?Do not our tyrant lords this day ordainFor superstitious rites and mirth profane?And should we mourn? Should coward virtue fly,When impious folly rears her front on high? 40No; rather let us triumph still the more,And as our fortune sinks, our wishes soar.
AIR.
The triumphs that on vice attendShall ever in confusion end;The good man suffers but to gain, 45And every virtue springs from pain:As aromatic plants bestowNo spicy fragrance while they grow;But crush’d, or trodden to the ground,Diffuse their balmy sweets around. 50
SECOND PROPHET.RECITATIVE.
But hush, my sons, our tyrant lords are near;The sounds of barb’rous pleasure strike mine ear;Triumphant music floats along the vale;Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale;The growing sound their swift approach declares;— 55Desist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs.
EnterCHALDEANPRIESTSattended.FIRST PRIEST.AIR.
Come on, my companions, the triumph display;Let rapture the minutes employ;The sun calls us out on this festival day,And our monarch partakes in the joy. 60
SECOND PRIEST.
Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies,Both similar blessings bestow;The sun with his splendour illumines the skies,And our monarch enlivens below.
A CHALDEAN WOMAN.AIR.
Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure; 65Love presents the fairest treasure,Leave all other joys for me.
A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT.
Or rather, Love’s delights despising,Haste to raptures ever risingWine shall bless the brave and free. 70
FIRST PRIEST.
Wine and beauty thus inviting,Each to different joys exciting,Whither shall my choice incline?
SECOND PRIEST.
I’ll waste no longer thought in choosing;But, neither this nor that refusing, 75I’ll make them both together mine.
RECITATIVE.
But whence, when joy should brighten o’er the land,This sullen gloom in Judah’s captive band?Ye sons of Judah, why the lute unstrung?Or why those harps on yonder willows hung? 80Come, take the lyre, and pour the strain along,The day demands it; sing us Sion’s song.Dismiss your griefs, and join our warbling choir,For who like you can wake the sleeping lyre?
SECOND PROPHET.
Bow’d down with chains, the scorn of all mankind, 85To want, to toil, and every ill consign’d,Is this a time to bid us raise the strain,Or mix in rites that Heaven regards with pain?No, never! May this hand forget each artThat speeds the power of music to the heart, 90Ere I forget the land that gave me birth,Or join with sounds profane its sacred mirth!
FIRST PRIEST.
Insulting slaves! If gentler methods fail,The whips and angry tortures shall prevail.[Exeunt Chaldeans
FIRST PROPHET.
Why, let them come, one good remains to cheer; 95We fear the Lord, and know no other fear.
CHORUS.
Can whips or tortures hurt the mindOn God’s supporting breast reclin’d?Stand fast, and let our tyrants seeThat fortitude is victory.[Exeunt.
ACT II.Scene as before.CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.
O PEACE of mind, angelic guest!Thou soft companion of the breast!Dispense thy balmy store.Wing all our thoughts to reach the skies,Till earth, receding from our eyes, 5Shall vanish as we soar.
FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.
No more! Too long has justice been delay’d,The king’s commands must fully be obey’d;Compliance with his will your peace secures,Praise but our gods, and every good is yours. 10But if, rebellious to his high command,You spurn the favours offer’d from his hand,Think, timely think, what terrors are behind;Reflect, nor tempt to rage the royal mind.
SECOND PRIEST.AIR.
Fierce is the whirlwind howling 15O’er Afric’s sandy plain,And fierce the tempest rollingAlong the furrow’d main:But storms that fly,To rend the sky, 20Every ill presaging,Less dreadful showTo worlds belowThan angry monarch’s raging.
[Illustration: ]GOLDSMITH’S AUTOGRAPH(Stanzas from ‘The Captivity’)
GOLDSMITH’S AUTOGRAPH(Stanzas from ‘The Captivity’)
ISRAELITISH WOMAN.RECITATIVE.
Ah, me! What angry terrors round us grow; 25How shrinks my soul to meet the threaten’d blow!Ye prophets, skill’d in Heaven’s eternal truth,Forgive my sex’s fears, forgive my youth!If, shrinking thus, when frowning power appears,I wish for life, and yield me to my fears. 30Let us one hour, one little hour obey;To-morrow’s tears may wash our stains away.
AIR.
To the last moment of his breathOn hope the wretch relies;And e’en the pang preceding death 35Bids expectation rise.Hope, like the gleaming taper’s light,Adorns and cheers our way;And still, as darker grows the night,Emits a brighter ray. 40
SECOND PRIEST. RECITATIVE.
Why this delay? At length for joy prepare;I read your looks, and see compliance there.Come on, and bid the warbling rapture rise,Our monarch’s fame the noblest theme supplies.Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre, 45The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire.
CHALDEAN WOMAN.AIR.
See the ruddy morning smiling,Hear the grove to bliss beguiling;Zephyrs through the woodland playing,Streams along the valley straying. 50
FIRST PRIEST.
While these a constant revel keep,Shall Reason only teach to weep?Hence, intruder! We’ll pursueNature, a better guide than you.
SECOND PRIEST.
Every moment, as it flows, 55Some peculiar pleasure owes;Then let us, providently wise,Seize the debtor as it flies.Think not to-morrow can repayThe pleasures that we lose to-day; 60To-morrow’s most unbounded storeCan but pay its proper score.
FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.
