Classic Poem

Fly hence all sordid Cares, unhallowed thoughts,
Let Vanities and Follies all avaunt
In this the Muse's hour! Her Inspiration
Fills my rapt mind, and every nerve endures
The glowing Thrill. Imagination wake!
Whilst I still strivet' expand my thoughts and language
And raise my fancy to the lofty Theme,
Nor quit me till my faithful pen hath traced
The living images thou bring'st before me!
Whilst fled his Child, the Royal Cottager
Whom Sleep had woo'd from grief to soothing rest,
Its spell broke suddenly, and called—Osmida!
—In vain he listen'd for her cheering voice!
He started from his couch, and, robed in haste,
Rush'd forth to seek her in her favorite haunts.
Darting his fearful eye across the lawn,
Just reach'd its edge, her figure all alarm,
Panting and breathless he beheld his child!
With all the little strength that Age had spared
He hasten'd to her aid, but—what his dread!
As at his feet he saw the Princess sink,
Exclaiming as she fell, in fainting voice,
Almanzor! Father! King!—The fear struck Monarch,
Unable from the chilly grass to raise
His lovely child, knelt frantic by her side,
And strove by tears and fond paternal calls
To rouse her torpid sense, re-wake her soul.
He thought her startled by the gaunt Wolf's howl,
All unprepared for that Excess of woe
Which soon must fiercely seize his aged breast,
And oh! how short a time his Fate allowed
This self-delusion! Through the night's calm air
The sound of human voices, and the clank
Of hurried hoofs, revealed at once—Destruction!
The Gallic Leader of the Moorish band,
With steady eye, had track'd Osmida's course.
Courage! he cried, as Moors obeyed his call,
All our past trouble, and our long Fatigues,
This happy hour repays! Osmida's found!
Found at the instant that our cheated hopes
Scarce gave a ray to cheer us in pursuit.
First through a dazzling Thicket to my eye
The friendly moon revealed her; Hope, prophetic,
Called her O SMIDA , but, my eager tongue
I dared not with the name intrust, lest Fear
Should prompt quick stratagem towards her foe.
In Prayer I found her bent, and instant saw
That Piety must be the bait to snare her!
So won her Confidence, and read her Heart!
A Cottage, onwards in the sombre Wood,
Conceals the Trembler and her aged Sire;
I marked the road she took, and now will guide
To those who will not welcome hail accord!
—Oh! there's no soil but G ALLIA 's could produce
A Knight thus recreant, thus completely formed,
To guide a project framed in nether hell!
They onwards hurried as he ceased. Soon found
The humble mansion of a fallen King!
There saw the hoary Prince, one Knee on earth,
Osmida's head now resting on the other,
His clasp'd petitionary hands raise up
Imploring aid from all protecting Heaven.
The touching picture e'en De Courci's eye
Could scarcely see with Pity unsuffused!
Of Conscience heedless, practised in Deceit,
With chasten'd air Almanzor he approached,
As though he sought him only to bewail
The dire events that barred him from the world!
“Unhappy Monarch! said thesmooth-speech'd Knight,
Much it afflicts me that outrageous Fortune
From all Zorador's court De Courci chose
T' explore the place of your retreat. And if”
By glanced Disdain his treacherous speech was check'd!
Through flowery Words th' experienced King saw Guile,
As lurks the serpent midst the blossom'd shrub,
Saw Villain crouch too in his shrinking eye!
Not deigning Answer, anxiously he view'd
The now reviving Princess. Oh, Osmida!
Thy pulse, returning thus, unwelcome beats!
'Twere better now these eyes were closed for ever,
This fluttering Heart by Death's chill hand were stopt,
Than, thus, receive thee back again to Life!
Her mind, till now not thoroughly restored,
Announced perception by display of Fear—
“My Father! Let us fly!” she murmur'd forth,
“We're now pursued—the Knight! the wily Knight!”—
More than pursued! replied the King, we're seized,
They have us in their Toils, we're lost! we're lost!
