Part IV

So fickle fortune, in a luckless hour,Had close consigned me to a tyrant's power,Who cut the nerves that, with elastic force,Had borne me on in Freedom's generous course--So I, in noble independence bred,Free as the roebuck in the sylvan glade,By passion lured, a voluntary slave--My ready name to Cupid's muster gave.And yet I saw their grief and wild despair;I saw them blindly seek the fatal snareThrough winding paths, and many an artful maze,Where Cupid's viewless spell the band obeys.Here, as I turn'd my anxious eyes around,If any shade I then could see renown'dIn old or modern times; the bard I spiedWhose unabated love pursued his brideDown to the coast of Hades; and aboveHis life resign'd, the pledge of constant love,Calling her name in death.--Alcaeus near,Who sung the joys of Love and toils severe,Was seen with Pindar and the Teian swain,A veteran gay among the youthful trainOf Cupid's host.--The Mantuan next I found,Begirt with bards from age to age renown'd;Whether they chose in lofty themes to soar,Or sportive try the Muse's lighter lore.--There soft Tibullus walk'd with Sulmo's bard;And there Propertius with Catullus sharedThe meed of lovesome lays: the Grecian dameWith sweeter numbers woke the amorous flameWhile thus I turn'd around my wondering eyes,I saw a noble train with new surprise,Who seem'd of Love in choral notes to sing,While all around them breathed Elysian spring.--Here Alighieri, with his love I spied,Selvaggia, Guido, Cino, side by side--Guido, who mourn'd the lot that fix'd his nameThe second of his age in lyric fame.--Two other minstrels there I spied that boreHis name, renown'd on Arno's tuneful shore.With them Sicilia's bards, in elder daysMatch'd with the foremost in poetic praise,Though now they rank behind.--Sennuccio nighWith gentle Franceschino met my eye.--But soon another tribe, of manners strangeAnd uncouth dialect, was seen to rangeAlong the flowery paths, by Arnald led;In Cupid's lore by all the Muses bred,And master of the theme.--Marsilia's coastAnd Narbonne still his polish'd numbers boast.--The next I saw with lighter step advance;'Twas he that caught a flame at every glanceThat met his eye, with him who shared his name.Join'd with an Arnald of inferior fame.--Next either Rambold in procession trod,No easy conquest to the winged god.The pride of Montferrat (a peerless dame)In many a ditty sung, announced his flame;And Genoa's bard, who left his native coast,And on Marsilia's towers the memory lostOf his first time, when Salem's sacred flameTaught him a nobler heritage to claim,--Gerard and Peter, both of Gallic blood,And tuneful Rudel, who, in moonstruck mood,O'er ocean by a flying image led,In the fantastic chase his canvas spread;And, where he thought his amorous vows to breathe,From Cupid's bow received the shaft of Death.--There was Cabestaing, whose unequall'd laysFrom all his rivals won superior praise.--Hugo was there, with Almeric renown'd;--Bernard and Anselm by the Muses crown'd.--Those and a thousand others o'er the fieldAdvanced; nor javelin did they want, or shield;The Muses form'd their guard, and march'd before.Spreading their long renown from shore to shore.--The Latian band, with sympathising woe,At last I spied amid the moving show:Bologna's poet first, whose honour'd graveHis relics hold beside Messina's wave.O fickle joys, that fleet upon the wind,And leave the lassitude of life behind!The youth, that every thought and movement sway'dOf this sad heart, is now an empty shade!What world contains thee now, my tuneful guide,Whom nought of old could sever from my side?What is this life?--what none but fools esteem;A fleeting shadow, a romantic dream!--Not far I wander'd o'er the peopled field,Till Socrates and Laelius I beheld.Oh, may their holy influence never ceaseThat soothed my heart-corroding pangs to peace!Unequall'd friends! no bard's ecstatic laysNor polish'd prose your deathless name can raiseTo match your genuine worth! O'er hill and daleWe pass'd, and oft I told my doleful tale,Disclosing all my wounds, end not in vain:Their sacred presence seem'd to soothe my pain.Oh, may that glorious privilege be mine,Till dust to dust the final stroke resign!My courage they inspired to claim the wreath--Immortal emblem of my constant faithTo her whose name the poet's garland bears!Yet nought from her, for long devoted years,I reap'd but cold disdain, and fruitless tears.