But hush! See, foremost of the captive choir,The master-prophet grasps his full-ton’d lyre.Mark where he sits, with executing art, 65Feels for each tone, and speeds it to the heart;See how prophetic rapture fills his form,Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm;And now his voice, accordant to the string,Prepares our monarch’s victories to sing. 70
FIRST PROPHET.AIR.
From north, from south, from east, from west,Conspiring nations come;Tremble thou vice-polluted breast;Blasphemers, all be dumb.The tempest gathers all around, 75On Babylon it lies;Down with her! down—down to the ground;She sinks, she groans, she dies.
SECOND PROPHET.
Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust,Ere yonder setting sun; 80Serve her as she hath served the just!’Tis fixed—it shall be done.
FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.
No more! When slaves thus insolent presume,The king himself shall judge, and fix their doom.Unthinking wretches! have not you, and all, 85Beheld our power in Zedekiah’s fall?To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes;See where dethron’d your captive monarch lies,Depriv’d of sight and rankling in his chain;See where he mourns his friends and children slain. 90Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behindMore ponderous chains, and dungeons more confin’d.
CHORUS OF ALL.
Arise, all potent ruler, rise,And vindicate thy people’s cause;Till every tongue in every land 95Shall offer up unfeign’d applause.[Exeunt.
ACT III.Scene as before.FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.
YES, my companions, Heaven’s decrees are past,And our fix’d empire shall for ever last;In vain the madd’ning prophet threatens woe,In vain rebellion aims her secret blow;Still shall our fame and growing power be spread, 5And still our vengeance crush the traitor’s head.
AIR.
Coeval with manOur empire began,And never shall failTill ruin shakes all; 10When ruin shakes all,Then shall Babylon fall.
FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.
’Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head,A little while, and all their power is fled;But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train, 15That this way slowly bend along the plain?And now, methinks, to yonder bank they bearA palled corse, and rest the body there.Alas! too well mine eyes indignant traceThe last remains of Judah’s royal race: 20Our monarch falls, and now our fears are o’er,Unhappy Zedekiah is no more!
AIR.
Ye wretches who, by fortune’s hate,In want and sorrow groan;Come ponder his severer fate, 25And learn to bless your own.You vain, whom youth and pleasure guide,Awhile the bliss suspend;Like yours, his life began in pride,Like his, your lives shall end. 30
SECOND PROPHET.RECITATIVE.
Behold his wretched corse with sorrow worn,His squalid limbs with pond’rous fetters torn;Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly glare,Those ill-becoming rags—that matted hair!And shall not Heaven for this its terrors show, 35Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty low?How long, how long, Almighty God of all,Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall!
ISRAELITISH WOMAN.AIR.
As panting flies the hunted hind,Where brooks refreshing stray; 40And rivers through the valley wind,That stop the hunter’s way:Thus we, O Lord, alike distrest,For streams of mercy long;Those streams which cheer the sore opprest, 45And overwhelm the strong.
FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.
But, whence that shout? Good heavens! amazement all!See yonder tower just nodding to the fall:See where an army covers all the ground,Saps the strong wall, and pours destruction round; 50The ruin smokes, destruction pours along;How low the great, how feeble are the strong!The foe prevails, the lofty walls recline—O God of hosts, the victory is thine!
CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.
Down with them, Lord, to lick the dust; 55Thy vengeance be begun:Serve them as they have serv’d the just,And let thy will be done.
FIRST PRIEST.RECITATIVE.
All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails,Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails, 60The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along;How low the proud, how feeble are the strong!Save us, O Lord! to thee, though late, we pray,And give repentance but an hour’s delay.
FIRST AND SECOND PRIEST.AIR.
Thrice happy, who in happy hour 65To Heaven their praise bestow,And own his all-consuming powerBefore they feel the blow!
FIRST PROPHET.RECITATIVE.
Now, now’s our time! ye wretches bold and blind,Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind, 70Too late you seek that power unsought before,Your wealth, your pride, your kingdom, are no more.
AIR.
O Lucifer, thou son of morn,Alike of Heaven and man the foe;Heaven, men, and all, 75Now press thy fall,And sink thee lowest of the low.
FIRST PROPHET.
O Babylon, how art thou fallen!Thy fall more dreadful from delay!Thy streets forlorn 80To wilds shall turn,Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey.
SECOND PROPHET.RECITATIVE.
Such be her fate. But listen! from afarThe clarion’s note proclaims the finish’d war!Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand, 85And this way leads his formidable band.Give, give your songs of Sion to the wind,And hail the benefactor of mankind:He comes pursuant to divine decree,To chain the strong, and set the captive free. 90
CHORUS OF YOUTHS.
Rise to transports past expressing,Sweeter from remember’d woes;Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing,Comes to give the world repose.
CHORUS OF VIRGINS.
Cyrus comes, the world redressing, 95Love and pleasure in his train;Comes to heighten every blessing,Comes to soften every pain.
SEMI-CHORUS.
Hail to him with mercy reigning,Skilled in every peaceful art; 100Who from bonds our limbs unchaining,Only binds the willing heart.
THE LAST CHORUS.
But chief to Thee, our God, defender, friend,Let praise be given to all eternity;O Thou, without beginning, without end, 105Let us, and all, begin and end, in Thee!
