Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand
Heaved up his lighten'd keel, and sunk the sand,
And steer'd the sacred vessel safe to land.
The land, if not restrain'd, had met your way,
Projected out a neck, and jutted to the sea.
Hibernia, prostrate at your feet, adored,
In you, the pledge of her expected lord;
Due to her isle; a venerable name;

His father and his grandsire known to fame;
Awed by that house, accustom'd to command,
The sturdy kerns in due subjection stand;
Nor bear the reins in any foreign hand.

At your approach, they crowded to the port;
And scarcely landed, you create a court:
As Ormond's harbinger, to you they run;
For Venus is the promise of the sun.

The waste of civil wars, their towns destroy'd,
Pales unhonour'd, Ceres unemploy'd,
Were all forgot; and one triumphant day
Wiped all the tears of three campaigns away.
Blood, rapines, massacres, were cheaply bought,
So mighty recompense your beauty brought.
As when the dove returning bore the mark
Of earth restored to the long-labouring ark,
The relics of mankind, secure of rest,
Oped every window to receive the guest,
And the fair bearer of the message bless'd;
So, when you came, with loud repeated cries,
The nation took an omen from your eyes,
And God advanced his rainbow in the skies,
To sign inviolable peace restored;

The saints, with solemn shouts, proclaim'd
new accord.

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the

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When at your second coming you appear,
(For I foretel that millenary year)
The sharpen'd share shall vex the soil no more,
But earth unbidden shall produce her store;
The land shall laugh, the circling ocean smile,
And Heaven's indulgence bless the holy isle.
Heaven from all ages has reserved for you
That happy clime, which venom never knew;
Or if it had been there, your eyes alone
Have power to chase all poison but their own.
Now in this interval, which fate has cast
Betwixt your future glories, and your past,
This pause of power, 'tis Ireland's hour to mourn;
While England celebrates your safe return,
By which you seem the seasons to command,
And bring our summers back to their forsaken land.
The vanquish'd isle our leisure must attend, 96
Till the fair blessing we vouchsafe to send;
Nor can we spare you long, tho' often we may lend.
The dove was twice employ'd abroad, before
The world was dried, and she return'd no more.
Nor dare we trust so soft a messenger,
New from her sickness, to that northern air;
Rest here a while your lustre to restore,
That they may see you, as you shone before;
For yet, the eclipse not wholly past, you wade 105
Through some remains, and dimness of a shade.
A subject in his prince may claim a right,
Nor suffer him with strength impair'd to fight;

Ver. 48. Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand] "Et pater ipse manu magnâ Portunus euntem Impulit."-Eneid. v. 1. 241. JOHN WARTON.

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Ver. 70. As when the dove] He had before used this simile, in Threnodia Augustalis, I believe. JOHN WARTON. Ver. 82. The sharpen'd share, &c.] He could not avoid an imitation of Virgil's Pollio. JOHN WARTON.

150

Blest be the power which has at once restored The hopes of lost succession to your lord; Joy to the first and last of each degree, Virtue to courts, and, what I long'd to see, To you the Graces, and the Muse to me. O daughter of the rose, whose cheeks unite The differing titles of the red and white; Who heaven's alternate beauty well display, The blush of morning, and the milky way; Whose face is paradise, but fenced from sin; For God in either eye has placed a cherubin.

All is your lord's alone; ev'n absent, he Employs the care of chaste Penelope. For him you waste in tears your widow'd hours, For him your curious needle paints the flowers; Such works of old imperial dames were taught; Such, for Ascanius, fair Elisa wrought. The soft recesses of your hours improve The three fair pledges of your happy love : All other parts of pious duty done, You owe your Ormond nothing but a son; To fill in future times his father's place, And wear the garter of his mother's race.

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Ver. 118. And where, imprison'd in so sweet a cage,
A soul might well be pleased to pass an age.]
Pope has a similar expression, and the same rhyme.
"Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull sullen prisoners in the body's cage."
Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady, 1. 17.
JOHN WARTON.

