Her ruin on her treacherous eye-beams, till
Her heart infected grew; their orbs did fill,
As the most pleasing object, with the sight
Of him whose sword open'd a way for the flight
Of her loved brother's soul. At the first view
Passion had struck her dumb, but when it grew
Into desire, she speedily did send

To have his name-which known, hate did defend
Her heart; besieged with love, she sighs, and straight
Commands him to a dungeon: but love's bait
Cannot be so cast up, though to efface
His image from her soul she strives. The place
For execution she commands to be
'Gainst the next day prepared; but rest and she
Grow enemies about it: if she steal

A slumber from her thoughts, that doth reveal
Her passions in a dream, sometimes she thought
She saw her brother's pale grim ghost, that brought
His grisly wounds to show her, smear'd in blood,
Standing before her sight; and by that flood
Those red streams wept, imploring vengeance, then,
Enraged, she cries, "O, let him die!" But when
Her sleep-imprison'd fancy, wandering in
The shades of darken'd reason, did begin
To draw Argalia's image on her soul,
Love's sovereign power did suddenly controul
The strength of those abortive embryos, sprung
From smother'd anger. The glad birds had sung
A lullaby to night, the lark was fled,
On dropping wings, up from his dewy bed,
To fan them in the rising sunbeams, ere
Whose early reign Janusa, that could bear
No longer lock'd within her breast so great
An army of rebellious passions, beat

From reason's conquer'd fortress, did unfold
Her thoughts to Manto, a stout wench; whose bold
Wit, join'd with zeal to serve her, had endear'd
Her to her best affections. Having clear'd
All doubts with hopeful promises, her maid,
By whose close wiles this plot must be convey'd,
To secret action of her council makes
Two eunuch pandars, by whose help she takes
Argalia from his keeper's charge, as to
Suffer more torments than the rest should do,
And lodged him in that castle to affright
And soften his great soul with fear. The light,
Which lent its beams into the dismal place
In which he lay, without presents the face
Of horror smear'd in blood; a scaffold built
To be the stage of murder, blush'd with guilt
Of Christian blood, by several torments let
From th' imprisoning veins. This object set
To startle his resolves if good, and make
His future joys more welcome, could not shake
The heaven-built pillars of his soul, that stood
Steady, though in the slippery paths of blood.
The gloomy night now sat enthroned in dead
And silent shadows, midnight curtains spread
The earth in black for what the falling day
Had blush'd in fire, whilst the brave pris'ner lay,
Circled in darkness, yet in those shades spends
The hours with angels, whose assistance lends

Strength to the wings of faith.

He beholds

A glimmering light, whose near approach unfolds
The leaves of darkness. While his wonder grows
Big with amazement, the dim taper shows
False Manto enter'd, who, prepared to be
A bawd unto her lustful mistress, came,
Not with persuasive rhetoric to inflame
A heart congeal'd with death's approach.

Most blest of men!

Compose thy wonder, and let only joy
Dwell in thy soul. My coming's to destroy,
Not nurse thy trembling fears: be but so wise
To follow thy swift fate, and thou mayst rise
Above the reach of danger. In thy arms
Circle that power whose radiant brightness charms
Fierce Ammurat's anger, when his crescents shine
In a full orb of forces; what was thine
Ere made a prisoner, though the doubtful state
Of her best Christian monarch, will abate
Its splendour, when that daughter of the night,
Thy feeble star, shines in a heaven of light.
If life or liberty, then, bear a shape
Worthy thy courting, swear not to escape
By the attempts of strength, and I will free
The iron bonds of thy captivity.

A solemn oath, by that great power he served,
Took, and believed his hopes no longer starved
In expectation. From that swarthy seat
Of sad despair, his narrow jail, replete
With lazy damps, she leads him to a room
In whose delights joy's summer seem'd to bloom,
There left him to the brisk society

Of costly baths and Corsic wines, whose high
And sprightly tempers from cool sherbets found
A calm ally; here his harsh thoughts unwound
Themselves in pleasure, as not fearing fate
So much, but that he dares to recreate
His spirit, by unwieldy action tired,
With all that lust into no crime had fired.
By mutes, those silent ministers of sin,
His sullied garments were removed, and in
Their place such various habits laid, as pride
Would clothe her favourites with.