YOUR mandate I got,You may all go to pot;Had your senses been right,You’d have sent before night;As I hope to be saved, 5I put off being shaved;For I could not make bold,While the matter was cold,To meddle in suds,Or to put on my duds; 10So tell Horneck and Nesbitt,And Baker and his bit,And Kauffmann beside,And the Jessamy Bride,With the rest of the crew, 15The Reynoldses two,Little Comedy’s face,And the Captain in lace,(By-the-bye you may tell him,I have something to sell him; 20Of use I insist,When he comes to enlist.Your worships must knowThat a few days ago,An order went out, 25For the foot guards so stoutTo wear tails in high taste,Twelve inches at least:Now I’ve got him a scaleTo measure each tail, 30To lengthen a short tail,And a long one to curtail.)—Yet how can I when vext,Thus stray from my text?Tell each other to rue 35Your Devonshire crew,For sending so lateTo one of my state.But ’tis Reynolds’s wayFrom wisdom to stray, 40And Angelica’s whimTo be frolick like him,But, alas! Your good worships, how could they be wiser,When both have been spoil’d in to-day’sAdvertiser?
OLIVERGOLDSMITH.
MADAM,I read your letter with all that allowance which critical candour could require, but after all find so much to object to, and so much to raise my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious answer.
I am not so ignorant, Madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms contained in it, and solecisms also. (Solecism is a word that comes from the town of Soleis in Attica, among the Greeks, built by Solon, and applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains, from a town also of that name;—but this is learning you have no taste for!)—I say, Madam, there are sarcasms in it, and solecisms also. But not to seem an ill-natured critic, I’ll take leave to quote your own words, and give you my remarks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows:—
‘I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here,And your spring-velvet coat very smart will appear,To open our ball the first day of the year.’
Pray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet ‘good,’ applied to the title of Doctor? Had you called me ‘learned Doctor,’ or ‘grave Doctor,’ or ‘noble Doctor,’ it might be allowable, because they belong to the profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my ‘spring-velvet coat,’ and advise me to wear it the first day in the year,—that is, in the middle of winter!—a spring-velvet in the middle of winter!!! That would bea solecism indeed! and yet, to increase the inconsistence, in another part of your letter you call me a beau. Now, on one side or other, you must be wrong. If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a spring-velvet in winter: and if I am not a beau, why then, that explains itself. But let me go on to your two next strange lines:—
‘And bring with you a wig, that is modish and gay,dance with the girls that are makers of hay.’
The absurdity of making hay at Christmas, you yourself seem sensible of: you say your sister will laugh; and so indeed she well may! The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous sort of laughter, ‘Naso contemnere adunco’; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you in the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit. But now I come to the most extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your and your sister’s advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice! and from whom? You shall hear.
First let me suppose, what may shortly be true,The company set, and the word to be, Loo;All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure,And ogling the stake which is fix’d in the centre.Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn 5At never once finding a visit from Pam.I lay down my stake, apparently cool,While the harpies about me all pocket the pool.I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly,I wish all my friends may be bolder than I: 10Yet still they sit snug, not a creature will aimBy losing their money to venture at fame.’Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,’Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold:All play their own way, and they think me an ass,— 15‘What does Mrs. Bunbury?’ ‘I, Sir? I pass.’‘Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage, come do,’—‘Who, I? let me see, Sir, why I must pass too.’Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil. 20Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,Till made by my losses as bold as a lion,I venture at all,—while my avarice regardsThe whole pool as my own—‘Come, give me five cards.’‘Well done!’ cry the ladies; ‘Ah, Doctor, that’s good! 25The pool’s very rich—ah! the Doctor is loo’d!’Thus foil’d in my courage, on all sides perplex’d,I ask for advice from the lady that’s next:‘Pray, Ma’am, be so good as to give your advice;Don’t you think the best way is to venture for ’t twice?’ 30‘I advise,’ cries the lady, ‘to try it, I own.—Ah! the Doctor is loo’d! Come, Doctor, put down.’Thus, playing, and playing, I still grow more eager,And so bold, and so bold, I’m at last a bold beggar.Now, ladies, I ask, if law-matters you’re skill’d in, 35Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding?For giving advice that is not worth a straw,May well be call’d picking of pockets in law;And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy. 40What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought!By the gods, I’ll enjoy it; though ’tis but in thought!Both are plac’d at the bar, with all proper decorum,With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before ’em;Both cover their faces with mobs and all that; 45But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.When uncover’d, a buzz of enquiry runs round,—‘Pray what are their crimes?’—‘They’ve been pilfering found.’‘But, pray, whom have they pilfer’d?’—‘A Doctor, I hear.’‘What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near!’ 50‘The same.’—‘What a pity! how does it surprise one!Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!’Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering,To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung, 55‘Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.’‘The younger the worse,’ I return him again,‘It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.’‘But then they’re so handsome, one’s bosom it grieves.’‘What signifieshandsome, when people are thieves?’ 60‘But where is your justice? their cases are hard.’‘What signifiesjustice? I want thereward.
There’s the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds; there’s the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds; there’s the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-the-Pound to St. Giles’s watchhouse, offers forty pounds,—I shall have all that if I convict them!’—
‘But consider their case,—it may yet be your own!And see how they kneel! Is your heart made of stone?’This moves:—so at last I agree to relent, 65For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.
I challenge you all to answer this: I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep;—but now for the rest of the letter: and next— but I want room—so I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.
I don’t value you all!O. G.