--But soon a sight ensued, that, like a spell,Restrain'd at once my passion's stormy swell:But this a loftier muse demands to sing,The hallow'd power that pruned the daring wingOf that blind force, by folly canonizedAnd in the garb of deity disguised.Yet first the conscious muse designs to tellHow I endured and 'scaped his witching spell;A subject that demands a muse of fire,A glorious theme, that Phoebus might inspire--Worthy of Homer and the Orphean lyre!Still, as along the whirling chariot flew,I kept the wafture of his wings in view:Onward his snow-white steeds were seen to boundO'er many a steepy hill and dale profound:And, victims of his rage, the captive throng.Chain'd to the flying wheels, were dragg'd along,All torn and bleeding, through the thorny waste;Nor knew I how the land and sea he pass'd,Till to his mother's realm he came at last.Far eastward, where the vext AEgean roars,A little isle projects its verdant shores:Soft is the clime, and fruitful is the ground,No fairer spot old ocean clips around;Nor Sol himself surveys from east to westA sweeter scene in summer livery drest.Full in the midst ascends a shady hill,Where down its bowery slopes a streaming rillIn dulcet murmurs flows, and soft perfumeThe senses court from many a vernal bloom,Mingled with magic; which the senses steepIn sloth, and drug the mind in Lethe's deep,Quenching the spark divine--the genuine boastOf man, in Circe's wave immersed and lost.This favour'd region of the Cyprian queenReceived its freight--a heaven-abandon'd scene.Where Falsehood fills the throne, while Truth retires,And vainly mourns her half-extinguish'd fires.Vile in its origin, and viler stillBy all incentives that seduce the will,It seems Elysium to the sons of Lust,But a foul dungeon to the good and just.Exulting o'er his slaves, the winged GodHere in a theatre his triumphs show'd,Ample to hold within its mighty roundHis captive train, from Thule's northern boundTo far Taprobane, a countless crowd,Who, to the archer boy, adoring, bow'd.Sad fantoms shook above their Gorgon wings--Fantastic longings for unreal things,And fugitive delights, and lasting woes;The summer's biting frost, and winter's rose;And penitence and grief, that dragg'd alongThe royal lawless pair, that poets sung.One, by his Spartan plunder, seal'd the doomOf hapless Troy--the other rescued Rome.Beneath, as if in mockery of their woe,The tumbling flood, with murmurs deep and low,Return'd their wailings; while the birds aboveWith sweet aerial descant fill'd the grove.And all beside the river's winding bedFresh flowers in gay confusion deck'd the mead,Painting the sod with every scent and hueThat Flora's breath affords, or drinks the morning dew,And many a solemn bower, with welcome shade,Over the dusky stream a shelter made.And when the sun withdrew his slanting ray,And winter cool'd the fervours of the day,Then came the genial hours, the frequent feastAnd circling times of joy and balmy rest.New day and night were poised in even scale,And spring awoke her equinoctial gale,And Progne now and Philomel begunWith genial toils to greet the vernal sun.Just then--O hapless mortals! that relyOn fickle fortune's ever-changing sky--E'en in that season, when, with sacred fire,Dan Cupid seem'd his subjects to inspire,That warms the heart, and kindles in the look,And all beneath the moon obey his yoke--I saw the sad reverse that lovers own,I heard the slaves beneath their bondage groan;I saw them sink beneath the deadly weightAnd the long tortures that forerun their fate.Sad disappointments there in meagre formsWere seen, and feverish dreams, and fancied harms;And fantoms rising from the yawning tombWere seen to muster in the gathering gloomAround the car; and some were seen to climb,While cruel fate reversed their steps sublime.And empty notions in the port were seen,And baffled hopes were there with cloudy mien.There was expensive gain, and gain that lost,And amorous schemes by fortune's favour cross'd;And wearisome repose, and cares that slept.There was the semblance of disgrace, that keptThe youth from dire mischance on whom it fell,And glory darken'd on the gloom of hell;Perfidious loyalty, and honest fraud,And wisdom slow, and headlong thirst of blood;The dungeon, where the flowery paths decoy;The painful, hard escape, with long annoy.I saw the smooth descent the foot betray,And the steep rocky path that leads again to day.There in the gloomy gulf confusion storm'd,And moody rage its wildest freaks perform'd;And settled grief was there; and solid night,But rarely broke with fitful gleams of lightFrom joy's fantastic hand. Not Vulcan's forge,When his Cyclopean caves the fumes disgorge;Nor the deep mine of Mongibel, that throwsThe fiery tempest o'er eternal snows;Nor Lipari, whose strong sulphureous blastO'ercanopies with flames the watery waste;Nor Stromboli, that sweeps the glowing skyWith red combustion, with its rage could vie.--Little he loves himself that ventures there,For there is ceaseless woe and fell despair:Yet, in this dolorous dungeon long confined,Till time had grizzled o'er my locks, I pined.There, dreaming still of liberty to come,I spent my summers in this noisome gloom;Yet still a dubious joy my grief controll'd,To spy such numbers in that darksome hold.But soon to gall my seeming transport turn'd,And my illustrious partner's fate I mourn'd;And often seem'd, with sympathising woe,To melt in solvent tears like vernal snow.I turn'd away, but, with inverted glance,Perused the fleeting shapes that fill'd my trance;Like him that feels a moment's short delightWhen a fine picture fleets before his sight.

