Classic Poem

Canto the Fourth

Anger, improved by lust's enormous flame,
Fires vexed Janusa with such sad extremes
Of rage, that her sweet sex's native shame
Is scorched to death in those prodigious beams.

Which whilst they to her angry lord betray
Her honor's loss, such tumults in him breed,
That both their deaths must serve for an allay;
Whose sudden fall our Christian champion freed.

Our noble captive, to fair Virtue's throne
In safety passed, though through Lust's burning zone,
Finds in his dungeon's lazy damps a rest
More sweet, though with the heavy weights opprest
Of iron bondage, than if they had been
Love's amorous wreaths, Janusa's arms, within
Whose ivory circles he had slept. But she,
Her grief composed of all malignity,
Lust's flames unquenched converts to, whilst they burn,
Black thoughts within her breast — that beauteous urn
Of lust's corruption. Sometimes anger flies
Above the sphere of reason, and there dies
With tears extinguished; she breathes curses in
Her soul's pale agony, such as had been
More deadly than infectious damps if not
Strangled in the embryo, — dead before their hot
Poison could work upon her fancy more
Than spleenful thoughts, which were recalled before
Ripened for execution. Now she steeps
Her down in tears, a flood of sorrow weeps,
Of power, if penitent, to expiate
Youth's vigorous sins; but all her mourning sat
Beneath a darker veil than that which shades
Repentant grief, since sin but wished invades
The soul with that which leads to horror, when
Grief for sins past brings into light again:
One through a sea of trouble leads the way
To a safe harbour, the other casts away
Poor shipwrecked mortals, when by death's swift stroke
Life's feeble hold is from Hope's anchor broke.
So far the fair Janusa in this sad
Region of grief had gone, till sorrow had
That fever turned, upon whose flaming wings
At first lust only sat, to one which brings
Death's symptoms near her heart; which had so long
Beneath the burden groaned, until the strong
Disease had wrought up all the blood within
Her cheeks into consuming flames; the skin
Had lost its soft repose of flesh, and lay
On nought but bones, whose sharpness did betray
Their macerated nerves; the rose had lost
His ensigns in her cheeks, and though it cost
Pains near to death, the lily had alone
Set his pale banners up; no brightness shone
Within her eyes' dim orbs, whose fading light,
Being quenched in death, had set in endless night,
Had not the wise endeavours of her maid,
The careful Manto, grief's pale scouts betrayed
By sly deceit: knowing if she should want
Health, until cured by that exotic plant,
The captive's love, what lust at first did burn
With inflamations might a gangrene turn.
Although she cures not, yet gives present ease
By laying opiates to the harsh disease.
A letter, which did for uncivil blame
His first denial, in the stranger's name
Disguised, she gives her; which, with eyes that did
O'erflow with joy, read o'er, had soon forbid
Grief's sullen progress, whose next stage had been
O'er life's short road, the grave — death's quiet inn.
From whose dark terror, by this gleam of light,
Like trembling children by a lamp's weak light
Freed from night's dreadful shadows, she 'd embraced
Sleep, Nature's darkness, had not joy defaced
Those sooty characters, and on the wings
Of airy hope — that wanton bird which sings
As soon as fledged — advanced her to survey
The dawning beauties of a longed-for day.
But ere this pyramid of pleasure to
Its height arrives, with 's presence to undo
The golden structure, dreadful Ammurat
From 's floating mansion safely landed at
The city's port, impatient love had brought
In an untimely visit: ere swift thought,
Fettered with guilt, could from his eager eye
By an excuse to sanctuary fly,
He enters, and she faints! In which pale trance
His pity finds her, but to no such chance
Imputes the cause; rather conceives it joy,
Whose rushing torrent made her heart employ
Its nimble servants, all her spirits, to
Prevent a deluge, which might else undo
Love's new-made commonwealth. But whilst his care
Hastens to help, her fortune did declare
Her sorrow's dark enigma: from her bed
The letter drops — which, when life's army fled
Their frontier garrisons, neglected had
Been left within 't; — this seen, declares a sad
Truth to the amazed bassa, though 'twere mixt
With subtle falsehood. Whilst he stands, betwixt
High rage and grief distracted, doubtful yet
In what new dress to wear revenge, the fit
Forsakes Janusa; who, not knowing she
Detected stood of lust's conspiracy
'Gainst honor's royal charter, from a low
Voice strains a welcome, which did seem to flow
From fickle discontent, such as the weak
Lungs breathe the thoughts in whilst their fibres break.