ARMIES of box that sportively engageAnd mimic real battles in their rage,Pleased I recount; how, smit with glory’s charms,Two mighty Monarchs met in adverse arms,Sable and white; assist me to explore, 5Ye Serian Nymphs, what ne’er was sung before.No path appears: yet resolute I strayWhere youth undaunted bids me force my way.O’er rocks and cliffs while I the task pursue,Guide me, ye Nymphs, with your unerring clue. 10For you the rise of this diversion know,You first were pleased in Italy to showThis studious sport; from Scacchis was its name,The pleasing record of your Sister’s fame.When Jove through Ethiopia’s parch’d extent 15To grace the nuptials of old Ocean went,Each god was there; and mirth and joy aroundTo shores remote diffused their happy sound.Then when their hunger and their thirst no moreClaim’d their attention, and the feast was o’er; 20Ocean with pastime to divert the thought,Commands a painted table to be brought.Sixty-four spaces fill the chequer’d square;Eight in each rank eight equal limits share.Alike their form, but different are their dyes, 25They fade alternate, and alternate rise,White after black; such various stains as thoseThe shelving backs of tortoises disclose.Then to the gods that mute and wondering sate,You see (says he) the field prepared for fate. 30Here will the little armies please your sight,With adverse colours hurrying to the fight:On which so oft, with silent sweet surprise,The Nymphs and Nereids used to feast their eyes,And all the neighbours of the hoary deep, 35When calm the sea, and winds were lull’d asleepBut see, the mimic heroes tread the board;He said, and straightway from an urn he pour’dThe sculptured box, that neatly seem’d to apeThe graceful figure of a human shape:— 40Equal the strength and number of each foe,Sixteen appear’d like jet, sixteen like snow.As their shape varies various is the name,Different their posts, nor is their strength the same.There might you see two Kings with equal pride 45Gird on their arms, their Consorts by their side;Here the Foot-warriors glowing after fame,There prancing Knights and dexterous Archers cameAnd Elephants, that on their backs sustainVast towers of war, and fill and shake the plain. 50And now both hosts, preparing for the stormOf adverse battle, their encampments form.In the fourth space, and on the farthest line,Directly opposite the Monarchs shine;The swarthy on white ground, on sable stands 55The silver King; and then they send commands.Nearest to these the Queens exert their might;One the left side, and t’other guards the right:Where each, by her respective armour known.Chooses the colour that is like her own. 60Then the young Archers, two that snowy-whiteBend the tough yew, and two as black as night;(Greece call’d them Mars’s favourites heretofore,From their delight in war, and thirst of gore).These on each side the Monarch and his Queen 65Surround obedient; next to these are seenThe crested Knights in golden armour gay;Their steeds by turns curvet, or snort or neigh.In either army on each distant wingTwo mighty Elephants their castles bring, 70Bulwarks immense! and then at last combineEight of the Foot to form the second line,The vanguard to the King and Queen; from farPrepared to open all the fate of war.So moved the boxen hosts, each double-lined, 75Their different colours floating in the wind:As if an army of the Gauls should go,With their white standards, o’er the Alpine snowTo meet in rigid fight on scorching sandsThe sun-burnt Moors and Memnon’s swarthy bands. 80Then Father Ocean thus; you see them here,Celestial powers, what troops, what camps appear.Learn now the sev’ral orders of the fray,For e’en these arms their stated laws obey.To lead the fight, the Kings from all their bands 85Choose whom they please to bear their great commands.Should a black hero first to battle go, |Instant a white one guards against the blow; |But only one at once can charge or shun the foe. |Their gen’ral purpose on one scheme is bent, 90So to besiege the King within the tent,That there remains no place by subtle flightFrom danger free; and that decides the fight.Meanwhile, howe’er, the sooner to destroyTh’ imperial Prince, remorseless they employ 95Their swords in blood; and whosoever dareOppose their vengeance, in the ruin share.Fate thins their camp; the parti-coloured fieldWidens apace, as they o’ercome or yield,But the proud victor takes the captive’s post; 100There fronts the fury of th’ avenging hostOne single shock: and (should he ward the blow),May then retire at pleasure from the foe.The Foot alone (so their harsh laws ordain)When they proceed can ne’er return again. 105But neither all rush on alike to proveThe terror of their arms: The Foot must moveDirectly on, and but a single square;Yet may these heroes, when they first prepareTo mix in combat on the bloody mead, 110Double their sally, and two steps proceed;But when they wound, their swords they subtly guideWith aim oblique, and slanting pierce his side.But the great Indian beasts, whose backs sustainVast turrets arm’d, when on the redd’ning plain 115They join in all the terror of the fight,Forward or backward, to the left or right,Run furious, and impatient of confineScour through the field, and threat the farthest line.Yet must they ne’er obliquely aim their blows; | 120That only manner is allow’d to those |Whom Mars has favour’d most, who bend the stubborn bows. |These glancing sidewards in a straight career,Yet each confin’d to their respective sphere,Or white or black, can send th’ unerring dart 125Wing’d with swift death to pierce through ev’ry part.The fiery steed, regardless of the reins,Comes prancing on; but sullenly disdainsThe path direct, and boldly wheeling round, |Leaps o’er a double space at ev’ry bound: 130 |And shifts from white or black to diff’rent colour’d ground. |But the fierce Queen, whom dangers ne’er dismay,The strength and terror of the bloody day,In a straight line spreads her destruction wide,To left or right, before, behind, aside. 