Dryden's Palamon and Arcite Part 11

This fate is common; but I lose my breath Near bliss, and yet not blessed before my death.

Farewell! but take me dying in your arms; 'Tis all I can enjoy of all your charms: This hand I cannot but in death resign; Ah, could I live! but while I live 'tis mine.

I feel my end approach, and thus embraced Am pleased to die; but hear me speak my last: Ah, my sweet foe! for you, and you alone, I broke my faith with injured Palamon.

But love the sense of right and wrong confounds; Strong love and proud ambition have no bounds.

And much I doubt, should Heaven my life prolong, I should return to justify my wrong; For while my former flames remain within, Repentance is but want of power to sin.

With mortal hatred I pursued his life, Nor he nor you were guilty of the strife; Nor I, but as I loved; yet all combined, Your beauty and my impotence of mind, And his concurrent flame that blew my fire, For still our kindred souls had one desire.

He had a moment's right in point of time; Had I seen first, then his had been the crime.

Fate made it mine, and justified his right; Nor holds this earth a more deserving knight For virtue, valour, and for n.o.ble blood, Truth, honour, all that is comprised in good; So help me Heaven, in all the world is none So worthy to be loved as Palamon.

He loves you too, with such a holy fire, As will not, cannot, but with life expire: Our vowed affections both have often tried, Nor any love but yours could ours divide.

Then, by my love's inviolable band, By my long suffering and my short command, If e'er you plight your vows when I am gone, Have pity on the faithful Palamon."

This was his last; for Death came on amain, And exercised below his iron reign; Then upward to the seat of life he goes; Sense fled before him, what he touched he froze: Yet could he not his closing eyes withdraw, Though less and less of Emily he saw; So, speechless, for a little s.p.a.ce he lay; Then grasped the hand he held, and sighed his soul away.

But whither went his soul? let such relate Who search the secrets of the future state: Divines can say but what themselves believe; Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative; For, were all plain, then all sides must agree, And faith itself be lost in certainty.

To live uprightly then is sure the best; To save ourselves, and not to d.a.m.n the rest.

The soul of Arcite went where heathens go, Who better live than we, though less they know.

In Palamon a manly grief appears; Silent he wept, ashamed to show his tears.

Emilia shrieked but once; and then, opprest With sorrow, sunk upon her lover's breast: Till Theseus in his arms conveyed with care Far from so sad a sight the swooning fair.

'Twere loss of time her sorrow to relate; Ill bears the s.e.x a youthful lover's fate, When just approaching to the nuptial state: But, like a low-hung cloud, it rains so fast, That all at once it falls, and cannot last.

The face of things is changed, and Athens now That laughed so late, becomes the scene of woe.

Matrons and maids, both s.e.xes, every state, With tears lament the knight's untimely fate.

Not greater grief in falling Troy was seen For Hector's death; but Hector was not then.

Old men with dust deformed their h.o.a.ry hair; The women beat their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, their cheeks they tear.

"Why wouldst thou go," with one consent they cry, When thou hadst gold enough, and Emily?"

Theseus himself, who should have cheered the grief Of others, wanted now the same relief: Old aegeus only could revive his son, Who various changes of the world had known, And strange vicissitudes of human fate, Still altering, never in a steady state: Good after ill and after pain delight, Alternate, like the scenes of day and night.

Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy, nor grieve too much for things beyond our care.

Like pilgrims to the appointed place we tend; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.

Even kings but play, and when their part is done, Some other, worse or better, mount the throne.

With words like these the crowd was satisfied; And so they would have been, had Theseus died.

But he, their King, was labouring in his mind A fitting place for funeral pomps to find, Which were in honour of the dead designed.

And, after long debate, at last he found (As Love itself had marked the spot of ground,) That grove for ever green, that conscious laund, Where he with Palamon fought hand to hand; That, where he fed his amorous desires With soft complaints, and felt his hottest fires, There other flames might waste his earthly part, And burn his limbs, where love had burned his heart.

This once resolved, the peasants were enjoined Sere-wood, and firs, and doddered oaks to find.

With sounding axes to the grove they go, Fell, split, and lay the fuel in a row; Vulcanian food: a bier is next prepared, On which the lifeless body should be reared, Covered with cloth of gold; on which was laid The corps of Arcite, in like robes arrayed.

White gloves were on his hands, and on his head A wreath of laurel, mixed with myrtle, spread.