When to one yoke at once I saw the heightOf gods and men subdued by Cupid's might,I took example from their cruel fate,And by their sufferings eased my own hard state;Since Phoebus and Leander felt like pain,The one a god, the other but a man;One snare caught Juno and the Carthage dame(Her husband's death prepared her funeral flame--'Twas not a cause that Virgil maketh one);I need not grieve, that unprepared, alone,Unarm'd, and young, I did receive a wound,Or that my enemy no hurt hath foundBy Love; or that she clothed him in my sight,And took his wings, and marr'd his winding flight;No angry lions send more hideous noiseFrom their beat breasts, nor clashing thunder's voiceRends heaven, frights earth, and roareth through the airWith greater force than Love had raised, to dareEncounter her of whom I write; and sheAs quick and ready to assail as he:Enceladus when Etna most he shakes,Nor angry Scylla, nor Charybdis makesSo great and frightful noise, as did the shockOf this (first doubtful) battle: none could mockSuch earnest war; all drew them to the heightTo see what 'mazed their hearts and dimm'd their sight.Victorious Love a threatening dart did showHis right hand held; the other bore a bow,The string of which he drew just by his ear;No leopard could chase a frighted deer(Free, or broke loose) with quicker speed than heMade haste to wound; fire sparkled from his eye.I burn'd, and had a combat in my breast,Glad t' have her company, yet 'twas not best(Methought) to see her lost, but 'tis in vainT' abandon goodness, and of fate complain;Virtue her servants never will forsake,As now 'twas seen, she could resistance make:No fencer ever better warded blow,Nor pilot did to shore more wisely rowTo shun a shelf, than with undaunted powerShe waved the stroke of this sharp conqueror.Mine eyes and heart were watchful to attend,In hope the victory would that way bendIt ever did; and that I might no moreBe barr'd from her; as one whose thoughts beforeHis tongue hath utter'd them you well may seeWrit in his looks; "Oh! if you victor beGreat sir," said I, "let her and me be boundBoth with one yoke; I may be worthy found,And will not set her free, doubt not my faith:"When I beheld her with disdain and wrathSo fill'd, that to relate it would demandA better muse than mine: her virtuous handHad quickly quench'd those gilded fiery dartsWhich, dipp'd in beauty's pleasure, poison hearts.Neither Camilla, nor the warlike hostThat cut their breasts, could so much valour boastNor Caesar in Pharsalia fought so well,As she 'gainst him who pierceth coats of mail;All her brave virtues arm'd, attended there,(A glorious troop!) and marched pair by pair:Honour and blushes first in rank; the twoReligious virtues make the second row;(By those the other women doth excel);Prudence and Modesty, the twins that dwellTogether, both were lodged in her breast:Glory and Perseverance, ever blest:Fair Entertainment, Providence without,Sweet Courtesy, and Pureness round about;Respect of credit, fear of infamy;Grave thoughts in youth; and, what not oft agree,True Chastity and rarest Beauty; theseAll came 'gainst Love, and this the heavens did please,And every generous soul in that full height.He had no power left to bear the weight;A thousand famous prizes hardly gain'dShe took; and thousand glorious palms obtained.Shook from his hands; the fall was not more strangeOf Hannibal, when Fortune pleased to changeHer mind, and on the Roman youth bestowThe favours he enjoy'd; nor was he soAmazed who frighted the Israelitish