135Yet may she never with a circling courseSweep to the battle like the fretful Horse;But unconfin’d may at her pleasure stray,If neither friend nor foe block up the way;For to o’erleap a warrior, ’tis decreed 140Those only dare who curb the snorting steed.With greater caution and majestic stateThe warlike Monarchs in the scene of fateDirect their motions, since for these appearZealous each hope, and anxious ev’ry fear. 145While the King’s safe, with resolution sternThey clasp their arms; but should a sudden turnMake him a captive, instantly they yield,Resolved to share his fortune in the field.He moves on slow; with reverence profound 150His faithful troops encompass him around,And oft, to break some instant fatal scheme,Rush to their fates, their sov’reign to redeem;While he, unanxious where to wound the foe,Need only shift and guard against a blow. 155But none, however, can presume t’ appearWithin his reach, but must his vengeance fear;For he on ev’ry side his terror throws;But when he changes from his first repose,Moves but one step, most awfully sedate, 160Or idly roving, or intent on fate.These are the sev’ral and establish’d laws:Now see how each maintains his bloody cause.Here paused the god, but (since whene’er they wageWar here on earth the gods themselves engage 165In mutual battle as they hate or love,And the most stubborn war is oft above),Almighty Jove commands the circling trainOf gods from fav’ring either to abstain,And let the fight be silently survey’d; 170And added solemn threats if disobey’d.Then call’d he Phoebus from among the PowersAnd subtle Hermes, whom in softer hoursFair Maia bore: youth wanton’d in their face;Both in life’s bloom, both shone with equal grace. 175Hermes as yet had never wing’d his feet;As yet Apollo in his radiant seatHad never driv’n his chariot through the air,Known by his bow alone and golden hair.These Jove commission’d to attempt the fray, 180And rule the sportive military day;Bid them agree which party each maintains,And promised a reward that’s worth their pains.The greater took their seats; on either handRespectful the less gods in order stand, 185But careful not to interrupt their play,By hinting when t’ advance or run away.Then they examine, who shall first proceedTo try their courage, and their army lead.Chance gave it for the White, that he should go 190First with a brave defiance to the foe.Awhile he ponder’d which of all his trainShould bear his first commission o’er the plain;And then determined to begin the sceneWith him that stood before to guard the Queen. 195He took a double step: with instant careDoes the black Monarch in his turn prepareThe adverse champion, and with stern commandBid him repel the charge with equal hand.There front to front, the midst of all the field, 200With furious threats their shining arms they wield;Yet vain the conflict, neither can prevailWhile in one path each other they assail.On ev’ry side to their assistance flyTheir fellow soldiers, and with strong supply 205Crowd to the battle, but no bloody stainTinctures their armour; sportive in the plainMars plays awhile, and in excursion slightHarmless they sally forth, or wait the fight.But now the swarthy Foot, that first appear’d 210To front the foe, his pond’rous jav’lin rear’dLeftward aslant, and a pale warrior slays,Spurns him aside, and boldly takes his place.Unhappy youth, his danger not to spy!Instant he fell, and triumph’d but to die. 215At this the sable King with prudent careRemoved his station from the middle square,And slow retiring to the farthest ground,There safely lurk’d, with troops entrench’d around.Then from each quarter to the war advance 220The furious Knights, and poise the trembling lance:By turns they rush, by turns the victors yield,Heaps of dead Foot choke up the crimson’d field:They fall unable to retreat; aroundThe clang of arms and iron hoofs resound. 225But while young Phoebus pleased himself to viewHis furious Knight destroy the vulgar crew,Sly Hermes long’d t’ attempt with secret aimSome noble act of more exalted fame.For this, he inoffensive pass’d along 230Through ranks of Foot, and midst the trembling throngSent his left Horse, that free without confineRov’d o’er the plain, upon some great designAgainst the King himself. At length he stood,And having fix’d his station as he would, 235Threaten’d at once with instant fate the KingAnd th’ Indian beast that guarded the right wing.Apollo sigh’d, and hast’ning to relieveThe straiten’d Monarch, griev’d that he must leaveHis martial Elephant expos’d to fate, 240And view’d with pitying eyes his dang’rous state.First in his thoughts however was his careTo save his King, whom to the neighbouring squareOn the right hand, he snatch’d with trembling flight;At this with fury springs the sable Knight, 245Drew his keen sword, and rising to the blow,Sent the great Indian brute to shades below.O fatal loss! for none except the QueenSpreads such a terror through the bloody scene.Yet shall you ne’er unpunish’d boast your prize, 250 |The Delian god with stern resentment cries; |And wedg’d him round with Foot, and pour’d in fresh supplies. |Thus close besieg’d trembling he cast his eyeAround the plain, but saw no shelter nigh,No way for flight; for here the Queen oppos’d, 255The Foot in phalanx there the passage clos’d:At length he fell; yet not unpleas’d with fate,Since victim to a Queen’s vindictive hate.With grief and fury burns the whiten’d host,One of their Tow’rs thus immaturely lost. 260As when a bull has in contention sternLost his right horn, with double vengeance burnHis thoughts for war, with blood he’s cover’d o’er,And the woods echo to his dismal roar,So look’d the flaxen host, when angry fate 265O’erturn’d the Indian bulwark of their state.Fired at this great success, with double rageApollo hurries on his troops t’ engage,For blood and havoc wild; and, while he leadsHis troops thus careless, loses both his steeds: 270For if some adverse warriors were o’erthrown,He little thought what dangers threat his own.But slyer Hermes with observant eyesMarch’d slowly cautious, and at distance spiesWhat moves must next succeed, what dangers next arise. 