Q

BOOK I.

IN days of old, there lived, of mighty fame,
A valiant prince, and Theseus was his name:
A chief, who more in feats of arms excell'd,
The rising nor the setting sun beheld.
Of Athens he was lord; much land he won,
And added foreign countries to his crown.
In Scythia with the warrior queen he strove,
Whom first by force he conquer'd, then by love;
He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame,
With whom her sister, fair Emilia, came.
With honour to his home let Theseus ride,
With love to friend, and fortune for his guide,
And his victorious army at his side.

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I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array, Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on the way:

But, were it not too long, I would recite

The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight

Betwixt the hardy queen and hero knight;
The town besieged, and how much blood it cost
The female army, and the Athenian host;
The spousals of Hippolita the queen;

What tilts and tourneys at the feast were seen;
The storm at their return, the ladies' fear:
But these, and other things, I must forbear.
The field is spacious I design to sow,
With oxen far unfit to draw the plough:
The remnant of my tale is of a length

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To tire your patience, and to waste my strength;
And trivial accidents shall be forborne,
That others may have time to take their turn;
As was at first enjoin'd us by mine host:
That he whose tale is best, and pleases most,
Should win his supper at our common cost.
And therefore where I left, I will pursue
This ancient story, whether false or true,
In hope it may be mended with a new.
The prince I mention'd, full of high renown,
In this array drew near the Athenian town;
When in his pomp and utmost of his pride,
Marching, he chanced to cast his eye aside,
And saw a choir of mourning dames, who lay
By two and two across the common way:
At his approach they raised a rueful cry,
And beat their breasts, and held their hands on
high,

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Chaucer was more than 60 years old, and Dryden 70, when they wrote Palamon. Sade says in 1359, Boccace sent a copy of Dante, written by his own hand, to Petrarch, who, it seems, was jealous of Dante, and in his answer speaks coldly of him.-Sade, p. 507. Dr. J. WARTON.

Ver. 26. With oxen] From Ovid :

"Non profecturis littora bobus arat."

JOHN WARTON.

Creeping and crying, till they seized at last
His courser's bridle, and his feet embraced.
Tell me, said Theseus, what and whence you

are,

And why this funeral pageant you prepare?
Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds,
To meet my triumph in ill-omen'd weeds?
Or envy you my praise, and would destroy
With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy?
Or are you injured, and demand relief!
Name your request, and I will ease your grief.

The most in years of all the mourning train
Began; (but swooned first away for pain)
Then scarce recover'd spoke: Nor envy we
Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory;
"Tis thine, O king, the afflicted to redress,
And fame has fill'd the world with thy success:
We wretched women sue for that alone,
Which of thy goodness is refused to none;
Let fall some drops of pity on our grief,
If what we beg be just, and we deserve relief:
For none of us, who now thy grace implore,
But held the rank of sovereign queen before;
Till thanks to giddy Chance, which never bears.
That mortal bliss should last for length of years,
She cast us headlong from our high estate,
And here in hope of thy return we wait:
And long have waited in the temple nigh,
Built to the gracious goddess Clemency.

But reverence thou the power whose name it

bears,

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And cruel Creon find his just reward.
He said no more, but, shunning all delay,
Rode on; nor enter'd Athens on his way:
But left his sister and his queen behind,
And waved his royal banner in the wind:
Where in an argent field the god of war
Was drawn triumphant on his iron car;
Red was his sword, and shield, and whole attire,
And all the godhead seem'd to glow with fire;
Ev'n the ground glitter'd where the standard flew,
And the green grass was dyed to sanguine hue.
High on his pointed lance his pennon bore
His Cretan fight, the conquer'd Minotaur :
The soldiers shout around with generous rage,
And in that victory their own presage.
He praised their ardour; inly pleased to see
His host the flower of Grecian chivalry.
All day he march'd, and all the ensuing night,
And saw the city with returning light.
The process of the war I need not tell,

How Theseus conquer'd, and how Creon fell:
Or after, how by storm the walls were won,

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Chaucer's original says,

And by his banner borne is his penon

Of gold full riche, in which there was ybete (i.e. stamped) The Minotaure which that he slew in Crete."