A sword keen-edged within his right he held, The warlike emblem of the conquered field: Bare was his manly visage on the bier; Menaced his countenance, even in death severe.

Then to the palace-hall they bore the knight, To lie in solemn state, a public sight: Groans, cries, and bowlings fill the crowded place, And unaffected sorrow sat on every face.

Sad Palamon above the rest appears, In sable garments, dewed with gushing tears; His auburn locks on either shoulder flowed, Which to the funeral of his friend he vowed; But Emily, as chief, was next his side, A virgin-widow and a mourning bride.

And, that the princely obsequies might be Performed according to his high degree, The steed, that bore him living to the fight, Was trapped with polished steel, all shining bright, And covered with the atchievements of the knight.

The riders rode abreast; and one his shield, His lance of cornel-wood another held; The third his bow, and, glorious to behold, The costly quiver, all of burnished gold.

The n.o.blest of the Grecians next appear, And weeping on their shoulders bore the bier; With sober pace they marched, and often stayed, And through the master-street the corps conveyed.

The houses to their tops with black were spread, And even the pavements were with mourning hid.

The right side of the pall old aegeus kept, And on the left the royal Theseus wept; Each bore a golden bowl of work divine, With honey filled, and milk, and mixed with ruddy wine.

Then Palamon, the kinsman of the slain, And after him appeared the ill.u.s.trious train.

To grace the pomp came Emily the bright, With covered fire, the funeral pile to light.

With high devotion was the service made, And all the rites of pagan honour paid: So lofty was the pile, a Parthian bow, With vigour drawn, must send the shaft below.

The bottom was full twenty fathom broad, With crackling straw, beneath in due proportion strowed.

The fabric seemed a wood of rising green, With sulphur and bitumen cast between To feed the flames: the trees were unctuous fir, And mountain-ash, the mother of the spear; The mourner-yew and builder-oak were there, The beech, the swimming alder, and the plane, Hard box, and linden of a softer grain, And laurels, which the G.o.ds for conquering chiefs ordain.

How they were ranked shall rest untold by me, With nameless Nymphs that lived in every tree; Nor how the Dryads and the woodland train, Disherited, ran howling o'er the plain: Nor how the birds to foreign seats repaired, Or beasts that bolted out and saw the forests bared: Nor how the ground now cleared with ghastly fright Beheld the sudden sun, a stranger to the light.

The straw, as first I said, was laid below: Of chips and sere-wood was the second row; The third of greens, and timber newly felled; The fourth high stage the fragrant odours held, And pearls, and precious stones, and rich array; In midst of which, embalmed, the body lay.

The service sung, the maid with mourning eyes The stubble fired; the smouldering flames arise: This office done, she sunk upon the ground; But what she spoke, recovered from her swound, I want the wit in moving words to dress; But by themselves the tender s.e.x may guess.

While the devouring fire was burning fast, Rich jewels in the flame the wealthy cast; And some their shields, and some their lances threw, And gave the warrior's ghost a warrior's due.

Full bowls of wine, of honey, milk and blood Were poured upon the pile of burning wood, And hissing flames receive, and hungry lick the food.

Then thrice the mounted squadrons ride around The fire, and Arcite's name they thrice resound: "Hail and farewell!" they shouted thrice amain, Thrice facing to the left, and thrice they turned again: Still, as they turned, they beat their clattering shields; The women mix their cries, and clamour fills the fields.

The warlike wakes continued all the night, And funeral games were played at new returning light: Who naked wrestled best, besmeared with oil, Or who with gauntlets gave or took the foil, I will not tell you, nor would you attend; But briefly haste to my long story's end.

I pa.s.s the rest; the year was fully mourned, And Palamon long since to Thebes returned: When, by the Grecians' general consent, At Athens Theseus held his parliament; Among the laws that pa.s.sed, it was decreed, That conquered Thebes from bondage should be freed; Reserving homage to the Athenian throne, To which the sovereign summoned Palamon.

Unknowing of the cause, he took his way, Mournful in mind, and still in black array.

The monarch mounts the throne, and, placed on high, Commands into the court the beauteous Emily.

So called, she came; the senate rose, and paid Becoming reverence to the royal maid.

And first, soft whispers through the a.s.sembly went; With silent wonder then they watched the event; All hushed, the King arose with awful grace; Deep thought was in his breast, and counsel in his face: At length he sighed, and having first prepared The attentive audience, thus his will declared:

"The Cause and Spring of motion from above Hung down on earth the golden chain of Love; Great was the effect, and high was his intent, When peace among the jarring seeds he sent; Fire, flood, and earth and air by this were bound, And Love, the common link, the new creation crowned.