275Often would he, the stately Queen to snare,The slender Foot to front her arms prepare,And to conceal his scheme he sighs and feignsSuch a wrong step would frustrate all his pains.Just then an Archer, from the right-hand view, 280At the pale Queen his arrow boldly drew,Unseen by Phoebus, who, with studious thought,From the left side a vulgar hero brought.But tender Venus, with a pitying eye,Viewing the sad destruction that was nigh, 285Wink’d upon Phoebus (for the Goddess satBy chance directly opposite); at thatRoused in an instant, young Apollo threwHis eyes around the field his troops to view:Perceiv’d the danger, and with sudden fright | 290Withdrew the Foot that he had sent to fight, |And sav’d his trembling Queen by seasonable flight. |But Maia’s son with shouts fill’d all the coast:The Queen, he cried, the important Queen is lost.Phoebus, howe’er, resolving to maintain 295What he had done, bespoke the heavenly train.What mighty harm, in sportive mimic flight,Is it to set a little blunder right,When no preliminary rule debarr’d?If you henceforward, Mercury, would guard 300Against such practice, let us make the law:And whosoe’er shall first to battle draw,Or white, or black, remorseless let him goAt all events, and dare the angry foe.He said, and this opinion pleased around: 305Jove turn’d aside, and on his daughter frown’d,Unmark’d by Hermes, who, with strange surprise,Fretted and foam’d, and roll’d his ferret eyes,And but with great reluctance could refrainFrom dashing at a blow all off the plain. 310Then he resolved to interweave deceits,—To carry on the war by tricks and cheats.Instant he call’d an Archer from the throng,And bid him like the courser wheel along:Bounding he springs, and threats the pallid Queen. 315The fraud, however, was by Phoebus seen;He smiled, and, turning to the Gods, he said:Though, Hermes, you are perfect in your trade,And you can trick and cheat to great surprise, |These little sleights no more shall blind my eyes; | 320Correct them if you please, the more you thus disguise. |The circle laugh’d aloud; and Maia’s son(As if it had but by mistake been done)Recall’d his Archer, and with motion due,Bid him advance, the combat to renew. 325But Phoebus watch’d him with a jealous eye,Fearing some trick was ever lurking nigh,For he would oft, with sudden sly design,Send forth at once two combatants to joinHis warring troops, against the law of arms, 330Unless the wary foe was ever in alarms.Now the white Archer with his utmost forceBent the tough bow against the sable Horse,And drove him from the Queen, where he had stoodHoping to glut his vengeance with her blood. 335Then the right Elephant with martial prideRoved here and there, and spread his terrors wide:Glittering in arms from far a courser came,Threaten’d at once the King and Royal Dame;Thought himself safe when he the post had seized, 340And with the future spoils his fancy pleased.Fired at the danger a young Archer came,Rush’d on the foe, and levell’d sure his aim;(And though a Pawn his sword in vengeance draws,Gladly he’d lose his life in glory’s cause). 345The whistling arrow to his bowels flew,And the sharp steel his blood profusely drew;He drops the reins, he totters to the ground,And his life issued murm’ring through the wound.Pierced by the Foot, this Archer bit the plain; | 350The Foot himself was by another slain; |And with inflamed revenge, the battle burns again. |Towers, Archers, Knights, meet on the crimson ground,And the field echoes to the martial sound.Their thoughts are heated, and their courage fired, 355Thick they rush on with double zeal inspired;Generals and Foot, with different colour’d mien, |Confusedly warring in the camps are seen,— |Valour and fortune meet in one promiscuous scene. |Now these victorious, lord it o’er the field; 360Now the foe rallies, the triumphant yield:Just as the tide of battle ebbs or flows.As when the conflict more tempestuous growsBetween the winds, with strong and boisterous sweepThey plough th’ Ionian or Atlantic deep! 365By turns prevail the mutual blustering roar,And the big waves alternate lash the shore.But in the midst of all the battle ragedThe snowy Queen, with troops at once engaged;She fell’d an Archer as she sought the plain,— 370As she retired an Elephant was slain:To right and left her fatal spears she sent,Burst through the ranks, and triumph’d as she went;Through arms and blood she seeks a glorious fate,Pierces the farthest lines, and nobly great 375Leads on her army with a gallant show,Breaks the battalions, and cuts through the foe.At length the sable King his fears betray’d,And begg’d his military consort’s aid:With cheerful speed she flew to his relief, 380And met in equal arms the female chief.Who first, great Queen, and who at last did bleed?How many Whites lay gasping on the mead?Half dead, and floating in a bloody tide,Foot, Knights, and Archer lie on every side. 385Who can recount the slaughter of the day?How many leaders threw their lives away?The chequer’d plain is fill’d with dying box,Havoc ensues, and with tumultuous shocksThe different colour’d ranks in blood engage, 390And Foot and Horse promiscuously rage.With nobler courage and superior mightThe dreadful Amazons sustain the fight,Resolved alike to mix in glorious strife,Till to imperious fate they yield their life. 395Meanwhile each Monarch, in a neighbouring cell,Confined the warriors that in battle fell,There watch’d the captives with a jealous eye,Lest, slipping out again, to arms they fly.But Thracian Mars, in stedfast friendship join’d 400To Hermes, as near Phoebus he reclined,Observed each chance, how all their motions bend,Resolved if possible to serve his friend.He a Foot-soldier and a Knight purloin’dOut from the prison that the dead confined; 405And slyly push’d ’em forward on the plain; |Th’ enliven’d combatants their arms regain, |Mix in the bloody scene, and boldly war again. |So the foul hag, in screaming wild alarmsO’er