This adventure of Theseus and the Minotaur is represented by Virgil as being the subject of the sculpture on the front of the temple of Apollo at Cume; which, I conjecture, he borrowed, as he uses some of the very expressions of Catullus, from his description of the embroidered hangings or tapestry. JuuN WAKTON,

I spare the widows' tears, their woeful cries,
And howling at their husbands' obsequies;
How Theseus at these funerals did assist,
And with what gifts the mourning dames dis-
miss'd.

Thus when the victor chief had Creon slain, 135
And conquer'd Thebes, he pitch'd upon the plain
His mighty camp, and, when the day return'd,
The country wasted, and the hamlets burn'd,
And left the pillagers, to rapine bred,
Without control to strip and spoil the dead.
There, in a heap of slain, among the rest
Two youthful knights they found beneath a load
oppress'd

140

Of slaughter'd foes, whom first to death they

sent,

The trophies of their strength, a bloody monu

He to his city sent as prisoners of the war,
Hopeless of ransom, and condemn'd to lie
In durance, doom'd a lingering death to die.
This done, he march'd away with warlike sound,
And to his Athens turn'd with laurels crown'd,
Where happy long he lived, much loved, and
more renown'd.

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But in a tower, and never to be loosed,
The woeful captive kinsmen are enclosed:
Thus year by year they pass, and day by day,
Till once, 'twas on the morn of cheerful May,
The young Emilia, fairer to be seen
Than the fair lily on the flowery green,
More fresh than May herself in blossoms new,
For with the rosy colour strove her hue,
Waked, as her custom was, before the day,
To do the observance due to sprightly May:
For sprightly May commands our youth to keep
The vigils of her night, and breaks their sluggard

sleep;

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Each gentle breast with kindly warmth she

moves;

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Inspires new flames, revives extinguish'd loves.
In this remembrance Emily ere day
Arose, and dress'd herself in rich array;
Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair:
Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair:
A ribband did the braided tresses bind,
The rest was loose, and wanton'd in the wind: 185
Aurora had but newly chased the night,
And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light,
When to the garden walk she took her way.
To sport and trip along in cool of day,
And offer maiden vows in honour of the May.

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At every turn, she made a little stand, And thrust among the thorns her lily hand To draw the rose, and every rose she drew She shook the stalk, and brush'd away the dew: Then party-colour'd flowers of white and red She wove, to make a garland for her head: This done, she sung and caroll'd out so clear, That men and angels might rejoice to hear: Ev'n wondering Philomel forgot to sing: And learn'd from her to welcome in the spring. 200 The tower, of which before was mention made, Within whose keep the captive knights were laid, Built of a large extent, and strong withal, Was one partition of the palace wall; The garden was enclosed within the square, Where young Emilia took the morning air. It happen'd Palamon, the prisoner knight, Restless of woe, arose before the light, And with his jailor's leave desired to breathe An air more wholesome than the damps beneath.

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This granted, to the tower he took his way,
Cheer'd with the promise of a glorious day:
Then cast a languishing regard around,
And saw, with hateful eyes, the temples crown'd
With golden spires, and all the hostile ground. 215
He sigh'd, and turn'd his eyes, because he knew
'Twas but a larger jail he had in view:
Then look'd below, and from the castle's height
Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight:
The garden, which before he had not seen,
In spring's new livery clad of white and green,
Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady walks
between.

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This view'd, but not enjoy'd, with arms across
He stood, reflecting on his country's loss;
Himself an object of the public scorn,
And often wish'd he never had been born.
At last, for so his destiny required,
With walking giddy, and with thinking tired,
He through a little window cast his sight,
Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty light: 250
But ev'n that glimmering served him to descry
The inevitable charms of Emily.