To counterfeited slumbers leaving her,
He's gone, with silent anger to confer;
And, though rage lives in fire, the fury lies
Unseen through the false optics of his eyes.
With such a farewell as kind husbands leave
Their pregnant wives, preparing to receive
A mother's first of blessings, he forsakes
The room, and into strict inquiry takes
The wretched Manto; who, ere she could call
Excuse to aid, surprised, discovers all
Her sin's black art, from whose dark theorems he
This method draws: — That night, designed to be
Lightened with lust's hot triumphs, he pretends
Commanded absence, yet the false stroke bends
But towards that guard, ere, by a swift reverse
Brought back, his soul's sly scouts had gained commerce
With all those enemies to honor, by
Whose aid Janusa ruins chastity.
Placed by false Manto in a closet, which,
Silent and sad, had only, to enrich
Its roof with light, some few neglected beams
Sent from Janusa's room, which serve as streams
To waft intelligence. Here he beheld,
Whilst she, who with his absence had expelled
All thoughtful cares, was with her joy swelled high
As captives are when called to liberty.
Her linen, like a princely bride's that meets
In the soft folds of her first nuptial sheets,
Perfumed and costly; her fair bed was more
Adorned than shrines, whose saints rich kings adore;
Incense, in smoaky curls, climbs to the fair
Roof, whilst choice music rarifies the air:
Each element, in more perfection here
Than in their first creation, did appear,
Yet lived in harmony; — the winged fire lent
Perfumes to the air, that, to moist cordials pent
In crystal vials, strength; and those impart
Their vigor to that ball of earth, the heart.
The nice eye here epitomized might see
Rich Persia's wealth, and old Rome's luxury.
But now, like Nature's new made favorite,
Who, until all created for delight
Was framed, did ne'er see paradise, comes in
Deceived Argalia, thinking he had been
Called thither to behold a penitent
Arming for death, not heaven's choice blessings, spent
On th' vanities of life; but mirth soon gives
That thought its mortal wound, and shows she lives
Beyond that dark sphere — where her joys did move
As if her eyes alone gave laws to love;
Where beauty's constellations all did shine
As if no cross aspect could e'er untwine
Their clasped conjunctions, which did seem to guide
Old nature's steps, till from their zenith's pride,
By virtue, the soul's motion, which the world
In order keeps, into confusion hurled:
For here gay Vanity, though clothed in all
Her gaudy pageants, lets her trophies fall
Before bright virtue's throne. With such a high
Heroic scorn as aged saints, that die
Heaven's favorites, leave the trivial world, he slights
That gilded pomp; no splendent beam invites
His serious eye to meet their objects in
An amorous glance: reserved as he had been
Before his grave confessor, he beholds
Beauty's bright magic, while its art unfolds
Great love's mysterious riddles, and commands
Captive Janusa to infringe the bands
Of matrimonial modesty. When all
Temptation fails, she leaves her throne to fall,
The scorn of greatness, at his feet: but prayer,
Like flattery, expires in useless air,
Too weak to batter that firm confidence
Their torment's thunder could not shake. From hence
Despair, love's tyrant, had enforced her to
More wild attempts, had not her Ammurat, who,
Unseen, beheld all this, prevented by
His sight the death of bleeding modesty.
Made swift with rage, the ruffled curtain flies
His angry touch — he enters — fixed his eyes,
From whence some drops of rage distil, on her
Whose heart had lent her face its character.