host--Struck by the Hebrew boy, that quit his boast;Nor Cyrus more astonish'd at the fallThe Jewish widow gave his general:As one that sickens suddenly, and fearsHis life, or as a man ta'en unawaresIn some base act, and doth the finder hate;Just so was he, or in a worse estate:Fear, grief, and shame, and anger, in his faceWere seen: no troubled seas more rage: the placeWhere huge Typhoeus groans, nor Etna, whenHer giant sighs, were moved as he was then.I pass by many noble things I see(To write them were too hard a task for me),To her and those that did attend I go:Her armour was a robe more white than snow;And in her hand a shield like his she bareWho slew Medusa; a fair pillar thereOf jasp was next, and with a chain (first wetIn Lethe flood) of jewels fitly set,Diamonds, mix'd with topazes (of old'Twas worn by ladies, now 'tis not) first holdShe caught, then bound him fast; then such revengeShe took as might suffice. My thoughts did changeAnd I, who wish'd him victory before,Was satisfied he now could hurt no more.I cannot in my rhymes the names containOf blessed maids that did make up her train;Calliope nor Clio could suffice,Nor all the other seven, for th' enterprise;Yet some I will insert may justly claimPrecedency of others. Lucrece cameOn her right hand; Penelope was by,Those broke his bow, and made his arrows lieSplit on the ground, and pull'd his plumes awayFrom off his wings: after, Virginia,Near her vex'd father, arm'd with wrath and hate.Fury, and iron, and love, he freed the stateAnd her from slavery, with a manly blow;Next were those barbarous women, who could showThey judged it better die than suffer wrongTo their rude chastity; the wise and strong--The chaste Hebraean Judith follow'd these;The Greek that saved her honour in the seas;With these and other famous souls I seeHer triumph over him who used to beMaster of all the world: among the restThe vestal nun I spied, who was so bless'dAs by a wonder to preserve her fame;Next came Hersilia, the Roman dame(Or Sabine rather), with her valorous train,Who prove all slanders on that sex are vain.Then, 'mongst the foreign ladies, she whose faithT' her husband (not AEneas) caused her death;The vulgar ignorant may hold their peace,Her safety to her chastity gave place;Dido, I mean, whom no vain passion led(As fame belies her); last, the virtuous maidRetired to Arno, who no rest could find,Her friends' constraining power forced her mind.The Triumph thither went where salt waves wetThe Baian shore eastward; her foot she setThere on firm land, and did Avernus leaveOn the one hand, on th' other Sybil's cave;So to Linternus march'd, the village whereThe noble Africane lies buried; thereThe great news of her triumph did appearAs glorious to the eye as to the earThe fame had been; and the most chaste did showMost beautiful; it grieved Love much to goAnother's prisoner, exposed to scorn,Who to command whole empires seemed born.Thus to the chiefest city all were led,Entering the temple which Sulpicia madeSacred; it drives all madness from the mind;And chastity's pure temple next we find,Which in brave souls doth modest thoughts beget,Not by plebeians enter'd, but the greatPatrician dames; there were the spoils display'dOf the fair victress; there her palms she laid,And did commit them to the Tuscan youth,Whose marring scars bear witness of his truth:With others more, whose names I fully knew,(My guide instructed me,) that overthrewThe power of Love: 'mongst whom, of all the rest,Hippolytus and Joseph were the best.