Scarce had he seen, but seized with sudden smart,

Stung to the quick, he felt it at his heart;
Struck blind with overpowering light he stood, 235
Then started back amazed, and cried aloud.

Young Arcite heard; and up he ran with haste,

To help his friend, and in his arms embraced;
And ask'd him why he look'd so deadly wan,
And whence and how his change of cheer be-
gan?

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Or who had done the offence? But if, said he,
Your grief alone is hard captivity;
For love of heaven with patience undergo
A cureless ill, since fate will have it so:
So stood our horoscope in chains to lie,
And Saturn in the dungeon of the sky,
Or other baleful aspect, ruled our birth,
When all the friendly stars were under earth:
Whate'er betides, by destiny 'tis done;
And better bear like men, than vainly seek to
shun.

Nor of my bonds, said Palamon again,
Nor of unhappy planets I complain;

But when my mortal anguish caused my cry,

That moment I was hurt through either eye;

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Pierced with a random shaft, I faint away, And perish with insensible decay:

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235

A glance of some new goddess gave the wound,
Whom, like Actæon, unaware I found.
Look how she walks along yon shady space,
Not Juno moves with more majestic grace;
And all the Cyprian queen is in her face.
If thou art Venus, (for thy charms confess
That face was form'd in heaven, nor art thou less;
Disguised in habit, undisguised in shape)
Oh, help us captives from our chains to 'scape;
But if our doom be pass'd in bonds to lie
For life, and in a loathsome dungeon die,
Then be thy wrath appeased with our disgrace,
And show compassion to the Theban race,
Oppress'd by tyrant power! While yet he spoke,
Arcite on Emily had fix'd his look;
The fatal dart a ready passage found,
And deep within his heart infix'd the wound:
So that if Palamon were wounded sore,
Arcite was hurt as much as he, or more:
Then from his inmost soul he sigh'd, and said,
The beauty I behold has struck me dead:
Unknowingly she strikes; and kills by chance;
Poison is in her eyes, and death in every glance.
Oh, I must ask; nor ask alone, but move
Her mind to mercy, or must die for love.

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Thus Arcite and thus Palamon replies, (Eager his tone, and ardent were his eyes). Speak'st thou in earnest, or in jesting vein? Jesting, said Arcite, suits but ill with pain. It suits far worse, (said Palamon again, And bent his brows) with men who honour weigh, Their faith to break, their friendship to betray; But worst with thee, of noble lineage born, My kinsman, and in arms my brother sworn. Have we not plighted each our holy oath, That one should be the common good of both; One soul should both inspire, and neither prove His fellow's hindrance in pursuit of love? To this before the gods we gave our hands, And nothing but our death can break the bands. This binds thee, then, to further my design, As I am bound by vow to further thine: Nor canst, nor dar'st thou, traitor, on the plain Appeach my honour, or thine own maintain, Since thou art of my council, and the friend Whose faith I trust, and on whose care depend: And would'st thou court my lady's love, which I Much rather than release would choose to die! But thou, false Arcite, never shalt obtain Thy bad pretence; I told thee first my pain: For first my love began ere thine was born; Thou as my council, and my brother sworn, Art bound to assist my eldership of right, Or justly to be deem'd a perjured knight.

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Ver. 258. Whom, like Actoon, unaware I found.] An Ovidian allusion. JOHN WARTON.

Ver. 261. And all the Cyprian queen, &c.]
"And Venus is it, sothly as I gesse.

And therewithall on knees adoun he fell,
And sayde:-

This circumstance of his falling on his knees, which is striking and dramatic, Dryden has hastily omitted, without judgment, as appears by the tenor of Arcite's argument. JOHN WARTON.

Ver. 285. Jesting, said Arcite, suits but ill with pain.] "Difficile est tristi fingere mente jocum."

Tibullus, lib. iii. E. 6, 2.
JOHN WAETON