The chain still holds; for though the forms decay, Eternal matter never wears away: The same first mover certain bounds has placed, How long those perishable forms shall last; Nor can they last beyond the time a.s.signed By that all-seeing and all-making Mind: Shorten their hours they may, for will is free, But never pa.s.s the appointed destiny.

So men oppressed, when weary of their breath, Throw off the burden, and suborn their death.

Then, since those forms begin, and have their end, On some unaltered cause they sure depend: Parts of the whole are we, but G.o.d the whole, Who gives us life, and animating soul.

For Nature cannot from a part derive "That being which the whole can only give: He perfect, stable; but imperfect we, Subject to change, and different in degree; Plants, beasts, and man; and, as our organs are, We more or less of his perfection share.

But, by a long descent, the etherial fire Corrupts; and forms, the mortal part, expire.

As he withdraws his virtue, so they pa.s.s, And the same matter makes another ma.s.s: This law the omniscient Power was pleased to give, That every kind should by succession live; That individuals die, his will ordains; The propagated species still remains.

The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees; Three centuries he grows, and three he stays, Supreme in state, and in three more decays: So wears the paving pebble in the street, And towns and towers their fatal periods meet: So rivers, rapid once, now naked lie, Forsaken of their springs, and leave their channels dry.

So man, at first a drop, dilates with heat, Then, formed, the little heart begins to beat; Secret he feeds, unknowing, in the cell; At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the sh.e.l.l, And struggles into breath, and cries for aid; Then helpless in his mother's lap is laid.

He creeps, he walks, and, issuing into man, Grudges their life from whence his own began; Reckless of laws, affects to rule alone, Anxious to reign, and restless on the throne; First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last; Rich of three souls, and lives all three to waste.

Some thus; but thousands more in flower of age, For few arrive to run the latter stage.

Sunk in the first, in battle some are slain, And others whelmed beneath the stormy main.

What makes all this, but Jupiter the king, At whose command we perish, and we spring?

Then 'tis our best, since thus ordained to die, To make a virtue of necessity; Take what he gives, since to rebel is vain; The bad grows better, which we well sustain; And could we choose the time, and choose aright, 'Tis best to die, our honour at the height.

When we have done our ancestors no shame, But served our friends, and well secured our fame; Then should we wish our happy life to close, And leave no more for fortune to dispose; So should we make our death a glad relief From future shame, from sickness, and from grief; Enjoying while we live the present hour, And dying in our excellence and flower.

Then round our death-bed every friend should run, And joy us of our conquest early won; While the malicious world, with envious tears, Should grudge our happy end, and wish it theirs.

Since then our Arcite is with honour dead, Why should we mourn, that he so soon is freed, Or call untimely what the G.o.ds decreed?

With grief as just a friend may be deplored, From a foul prison to free air restored.

Ought he to thank his kinsman or his wife, Could tears recall him into wretched life?

Their sorrow hurts themselves; on him is lost, And worse than both, offends his happy ghost.

What then remains, but after past annoy To take the good vicissitude of joy; To thank the gracious G.o.ds for what they give, Possess our souls, and, while we live, to live?

Ordain we then two sorrows to combine, And in one point the extremes of grief to join; That thence resulting joy may be renewed, As jarring notes in harmony conclude.

Then I propose that Palamon shall be In marriage joined with beauteous Emily; For which already I have gained the a.s.sent Of my free people in full parliament.

Long love to her has borne the faithful knight, And well deserved, had Fortune done him right: 'Tis time to mend her fault, since Emily By Arcite's death from former vows is free; If you, fair sister, ratify the accord, And take him for your husband and your lord, 'Tis no dishonour to confer your grace On one descended from a royal race; And were he less, yet years of service past From grateful souls exact reward at last.

Pity is Heaven's and yours; nor can she find A throne so soft as in a woman's mind."

He said; she blushed; and as o'erawed by might, Seemed to give Theseus what she gave the knight.

Then, turning to the Theban, thus he said:

"Small arguments are needful to persuade Your temper to comply with my command:"

And speaking thus, he gave Emilia's hand.

Smiled Venus, to behold her own true knight.

Obtain the conquest, though he lost the fight; And blessed with nuptial bliss the sweet laborious night.

Eros and Anteros on either side, One fired the bridegroom, and one warmed the bride; And long-attending Hymen from above