a dead carcase muttering her charms, 410(And with her frequent and tremendous yellForcing great Hecate from out of hell)Shoots in the corpse a new fictitious soul; |With instant glare the supple eyeballs roll, |Again it moves and speaks, and life informs the whole. | 415Vulcan alone discern’d the subtle cheat;And wisely scorning such a base deceit,Call’d out to Phoebus. Grief and rage assailPhoebus by turns; detected Mars turns pale.Then awful Jove with sullen eye reproved 420Mars, and the captives order’d to be movedTo their dark caves; bid each fictitious spearBe straight recall’d, and all be as they were.And now both Monarchs with redoubled rageLed on their Queens, the mutual war to wage. 425O’er all the field their thirsty spears they send,Then front to front their Monarchs they defend.But lo! the female White rush’d in unseen,And slew with fatal haste the swarthy Queen;Yet soon, alas! resign’d her royal spoils, 430Snatch’d by a shaft from her successful toils.Struck at the sight, both hosts in wild surprisePour’d forth their tears, and fill’d the air with cries;They wept and sigh’d, as pass’d the fun’ral train,As if both armies had at once been slain. 435And now each troop surrounds its mourning chief,To guard his person, or assuage his grief.One is their common fear; one stormy blastHas equally made havoc as it pass’d.Not all, however, of their youth are slain; 440Some champions yet the vig’rous war maintain.Three Foot, an Archer, and a stately Tower,For Phoebus still exert their utmost power.Just the same number Mercury can boast,Except the Tower, who lately in his post 445Unarm’d inglorious fell, in peace profound,Pierced by an Archer with a distant wound;But his right Horse retain’d its mettled pride,—The rest were swept away by war’s strong tide.But fretful Hermes, with despairing moan, 450Griev’d that so many champions were o’erthrown,Yet reassumes the fight; and summons roundThe little straggling army that he found,—All that had ’scaped from fierce Apollo’s rage,—Resolved with greater caution to engage 455In future strife, by subtle wiles (if fateShould give him leave) to save his sinking state.The sable troops advance with prudence slow,Bent on all hazards to distress the foe.More cheerful Phoebus, with unequal pace, 460Rallies his arms to lessen his disgrace.But what strange havoc everywhere has been! |A straggling champion here and there is seen; |And many are the tents, yet few are left within. |Th’ afflicted Kings bewail their consorts dead, 465And loathe the thoughts of a deserted bed;And though each monarch studies to improveThe tender mem’ry of his former love,Their state requires a second nuptial tie.Hence the pale ruler with a love-sick eye 470Surveys th’ attendants of his former wife,And offers one of them a royal life.These, when their martial mistress had been slain,Weak and despairing tried their arms in vain;Willing, howe’er, amidst the Black to go, 475They thirst for speedy vengeance on the foe.Then he resolves to see who merits best,By strength and courage, the imperial vest;Points out the foe, bids each with bold designPierce through the ranks, and reach the deepest line: 480For none must hope with monarchs to reposeBut who can first, through thick surrounding foes,Through arms and wiles, with hazardous essay,Safe to the farthest quarters force their way.Fired at the thought, with sudden, joyful pace 485They hurry on; but first of all the raceRuns the third right-hand warrior for the prize,—The glitt’ring crown already charms her eyes.Her dear associates cheerfully give o’er |The nuptial chase; and swift she flies before, | 490And Glory lent her wings, and the reward in store. |Nor would the sable King her hopes prevent,For he himself was on a Queen intent,Alternate, therefore, through the field they go.Hermes led on, but by a step too slow, 495His fourth left Pawn: and now th’ advent’rous WhiteHad march’d through all, and gain’d the wish’d for site.Then the pleased King gives orders to prepareThe crown, the sceptre, and the royal chair,And owns her for his Queen: around exult 500The snowy troops, and o’er the Black insult.Hermes burst into tears,—with fretful roarFill’d the wide air, and his gay vesture tore.The swarthy Foot had only to advanceOne single step; but oh! malignant chance! 505A towered Elephant, with fatal aim,Stood ready to destroy her when she came:He keeps a watchful eye upon the whole,Threatens her entrance, and protects the goal.Meanwhile the royal new-created bride, 510Pleased with her pomp, spread death and terror wide;Like lightning through the sable troops she flies,Clashes her arms, and seems to threat the skies.The sable troops are sunk in wild affright,And wish th’ earth op’ning snatch’d ’em from her sight. 515In burst the Queen, with vast impetuous swing: |The trembling foes come swarming round the King, |Where in the midst he stood, and form a valiant ring. |So the poor cows, straggling o’er pasture land,When they perceive the prowling wolf at hand, 520Crowd close together in a circle full,And beg the succour of the lordly bull;They clash their horns, they low with dreadful sound,And the remotest groves re-echo round.But the bold Queen, victorious, from behind 525Pierces the foe; yet chiefly she design’dAgainst the King himself some fatal aim,And full of war to his pavilion came.Now here she rush’d, now there; and had she beenBut duly prudent, she had slipp’d between, 530With course oblique, into the fourth white square,And the long toil of war had ended there,The King had fallen, and all his sable state;And vanquish’d Hermes cursed his partial fate.For thence with ease the championess might go, 535Murder the King, and none could ward the blow.With silence, Hermes, and with panting heart,Perceived the danger, but with subtle art,(Lest he should see the place) spurs on the foe,Confounds his thoughts, and blames his being slow. 540For shame! move on; would you for ever stay?What sloth is this, what strange perverse delay?—How could you e’er my little pausing blame?