Classic Poem

I.

When now Astolfo, stor'd within a vase,
Orlando's wits had safely brought away,
He turn'd his eyes towards another place
Where closely cork'd unnumber'd bottles lay.

II.

Of finest crystal were those bottles made,
Yet what was there enclos'd he could not see,
Wherefore in humble wise the saint he pray'd
To tell what treasure there conceal'd might be.

III.

" A wondrous thing it is, " the saint reply'd,
" Yet undefin'd by any mortal wight,
" An airy essence not to be descry'd,
" Subtle and thin, that Maidenhead is height.

IV.

" From earth each day in troops they hither come
" And fill each hole and corner of the Moon,
" For they are never easy while at home,
" Nor ever owner thought them gone too soon.

V.

" When here arriv'd they are in bottles pent,
" For fear they should evaporate again,
" And hard it is a prison to invent
" So volatile a spirit to retain.

VI.

" Those that to young and wanton girls belong
" Leap, bounce and fly, as if they 'd burst the glass,
" But those that have below been kept too long
" Are spiritless, and quite decay'd, alas! "

VII.

So spake the saint, and wonder seiz'd the knight,
As of each vessel he th' inscription read,
For various secrets there were brought to light
Of which Report on earth had nothing said.

VIII.

Virginities that close confin'd he thought
In th' other world he found above the sky;
His sister's and his cousin's there were brought,
Which made him swear tho' good St. John was by.

IX.

But much his wrath increas'd when he espy'd
That which was Chloe's once, his mistress dear:
" Ah, false and treach'rous Fugitive! " he cry'd,
" Little I deem'd that I should meet thee here.

X.

" Did not thy owner when we parted last
" Promise to keep thee safe for me alone?
" Scarce of our absence three short months are past
" And thou already from thy post are flown.

XI.

" Be not enrag'd, " reply'd th' Apostle kind —
" Since that this Maidenhead is thine by right
" Take it away, and when thou hast a mind
" Carry it thither whence it took its flight. "

XII.

" Thanks, Holy Father! " quoth the joyous knight,
" The Moon shall be no loser by your grace;
" Let me but have the use on 't for a night
" And I 'll restore it to its present place. "