*

Unruffled here by the rash wearer, rests Fair Persian mantles, rich Sclavonian vests.

Though on this swift variety of fate

He looks with wonder, yet his brave soul sate Too safe within her guards of reason, to

Be shook with passion: that there's something new

And strange approaching after such a storm, This gentle calm assures him.

His limbs from wounds but late recover'd, now
Refresh'd with liquid odours, did allow
Their suppled nerves no softer rest, but in
Such robes as wore their ornament within,

Veil'd o'er their beauty.

*

His guilty conduct now had brought him near
Janusa's room, the glaring lights appear
Thorough the window's crystal walls, the strong
Perfumes of balmy incense mix'd among
The wandering atoms of the air did fly.
The open doors allow
A free access into the room, where come,
Such real forms he saw as would strike dumb
The Alcoran's tales of Paradise, the fair
And sparkling gems i' the gilded roof impair
Their taper's fire, yet both themselves confess
Weak to those flames Janusa's eyes possess
With such a joy as bodies that do long

For souls, shall meet them in the doomsday throng,
She that ruled princes, though not passions, sate
Waiting her lover, on a throne whose state
Epitomized the empire's wealth; her robe,
With costly pride, had robb'd the chequer'd globe
Of its most fair and orient jewels, to
Enhance its value; captive princes who
Had lost their crowns, might there those gems have

[seen.

Placed in a seat near her bright throne, to stir
His settled thoughts she thus begins: "From her
Your sword hath so much injured as to shed
Blood so near kin to mine, that it was fed
By the same milky fountains, and within
One womb warm'd into life, is such a sin
I could not pardon, did not love commit
A rape upon my mercy: all the wit

Of man in vain inventions had been lost,
Ere thou redeem'd; which now, although it cost
The price of all my honours, I will do:
Be but so full of gratitude as to
Repay my care with love. Why dost thou thus
Sit dumb to my discourse? it lies in us
To raise or ruin thee, and make my way
Thorough their bloods that our embraces stay."

To charm those sullen spirits that within
The dark cells of his conscience might have been
Yet by religion hid-that gift divine,
The soul's composure, music, did refine
The lazy air, whose polish'd harmony,
Whilst dancing in redoubled echoes, by

Damn'd infidels to sin, that ne'er had known
The way to virtue: not this cobweb veil
Of beauty, which thou wear'st but as a jail
To a soul pale with guilt, can cover o'er
Thy mind's deformity.

Rent from these gilded pleasures, send me to
A dungeon dark as hell, where shadows do
Reign in eternal silence; let these rich
And costly robes, the gaudy trappings which
Thou mean'st to clothe my sin in, be exchanged
For sordid rags. When thy fierce spleen hath ranged
Through all invented torments, choose the worst
To punish my denial; less accurst
I so shall perish, than if by consent

I taught thy guilty thoughts how to augment
Their sin in action, and, by giving ease
To thy blood's fever, took its loath'd disease.
Her look,

So far the fair Janusa in this sad
Region of grief had gone, till sorrow had
That fever turn'd, upon whose flaming wings
At first love only sate, to one which brings
Death's symptoms near the heart.

* 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 eye's dim orbs, whose fading light
Being quench'd in death, had set in endless night,
Had not the wise endeavours of her maid,
The careful Manto, grief's pale scouts betray'd,

Brave Argalia sits,

With virtue cool'd. *

And must my freedom then At such a rate be purchased? rather, when My life expires in torments, let my name Forgotten die, than live in black-mouth'd fame, A servant to thy lust. Go, tempt thy own

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 embraced
Sleep, nature's darkness-

and upon the wings
Of airy hope, that wanton bird which sings
As soon as fledged, advanced her to survey
The dawning beauties of a long'd-for day.

But ere this pyramid of pleasure to
Its height arrives-with's presence to undo
The golden structure-dreadful Ammurat,
From his floating mansion lately landed at
The city's port, impatient love had brought
In an untimely visit.

