Unmindful of himself, his promis'd fame,
His sovereign's welfare, and his beauteous dame;
And thus she fear'd the flower of youthful bloom
A knight so gentle might in sloth consume,
While that pure portion of the ethereal ray
Which still survives, when all is breathless clay,
Th' immortal part, in sensual pleasure tost
Would soon be shipwreck'd, and for ever lost!
But that sage matron, whose attentive mind
Watch'd o'er the good himself had cast behind,
Resolv'd through irksome ways of toil and pain,
To bring him back to virtue's path again.
His med'cines thus the wise physician deals,
And oft by fire, and steel, and poison heals:
Repining first, the patient feels the smart,
Then owns the saving aid with grateful heart.
Yet arduous was the task her thoughts design'd;
For old Atlantes, with affection blind,
Who sought but to preserve from dangerous strife
In case inglorious his Rogero's life;
Who rather wish'd him thus to lead his days,
Than change a year of shame for endless praise,
Had sent him to Alcina's isle afar,
There to forget the sound of arms and war;
And as a sage well vers'd in magic art,
He bound in chains so firm the fairy's heart,
She ne'er again her love should disengage,
Though good Rogero liv'd to Nestor's age.
Now to the virgin let us bend our view,
Whose prophesying skill the future knew;
Who, while from realm to realm she thoughtful past,
The wandering Amon's daughter met at last.
When Bradamant beheld Melissa near,
A sudden hope dispell'd her former fear;
Till, struck with grief, th' unhappy virgin heard
Her lover prisoner, and his mind ensnar'd
With pleasure's poison'd bait; but soon to calm
Her dread, th' enchantress pours the healing balm ;
And plights her faith, ere many days are o'er,
Rogero to her presence to restore.
Give me (she cry'd) the ring, whose powerful charm
The wearer shields from every magic harm:
Soon will I put Alcina's arts to flight,
Who now detains your lover from your sight.
When evening rises will I take my way,
And reach the Indian climes by dawn of day.
Melissa spoke; and to the listening dame
Her purpose told, to draw the youth from shame,
And send him back once more to France and fame.
Then from her hand the noble damsel gave
The wondrous ring; nor this alone to save
The knight had given, but with an equal mind
Had sent her heart, and life itself resign'd.
She gives the ring; and to her care commends
Herself, her lover more; to him she sends
A thousand greetings that her truth display,
And, parting, to Provence directs her way.
A different path the sage Melissa pass'd,
But soon as evening-shade the skies o'ercast,
She rais'd a palfrey by her magic art,
With one foot red, but black each other part:
Some fiend infernal, seeming thus in show,
Whom by her spells she drew from realms below:
On this she mounted; both her feet were bare,
Ungirt her gown, and loose her flowing hair.
Then with such speed through yielding clouds she flew,
Next morn Alcina's isle appear'd in view.
Arriv'd, a strange illusion to the sight,
She adds a foot of stature to her height;
While every limb enlarg'd, like his appears
Who nurs'd Rogero in his infant years:
A hoary beard she fixes on her chin,
And fills with wrinkles all her wither'd skin:
So well she feigns his speech, his voice, his air,
It seems as if Atlantes' self was there.
This done; awhile she undiscover'd stood,
Till, as it chanc'd, one day the youth she view'd
Apart in solitude; unusual sight!
For scarce Alcina ever left the knight.
Now, to her wish, she found the youth retir'd
To taste the freshness which the morn inspir'd,
Beside a stream that from the hill's descent
To a clear lake with gentle murmur went.
His garments with effeminacy made,
Luxurious sloth and indolence display'd;
Wrought by Alcina's hands, of silk and gold
Mingled with art, and costly to behold.
A string of jewels from his neck he wore,
That, to his breast descending, hung before;
Ver. 332. His garments with effeminacy made,] This whole passage is a copy of Virgil, Æneid IV. where Mercury is sent by Jupiter to warn Æneas to leave Carthage. Tasso has closely followed both these poets, in his Jerusalem Delivered, B. xvi. but particularly Ariosto. Æneas, Rogero, and Rinaldo, make pretty near the same figure.
And either warlike arm, that once could wield
The heaviest weapons in the listed field,
A bracelet bound: in either ear he hung
A ring of golden wire, to which was strung
A costly pearl, whose price by far excell'd
What India or Arabia e'er beheld.
His curling locks in nicest order set,
Wav'd round his head with liquid odours wet.
His gestures and his looks a mind declare
Bred to the wanton pleasures of the fair.
Rogero now his name can only boast,
The rest is all in foul corruption lost:
So far estrang'd from what he was before
By fatal sorcery and beauty's power!
Now in Atlantes' form th' enchantress stood
Before the youth, that form he oft had view'd;
With that stern eye, and countenance severe,
Which, when a child, he us'd so much to fear.
Then thus-Are these the glorious fruits at last
Of all my cares, of all my labours past?
Was it for this thy infancy I bred,
With marrow of the bears and lions fed?
Taught thee in gloomy caves or forest-lands,
To strangle serpents with thy tender hands?
Panthers and tigers of their claws deprive,
And tear their tushes from the boars alive?
That, after all, thou shouldst at length appear
Alcina's Atys or Adonis here?
Is this the fate which in the stars I read?
Is this what dreams and auguries have said?
Ver. 365. Atys-] A beautiful youth beloved of Cybele, the mother of the gods.
"Twas promis'd, from thy birth, when thou hadst gain'd
The ripening years which now thou hast attain'd,
That not a chief should match thy boundless praise: 370
And wouldst thou thus thy boasted trophies raise !
Thus wouldst thou rival Alexander's name,
Thus gain a Cæsar's, or a Scipio's fame?
Who could have thought (O scandal to the brave)
To see thee here Alcina's wanton slave!
And that thy thraldom may to all be known,
Thy neck and arms her shameful shackles own.
If for thyself, fame cannot move thy mind,
Nor the great deeds that Heaven for thee design'd,
Yet wherefore from thy godlike race withhold
The future good, my lips have oft foretold?
A race (so fate decrees) to mortal eyes
More dear than Phoebus' light that gilds the skies!
Forbid not souls t'exist, which Heaven shall frame
With purest portions of ethereal flame:
Nor blast the promis'd palms, which virtue yields
In peaceful counsels or triumphant fields,
By which thy sons, and each succeeding name,
Shall give to Italy her former fame.
But, o'er the rest, let two thy thoughts engage,
Two brethren, glories of their favour'd age!
Alphonso and Hippolito, whose praise,
O'er all thy line, shall bless their happy days.
On these I dwell, and joy to find thee hear
Their virtuous honours with a willing ear,
As if exulting in thy mind to trace
Such worthies springing from thy godlike race.
How has this queen thy fond affections won?
But thousands, like herself, the same had done:
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