By these wordsroused, the Princess, scared, looked up,
Threw round her eyes—she saw De Courci's shrink!
And, speechless, crouch'd into her Father's arms.
The polish'd villain, still, unwilling was
The stain t' incur of want of Courtesy!
Though scorned his speech, his stile was all Respect,
—Pardon, Illustrious Prince! he said, the slave
Whom harsh Necessity, alas! compels
To stop your converse with your beauteous child!
Zorador, he who knows no law but Will,
A breach of whose Commands the rack awaits,
Ordain'd that soon as your retreat were found,
A moment, maugre circumstance, or tears,
Should not in lingering delay be lost.
A boon from You! I must descend to ask,
Replied the King; 'tis, that my tender child
May through the journey not from me be torn!
—De Courci seem'd to pause, when strait a Moor,
Of port superior to the rest, advanced—
“It is our Sovereign's Will, that this fair creature
Should hold no converse with her princely Sire
Till their arrival at our Master's Court.”
The Moor, De Courci's Flattery in view,
His country's courtesy essayed to pay—
“Then, doubt not, added he, that every boon,
That fruitful fancy can devise, our King,
Gracious to charms like her's, will freely grant!
To Loveliness he knows not to deny,
Her beauty's sway with him no limits will”—
Th' impatient King, with swelling Rage, approached
Upon the Moor!—“Cease, Saracen! he cried,
Nor dare thus violate my Daughter's ear!
Or thou shalt find that, though deserted thus,
Old, and unarmed—A LMANZOR is a King!
—Lead on! since Heaven ordains thy impious master
Hold, yet awhile, the balance of my fate,
His harsh command to sever us obey!
Drag from the Old Man's heart the only joy
His woes permit to shield him from Despair!”
The starting tear that down his aged cheek
Upon the bosom of Osmida fell
His firm port broke! He grieved in words which those,
By long use steel'd 'gainst Pity's touching voice,
Could not, unsoften'd, hear. And conscience struck,
To their own hearts they strove to palliate,
By coarse spun Sophistry, their Task so base!
If to De Courci, and the summoned Moors,
Osmida lovely seem'd—how beauteous now!
As bright'ning Day illumined to their view
A Series of charms, of tender cast,
Which Sorrow did not sully, but become!
Her form, more beauteous than the Antelope's
The Moors described, her Air the soaring Eagle's
That o'er Arabia's clime so graceful glides!
Her Locks, were such as nature only gives,
Once in an Age, to perfect some rare Beauty,
And formed a golden veil of burnish'd threads
Through which the purest symmetry was seen!
The sporting zephyrs snatching part in play
Appear'd enamour'd of the beauteous toils,
The rest, in dropping ringlets fell around
And deck'd the flowings of the robe they touched.
Such was the Princess, whom a Moor now seized
And on De Courci's steed securely fixed.
Upon another steed was fixed Almanzor,
Whose rein a Moorish horseman held. Thus went
The Kingdom's Monarch, and the Kingdom's heir!
—Twas not the want of proud Grandees, or that
Of cheering populace gave grief.—Oh no!
It sprang from dreadful fears, from torturing doubts,
That filled their bosoms, and usurped their minds!
The sheltering Wood, which had so long appeared.
A cheerless Prison to th' illustrious pair,
With aching Hearts, and heaving sighs, they quit.
Its solitary shades, how welcome now!
Its humble turf-crown'd cot, its devious glades,
Its choral Groves, they'd now with Rapture greet,
And, grateful, hail th' abode of humble Peace.
Too soon, too soon! upon the distant eye
The quitted Forest's verdant roof grows dun!
The eager Moors, with spur and slacken'd rein,
Leave a whole league obscured with floating dust.
The Royal Prisoners, scarcely with a Look
Can glance a Thought, much less converse, and share
With kind participance each other's woes.
Thus, strait across untrodden Wilds they go,
Whose savage tenants never yet till now
Had heard the modulated voice of man.