—What! you would wait till night shall end the game?Phoebus, thus nettled, with imprudence slew 545A vulgar Pawn, but lost his nobler view.Young Hermes leap’d, with sudden joy elate;And then, to save the monarch from his fate,Led on his martial Knight, who stepp’d between,Pleased that his charge was to oppose the Queen— 550Then, pondering how the Indian beast to slay,That stopp’d the Foot from making farther way,—From being made a Queen; with slanting aimAn archer struck him; down the monster came,And dying shook the earth: while Phoebus tries 555Without success the monarch to surprise.The Foot, then uncontroll’d with instant pride,Seized the last spot, and moved a royal bride.And now with equal strength both war again,And bring their second wives upon the plain; 560Then, though with equal views each hop’d and fear’d,Yet, as if every doubt had disappear’d,As if he had the palm, young Hermes fliesInto excess of joy; with deep disguise,Extols his own Black troops, with frequent spite 565And with invective taunts disdains the White.Whom Phoebus thus reproved with quick return—As yet we cannot the decision learnOf this dispute, and do you triumph now?Then your big words and vauntings I’ll allow, 570When you the battle shall completely gain;At present I shall make your boasting vain.He said, and forward led the daring Queen;Instant the fury of the bloody sceneRises tumultuous, swift the warriors fly 575From either side to conquer or to die.They front the storm of war: around ’em Fear,Terror, and Death, perpetually appear.All meet in arms, and man to man oppose,Each from their camp attempts to drive their foes; 580Each tries by turns to force the hostile lines;Chance and impatience blast their best designs.The sable Queen spread terror as she wentThrough the mid ranks: with more reserved intentThe adverse dame declined the open fray, 585And to the King in private stole away:Then took the royal guard, and bursting in,With fatal menace close besieged the King.Alarm’d at this, the swarthy Queen, in haste,From all her havoc and destructive waste 590Broke off, and her contempt of death to show, |Leap’d in between the Monarch and the foe, |To save the King and state from this impending blow. |But Phoebus met a worse misfortune here:For Hermes now led forward, void of fear, 595His furious Horse into the open plain,That onward chafed, and pranced, and pawed amain.Nor ceased from his attempts until he stoodOn the long-wished-for spot, from whence he couldSlay King or Queen. O’erwhelm’d with sudden fears, 600Apollo saw, and could not keep from tears.Now all seem’d ready to be overthrown;His strength was wither’d, ev’ry hope was flown.Hermes, exulting at this great surprise,Shouted for joy, and fill’d the air with cries; 605Instant he sent the Queen to shades below,And of her spoils made a triumphant show.But in return, and in his mid career,Fell his brave Knight, beneath the Monarch’s spear.Phoebus, however, did not yet despair, 610But still fought on with courage and with care.He had but two poor common men to show,And Mars’s favourite with his iv’ry bow.The thoughts of ruin made ’em dare their bestTo save their King, so fatally distress’d. 615But the sad hour required not such an aid;And Hermes breathed revenge where’er he stray’d.Fierce comes the sable Queen with fatal threat,Surrounds the Monarch in his royal seat;Rushed here and there, nor rested till she slew 620The last remainder of the whiten’d crew.Sole stood the King, the midst of all the plain,Weak and defenceless, his companions slain.As when the ruddy morn ascending highHas chased the twinkling stars from all the sky, 625Your star, fair Venus, still retains its light,And, loveliest, goes the latest out of sight.No safety’s left, no gleams of hope remain;Yet did he not as vanquish’d quit the plain,But tried to shut himself between the foe,— | 630Unhurt through swords and spears he hoped to go, |Until no room was left to shun the fatal blow. |For if none threaten’d his immediate fate,And his next move must ruin all his state,All their past toil and labour is in vain, | 635Vain all the bloody carnage of the plain,— |Neither would triumph then, the laurel neither gain. |Therefore through each void space and desert tent,By different moves his various course he bent:The Black King watch’d him with observant eye, 640Follow’d him close, but left him room to fly.Then when he saw him take the farthest line,He sent the Queen his motions to confine,And guard the second rank, that he could goNo farther now than to that distant row. 645The sable monarch then with cheerful mienApproach’d, but always with one space between.But as the King stood o’er against him there,Helpless, forlorn, and sunk in his despair,The martial Queen her lucky moment knew, | 650Seized on the farthest seat with fatal view, |Nor left th’ unhappy King a place to flee unto. |At length in vengeance her keen sword she draws, |Slew him, and ended thus the bloody cause: |And all the gods around approved it with applause. | 655The victor could not from his insults keep,But laugh’d and sneer’d to see Apollo weep.Jove call’d him near, and gave him in his handThe powerful, happy, and mysterious wandBy which the Shades are call’d to purer day, 660When penal fire has purged their sins away;By which the guilty are condemn’d to dwellIn the dark mansions of the deepest hell;By which he gives us sleep, or sleep denies,And closes at the last the dying eyes. 665Soon after this, the heavenly victor broughtThe game on earth, and first th’ Italians taught.For (as they say) fair Scacchis he espiedFeeding her cygnets in the silver tide,(Sacchis, the loveliest Seriad of the place) 670And as she stray’d, took her to his embrace.Then, to reward her for her virtue lost,Gave her the men and chequer’d board, emboss’dWith gold and silver curiously inlay’d;And taught her how the game was to be play’d. 675Ev’n now ’tis honour’d with her happy name;And Rome and all the world admire the game.All which the Seriads told me heretofore,When my boy-notes amused the Serian shore.