صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

But unexpectedly returns,

And to his faithful champion hath in place

1750

Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns

And all that band them to resist

His uncontrollable intent;

His servants he with new acquist

Of true experience from this great event,
With peace and consolation hath dismist,
And calm of mind all passion spent.

The End of Samson Agonistes.

1755

Volume III.

N

PRESENTED AT LUDLOW-CASTLE, M. DC. XXXIV, BEFORE THE EARL OF BRIDGEWATER, THEN PRESIDENT OF WALES.

Eheu quid volui misero mihi! floribus austrum
Perditus.

TO the Right Honourable

JOHN LORD VISCOUNT BRACKLY,

Son and Heir apparent to the Earl of Bridgewater, etc.

My Lord,

THIS Poem, which received its first occasion of birth from yourself and others of your noble family, and much honour from your own person in the performance, now returns again to make a final dedication of itself to you. Although not openly acknowledg'd by the Author, yet it is a legitimate offspring, so lovely, and so much desired, that the often copying of it hath tired my pen to give my several friends satisfaction,and brought me to a necessityofproducing it to the public view; and now to offer it up in all rightful devotion to those fair hopes, and rare endowments of your much promising youth, which give a full assurance, to all that know you, of a future excellence. Live, sweet Lord, to be the honor of your name, and receive this as your own, from the hands of him who hath by many favors been long obliged to your most honored parents, and as in this representation your attendent Thyrsis, so now in all real expression,

Your faithful and most humble servant,
H. LAWES.

[blocks in formation]

The chief persons who presented were,

The Lord BRACKLY.

Mr. THOMAS EGERTON, his brother.
The Lady ALICE EGERTON.

The first SCENE discovers a wild wood.

The attendent SPIRIT descends or enters.
BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes
Of bright aerial spirits live inspher'd
In regions mild of calm and serene air,
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot,

5

[ocr errors]

Which men call Earth, and with low thoughted care
Confin'd, and pester'd in this pin-fold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives
After this mortal change to her true servants
Amongst the enthron'd gods on sainted seats.
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire
To lay their just hands on that golden key
That opes the palace of Eternity:
To such my errand is; and but for such,
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds
With the rank vapors of this sin-worn mold.

But to my task. Neptune besides the sway
Of every salt flood, and each ebbing stream,
Took in by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt iles,
That like to rich and various gems inlay
The unadorned bosom of the Deep,

is

20

Which he to grace his tributary gods

By course commits to several government,

25

30

35

And gives them leave to wear their saphir crowns,
And wield their little tridents: but this ile,
The greatest and the best of all the main,
He quarters to his blue-hair'd deities;
And all this tract that fronts the falling sun
A noble peer of mickle trust and power
Has in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide
An old and haughty nation proud in arms :
Where his fair offspring nurs'd in princely lore
Are coming to attend their father's state,
And new-intrusted scepter; but their way
Lies through the perplex'd paths of this drear wood,
The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forelorn and wand'ring passenger;
And here their tender age might suffer peril,
But that by quick command from sovran Jove
I was dispatch'd for their defense and guard ;
And listen why, for I will tell you now
What never yet was heard in tale or song,
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
Crush'd the sweet poison of mis-used wine,
After the Tuscan mariners transform'd,
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,
On Circe's iland fell: (Who knows not Circe 50
The daughter of the Sun? whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted, lost his upright shape,

And downward fell into a groveling swine)

40

45

« السابقةمتابعة »