[care

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
Hastens to help, her fortune did declare
Her sorrow's dark enigma; from her bed
The letter dropt-which, when life's army fled,
Their frontier garrisons neglected, had
Been left within't-this seen, declares a sad
Truth to th' amazed Bassa, though 'twere mix'd
With subtle falsehood. While 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 honour's royal charter, from a low
Voice strains a welcome, which did seem to flow
From fickle discontent, such as the weak [break.
Lungs breathe their thoughts in whilst their fibres

To counterfeited slumbers leaving her,
He's gone with silent anger to confer ;
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.

The captive Argalia is again brought before Janusa, who is unconscious that the Bassa had read the letter. Ammurat, in the mean time, is concealed to watch the interview.

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 watch intelligence; here he beheld,
Whilst she who with his absence had expell'd
All thoughtful cares, was with her joy swell'd high,
As captives are when call'd to liberty.
Perfumed and costly, her fair bed was more
Adorn'd than shrines which costly kings adore;

With such a high

Heroic scorn as aged saints that die,
Heaven's fav'rites, 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 matrimonal 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,

From

Too weak to batter that firm confidence
Their torment's thunder could not shake.
Despair, love's tyrant, had enforced her to [hence
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-fix'd 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
Dwelt in their troubled breasts; his wild eyes stood
Like comets, when attracting storms of blood
Shook with portentous sad, the whilst hers sate
Like the dull earth, when trembling at the fate
Of those ensuing evils-heavy fix'd
Within their orbs. Passions thus strangely mix'd,
No various fever e'er created in

The phrenzied brain, when sleep's sweet calm had
From her soft throne deposed.
[been

So having paused, his dreadful voice thus broke
The dismal silence.

Thou curse of my nativity, that more
Affects me than eternal wrath can do—
Spirits condemn'd, 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, ordain'd to see More than an age before of tragedy.

Fearing tears should win The victory of anger, Ammurat draws His scymitar, which had in blood writ laws For conquer'd provinces, and with a swift And cruel rage, ere penitence could lift Her burthen'd soul in a repentant thought Tow'rds 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 implores that breath Which yet remain'd, not to bewail her death, But beg his life that caused it-on her knees, Struggling to rise. But now calm'd Ammurat frees

[gave

THIS gallant, unfortunate man, who was much distinguished for the beauty of his person, was the son of Sir William Lovelace, of Woolwich, in Kent. After taking a master's degree at Cambridge, he was for some time an officer in the army; but returned to his native country after the pacification of Berwick, and took possession of his paternal estate, worth about 5007. per annum. About the same time he was deputed by the county of Kent to deliver their petition to the House of Commons, for restoring the king to his rights, and settling the government. This petition gave such offence that he was committed to the Gate-house prison, and only released on finding bail to an enormous amount not to pass beyond the lines of communication. During his confinement to London his fortune was wasted in support of the royal cause. In 1646 he formed

a regiment for the service of the French king, was colonel of it, and was wounded at Dunkirk. On this occasion his mistress, Lucasta, a Miss Lucy Sacheverel, married another, hearing that he had died of his wounds. At the end of two years he returned to England, and was again imprisoned till after the death of Charles I. He was then at liberty; but, according to Wood, was left in the most destitute circumstances, his estate being gone. He, who had been the favourite of courts, is represented as having lodged in the most obscure recesses of poverty*, and died in great misery in a lodging near Shoe-lane.

*The compiler of the Biographia Dramatica remarks that Wood must have exaggerated Lovelace's poverty, for his daughter and sole heir married the son of Lord Chief Justice Coke, and brought to her husband the estates of her father at King's-down in Kent.

SONG.

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.

WHEN Love, with unconfined wings,
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,

And fetter'd to her eye,—

The birds, that wanton in the air,
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses bound,

Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,-
Fishes, that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be,-
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage ;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,—
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

SONG.

AMARANTHA, Sweet and fair,
Forbear to braid that shining hair;
As my curious hand or eye,
Hovering round thee, let it fly:

Let it fly as unconfined
As its ravisher the wind,
Who has left his darling east
To wanton o'er this spicy nest.

Every tress must be confess'd
But neatly tangled at the best,
Like a clew of golden thread
Most excellently ravelled :

Do not then wind up that light
In ribands, and o'ercloud the night;
Like the sun in his early ray,

But shake your head and scatter day.

[* Charles I., in whose cause Lovelace was then in prison]