Whilst he stood red with flaming anger, she
Looks pale with fear; — passion's disparity,
In such extremes as nature's laws require,
'Twixt earth's cold centre and the air's circling fire,
Dwelt in their troubled breasts; his wild eyes stood,
Like comets when attracting storms of blood,
Shook with portentous sadness, whilst her's sat
Like the dull earth, when trembling at the fate
Of those ensuing ills — heavy and fixt
Within their orbs. Passions thus strangely mixt,
No various fever ere created in
The phrenzied brain, when Sleep's sweet calm had been
From her soft throne deposed. This lightning past,
Thunder succeeds; as burning mountains cast
Out horrid noise after their flaming smoke,
So having paused, his dreadful voice thus broke
The dismal silence: — " Thou prodigious whore,
The curse of my nativity, that more
Afflicts me than eternal wrath can do
Spirits condemned — some fiends, instruct me to
Heighten revenge to thy desert; but so
I should do more than mortals may, and throw
Thy spotted soul to flames. Yet I will give
Its passport hence; for think not to outlive
This hour, this fatal hour, ordained to see
More than an age before of tragedy.
She that fell from a firmament of pride
To fortune's lowest region, and there died
A sad example to ensuing times —
That honor's altitude supports not crimes,
When in their stretched extensions reaching to
Justice, which can through reversed optics view
Giants, though pigmy sins do oft appear,
Like the dim moon, more great, because more near;
Sins that, till fear their guilt did aggravate,
Wore virtue's frontispiece, since now too late
To hope for life, in their own monstrous form
Encounter reason's guards, till the big storm.
Of various passions all were settled in
Dregs of despair. When fearing tears should win
The victory of anger, Ammurat draws
His cimetar, which had in blood writ laws
For conquered provinces, and with a swift
And cruel rage, ere penitence could lift
Her burthened soul in a repentant thought
Towards Heaven, sheathes the cold steel in her soft
And snowy breast. With a loud groan she falls
Upon the bloody floor, half breathless, calls
For his untimely pity; but perceiving
The fleeting spirits, with her blood, were leaving
Her heart unguarded, she employs that breath
Which yet remained, not to bewail her death,
But beg his life that caused it — on her knees
Struggling to rise. But now calmed Ammurat frees
Her from disturbing death, in 's last great work,
And thus declares some virtue in a Turk. —
" I have, brave Christian, by perusing thee
In this great act of honor, learnt to be
Too late, thy slow-paced follower: this ring (with that
Gives him his signet) shall, when questioned at
The castle-guards, thy safety be. And now
I see her blood's low water doth allow
Me only time to launch my soul's black bark
Into death's rubric sea — for to the dark
And silent region, though we here were by
Passion divorced, fortune shall not deny
Our souls to sail together. From thy eyes
Remove death's load, and see what sacrifice
My love is offering. " With that word, a stroke
Pierces his breast, whose speedy pains invoke
Death's opiates to appease them. He sinks down
By 's dying wife, who, ere the cold flood drown
Life in the deluge of her wounds, once more
Betrays her eyes t' the light; and though they bore
The weight of death upon their lids, did keep
Them so long open, till the icy sleep
Began to seize on him, and then she cries —
" Oh see, just Heaven! see, see my Ammurat dies,
To wander with me in the unknown shade
Of immortality — But I have made
The wounds that murdered both: his hand that gave
Mine, did but gently let me blood to save
An everlasting fever. Pardon me,
My dear, my dying lord! Eternity
Shall see my soul washed white in tears; but oh!
I now feel time's dear want — they will not flow
Fast as my stream of blood. Christian, farewell!
Whene'er thou dost our tragic story tell,
Do not extenuate my crimes, but let
Them in their own black characters be set
Near Ammurat's bright virtues, that, read by
The unpractised lover, which posterity,
Whilst wanton winds play with our dust, shall raise
On Beauty's throne, the good may justice praise
By his example, and the bad by mine
From Vice's throne be scared to Virtue's shrine. "
And here the speed Death's messengers did make
To hurry forth their souls, did faintly shake
Her words into imperfect accents. This,
She cries, is our last interview — a kiss
Then joins their bloodless lips — each close the eyes
Of the other, whilst the parting spirit flies.