At length on peopled Vallies they approach,
The Moors dread Rescue, 'twas the midst of Day.
By Sleep refresh'd not in the previous night
All were grown fever'd from their constant toil;
The Moors now strain'd their wistful eyes, and found
A Cave in which t' enjoy restoring rest,
Until the Sun behind the western hills
Should sink o'erpowering beams, and humid eve
Bring on her deep'ning shades, and quench the thirst
The fiery Day had raised in plants and man.
The Cave they found appeared t'have been the haunt
Of fierce Banditti, or more peaceful home
Of some sequester'd Hermit; for its floor
The Chissel's edge had smooth'd, its lowly roof
Was rudely fashion'd to a Semi-dome.
De Courci and the Moors, in grudged rotation,
Their heavy lids to soothing Sleep resigned.
Those near Almanzor interruption gave
Whene'er the Royal Parent and his Child,
Through Day's hot Zenith and the breezy Night
No Converse known or social ease enjoyed,
Strove to beguile the melancholy hours
With such sad converse as their Woes allowed!
This had Zorador ordered, lest Osmida
Should, from her Father, steadier Firmness gain
T' oppose his furious passion, than he thought,
In Afric taught! mere woman could possess.
Constrain'd to silence, sorrow's blest physician
Sleep, whom no torture can preclude for ever,
In gentle progress, closed their aching eyes.
—O soft enchantress! thou whose sweet dominion
Boundless extends wherever nature breathes!
'Neath thy soft sway the throes of anguish cease,
Want 'scapes the piercing blast, and wild despair
Gains gleams of comfort shed alone by thee!
The Sun had scarcely reach'd th' horizon's edge,
The mountains still with ruddy gold were coif'd,
When prompt De Courci and the watching Moors
Flew to caparison their grazing steeds.
They roused Osmida and the age-worn King
To such Awakening!—Touch not, trembling hand,
The plaintive Theme! lest, caught in Woe,
Thou dwell too long upon the tears, the sighs,
The grief-fraught words which marked their start from sleep!
Some hours they onwards urged their steady course,
When, from a Coppice, bordering on the road,
An armed Troop rush'd forth! So quick they came,
De Courci's Band were, ere perceived their risk,
By vizor'd Warriors encircled all!
One seized Osmida from De Courci's hold,
The Knight not yet had drawn to save his prize
Ere he beheld her carried from his arms!
Turning with fury on his foe, who thus
Bereaved his heart of every splendid hope,
He thrust his out-stretch'd sword to reach his prey
With force so urgent! that his o'erpois'd frame,
To Earth propelled, lay breathless with the shock
Where trampling steeds the wretch, for ever, fixed!
The Moors, undaunted by their Leader's fate,
Sustained th' assailants' prowess, all resolved
Their prisoners only with their Lives they'd lose,
Or both together save. Two forced their way
Towards the spot where, guarded by her Knight,
The Princess stood; three vizor'd foes pursued,
The Moors soon found the road which led to her
The path to Death! The remnant Saracens,
As struggling, battling, o'er the field they rush'd,
Their vests with living flowing crimson dyed,
Fought as those fight, who, knowing they must fall,
Resolve the victors shall buy conquest dearly!
Meanwhile Osmida, deep in Wonder lost,
Beheld herself unchain'd, and still not free!
Those who had held her Prisoner, now were slain;
But who are these who venturous risk their lives?
Perchance new masters, and again they're slaves!
The question scarcely, in her whirl of thought,
Had time to form itself, ere at her side
She saw the noble A RLOS !—Hence, vain Fears!
The magic touch of Hope her bosom swell'd!
O Generous Arlos! said the grateful maid,
Save—save the King unarm'd amidst his Foes!
He staid not to reply, he forward sprang,
But, ere he join'd, the prize he sought was lost!
He who had led the Steed that bore the King,
More fiercely than the rest, more madly, fought;
His fellows too the struggling Prince hemmed in,
Their Horses 'gainst him back'd and outward faced,
Their Spears encircled him with threat'ning Rays;
When he who led him, watching well his time,
Broke from the rest, and, on the distant winds
Seem'd by his swift Arabian borne away,
His war-taught fellow keeping equal pace
On which the King was too securely fixed!
Their ardent eyes which view'd the hills and plains
Scarcely outstripp'd their hoofs; the vales, the woods,
Their glance surveyed, were in few instants passed,
Whilst four pursuing stretching mad'ning foes,
At first delayed by the remaining Moors,
Beheld new hills, new plains, new woods, arise
Between their outstript horses and their Prince.
The few remaining Moors, in mere Despair,
Still madly fought, preferring instant death
To the slow tortures that they knew their King
Would fail not to inflict on those who lost
The beauteous object of his brutal love.
Their refuge soon they found! their Spirits freed
Were launch'd upon the air. The Princess now
Became sole object of the care of Arlos;
Her feet unconscious moved on in the course
In which she saw her Father torn away,
But, saw him further borne o'er distant wilds
And in that sight her new born rapture lost!
—Arlos, to moderate her fears, assured
The gallant youths who steadily went on
Would not pursue the flying slaves in vain!
They knew the mazy roads, each devious path,
Each secret turning, and the Moor would meet
When least the hovering Danger could be known!
Then Princess! to my Castle let me lead;
There, if not happier, yet, at least secure,
Your Father's hoped return you may await.
Osmida, scarcely knowing what was urged,
Allow'd herself upon a Steed again
To be replaced, and to his distant home,
O'er trackless Heaths, and roads almost impervious,
The faithful Arlos brought his royal Ward.
How blest the moment, had the loyal roof
That shelter'd her, been shelter to her Sire!
To lead her thoughts away from present dread,
He now related how, by venial arts,
The jealous Tyrant's mind had been misled
To deem him truest servant to the Moors;
That, unsuspected, he might watch the road,
His royal guests to rescue from their doom
If e'er by chance malevolent betrayed.
Without the King she saw the troops return,
It was enough! of Circumstance no need,
None sooth her anguish, none her woes encrease!
Their Tale scarce won Attention. Much they talked
Of hot pursuit, and of the villain's speed,
That once the flagging coursers raised their hopes,
When, sudden, on a wide spread plain appear'd,
In mock engagement, half Zorador's troops.
The Saracen gained Vigour at the sight!
Whilst those had followed backward traced their road.
Pursuit was vain, they fled through covert paths.
Their Lord's inevitable fate they knew,
Should racks extort whose agents they had been!
Vain were th' attempts of Arlos to dispel
The deep distress which seized Osmida's heart.
With happiest words e'er Consolation framed
His youthful Sister lent her tender aid
To chear the Royal Guest. In sweetest wiles,
Kissing the drowning roses on her cheek,
She strove, from Grief, to draw her thoughts on her!
The sprightly Morn, each added day, in vain,
The moon grown pale of office to bereave,
Burst through the clouds that, brightning as she came,
Beam'd joy;—for, oh! to hopeless Misery,
Whether the placid moon, or sprightly Morn,
Or Sun refulgent, mark the passing hours,
All, all alike they undistinguished roll,
One cheerless Chaos of impervious Gloom!
In vain the Columns, o'er her downy couch,
Dropped shady draperies inviting Rest;
Dearer to her th' o'erhanging Forest Beech
Whose meeting branches canopied the earth
Where stood their lonely Cot. Oh! dearer far,
The humble couch on which her Father's head
Securely rested, settled by her hand,
As, when exhausted nature asked recruit,
She watched his sleep beneath umbrageous trees,
Whilst sounds so pleasing floated in the air
Sprung sweetly forth the blithe birds trembling throats.
Who now will lull his woes, and guard his sleep,
His rising watch to sooth his waking grief,
And cheer, with tender voice, the lengthened day!
His plaintive child her sorrows thus indulged.
Now, midst the cons