Mounted on both their breaths, the latest gasp
They ere must draw. Whilst with stiff arms they clasp
Each other's neck, Argalia through a cloud
Of liquid sorrow did behold the proud
Triumphs of death in their untimely fate:
He sees great Ammurat for a robe of state
Groveling in blood, the fair Janusa lie,
Purpled in death, like polished ivory
Dipped in vermillion; the bright crystals, that
Her soul in conquering flames looked thorough at,
Both quenched and cooled in death. But time did lend
His tears scarce passage, till a drop could end
Its journey o'er his cheeks, before a page,
Whose cruelty had far out-grown his age,
Enters in haste; and with an anger that,
Though indiscreet, at wrongs seemed kindled at,
In wounds did on the bassa's body vent
A spleen that death's discharge could not content.
This seen, Argalia, to whom all must be
Offence that injures fair humanity,
Stops the vain torrent, and a nearer way
To just revenge directs the angry boy:
Who, by unfolded truth, now lets him know,
His rage to that uncivil height did grow,
Not from a childish spleen, but wrongs that he,
A Christian, suffered in captivity.
Assured by this confession that he might
Be useful, more than in a secret flight,
Argalia bids him, in his bassa's name,
A mandate write for some of worthiest fame
'Mongst all the Christian citizens, and those
To send the guard for, ere the morning rose
On the black ruins of the night. This done,
Before that time the victory had won
Of opportunity; their warders slain,
Each Christian captive from his rusty chain
His bold hand frees, and by their happy aid,
The gates being first secured, with ease dismayed
The drowsy garrison, from whom they found
But weak resistance; — some soft sleep had bound
To beds of ease, intemperate riot kept
Others more vainly waking; here one slept
Between a mistress' arms, and there another,
Stole to a private catamite, did smother
Delight in whispers; in which loose garb found,
Ere time rolls up what slow neglect unwound,
Even in security's soft lap surprised,
They met grim death in pleasure's shape disguised.
All now being slain but feeble eunuchs and
Poor trembling maids, the new but valiant band
Of late freed captives crown the walls, from whence
They saw the soldiers' wicked diligence
In finding those which the false mandate had
Designed for ruin general: as sad
The city's sorrows were; a desolate
And silent horror unregarded sat
In the empty streets, which action had not filled
Yet with employment. But when day did gild
The ebony of night, to hear the rude
Murmur that did from the mixed multitude
Open together with their doors, assures
Argalia, that their fear, which yet secures
That handful of insulting tyrants, might,
With anger being charged home, be put to flight
With a reserve of hope; whilst every breast
Was swelled with stifled spirits; whilst, opprest
With silent grief, helpless spectators, they
Saw those they once for virtue did obey —
Their reverend senators, whose silvered heads
Age now made fit for ease, forced from their beds
By feverish power's rude fits, whose heat, not all
The juleps of their tears, though some drops fall
From Beauty's lovely blossoms, cool — Their rage
Neglected youth slights like unreverent age.
But when the conquering captives, by the brave
Argalia rescued from the castle, gave
Bright victory's signal; when they saw each lance
The bleeding head of a grim Turk advance,
Anger, like unobstructed love, breaks forth
In flaming haste. Yet here the want of worth
And valour 'mongst the city herd, had drove
Them all to death's dark fields, if, whilst they strove
With that stout band of Janisaries, they
Had not been by Argalia taught the way
To victory; who in a sally meets
Retreating fear when creeping from the streets
T' the vain protection of their doors. And now,
His conquering sword having taught all to bow
Beneath its burnished splendor, since the high
Applause o' the loudest acclamations fly
Beneath his worth, a general vote elects
Him for their prince: but his brave soul affects
Not so sublime a burthen, knowing they,
Bred under a democracy, obey
Contracted power; but harshly he returns
All to their senate, who of late, like urns,
Nought but the useless ashes did contain
Of their own laws, which were by conquest slain.
But his refusal, where acceptance not
Envy could say Ambition had begot,
But new plants virtue; who from thence did take
The deeper root, and 'mongst the throng did make
That choice so epidemical, that he,
For valour feared, loved for humility.
The people's prayer, those humble shrubs that owe
For safety to power's cedars, join to grow
Shadowed beneath his merit, and create
Him prince o' the senate; who, their doubtful state
Requiring strong allies, a fleet prepared,
To seek those princes who their danger shared.
Which ready, with a prosperous gale of wind,
He, though employed by honor, sails to find
Out Love's rich Indies; and, with's white-winged fleet,
Hastens Palermo's nearest port to meet.