When gods and men I saw in Cupid's chainPromiscuous led, a long uncounted train,By sad example taught, I learn'd at lastWisdom's best rule--to profit from the pastSome solace in the numbers too I found,Of those that mourn'd, like me, the common woundThat Phoebus felt, a mortal beauty's slave,That urged Leander through the wintry wave;That jealous Juno with Eliza shared,Whose more than pious hands the flame prepared;That mix'd her ashes with her murder'd spouse.A dire completion of her nuptial vows.(For not the Trojan's love, as poets sing,In her wan bosom fix'd the secret string.)And why should I of common ills complain,Shot by a random shaft, a thoughtless swain?Unarm'd and unprepared to meet the foe,My naked bosom seem'd to court the blow.One cause, at least, to soothe my grief ensued;When I beheld the ruthless power subdued;And all unable now to twang the string,Or mount the breeze on many-colour'd wing.But never tawny monarch of the woodHis raging rival meets, athirst for blood;Nor thunder-clouds, when winds the signal blow,With louder shock astound the world below;When the red flash, insufferably bright,Heaven, earth, and sea displays in dismal light;Could match the furious speed and fell intentWith which the winged son of Venus bentHis fatal yew against the dauntless fairWho seem'd with heart of proof to meet the war;Nor Etna sends abroad the blast of deathWhen, wrapp'd in flames, the giant moves beneath;Nor Scylla, roaring, nor the loud replyOf mad Charybdis, when her waters flyAnd seem to lave the moon, could match the rageOf those fierce rivals burning to engage.Aloof the many drew with sudden fright,And clamber'd up the hills to see the fight;And when the tempest of the battle grew,Each face display'd a wan and earthy hue.The assailant now prepared his shaft to wing,And fixed his fatal arrow on the string:The fatal string already reach'd his ear;Nor from the leopard flies the trembling deerWith half the haste that his ferocious wrathBore him impetuous on to deeds of death;And in his stern regard the scorching fireWas seen, that burns the breast with fierce desire;To me a fatal flame! but hope to seeMy lovely tyrant forced to love like me,And, bound in equal chain, assuaged my woe,As, with an eager eye, I watch'd the coming blowBut virtue, as it ne'er forsakes the soulThat yields obedience to her blest control,Proves how of her unjustly we complain,When she vouchsafes her gracious aid in vainIn vain the self-abandon'd shift the blameUpon their stars, or fate's perverted name.Ne'er did a gladiator shun the strokeWith nimbler turn, or more attentive look;Never did pilot's hand the vessel steerWith more dexterity the shoals to clearThan with evasion quick and matchless art,By grace and virtue arm'd in head and heart,She wafted quick the cruel shaft aside,Woe to the lingering soul that dares the stroke abide!I watch'd, and long with firm expectance stoodTo see a mortal by a god subdued,The usual fate of man! in hope to findThe cords of Love the beauteous captive bindWith me, a willing slave, to Cupid's car,The fortunes of the common race to share.As one, whose secrets in his looks we spy,His inmost thoughts discovers in his eyeOr in his aspect, graved by nature's hand,My gestures, ere I spoke, enforced my fond demand."Oh, link us to your wheels!" aloud I cried,"If your victorious arms the fray decide:Oh, bind us closely with your strongest chain!I ne'er will seek for liberty again!"--But oh! what fury seem'd his eyes to fill!No bard that ever quaff'd Castalia's rillCould match his frenzy, when his shafts of fireWith magic plumed, and barb'd with hot desire,Short of their sacred aim, innoxious fell,Extinguish'd by the pure ethereal spell.Camilla; or the Amazons in armsFrom ancient Thermodon, to fierce alarmsInured; or Julius in Pharsalia's field,When his dread onset forced the foe to yield--Came not so boldly on as she, to faceThe mighty victor of the human race,Who scorns the temper'd mail and buckler's ward.With her the Virtues came--an heavenly guard,A sky-descended legion, clad in lightOf glorious panoply, contemning mortal might;All weaponless they came; but hand in handDefied the fury of the adverse band:Honour and maiden Shame were in the ban,Elysian twins, beloved by God and man.Her delegates in arms with them combined;Prudence appear'd, the daughter of the mind;Pure Temperance next, and Steadiness of soul,That ever keeps in view the eternal goal;And Gentleness and soft Address were seen,And Courtesy, with mild inviting mien;And Purity, and cautious Dread of blame,With ardent love of clear unspotted fame;And sage Discretion, seldom seen below,Where the full veins with youthful ardour glow;Benevolence and Harmony of soulWere there, but rarely found from pole to pole;And there consummate Beauty shone, combinedWith all the pureness of an angel-mind.Such was the host that to the conflict came,Their bosoms kindling with empyreal flameAnd sense of heavenly help.--The beams that brokeFrom each celestial file with horror struckThe bowyer god, who felt the blinding rays,And like a mortal stood in fix'd amaze;While on his spoils the fair assailants flew,And plunder'd at their ease the captive crew;And some with palmy boughs the way bestrew'd,To show their conquest o'er the baffled god.Sudden as Hannibal on Zama's fieldWas forced to Scipio's conquering arms to yield;Sudden as David's hand the giant sped,When Accaron beheld his fall and fled;Sudden as her revenge who gave the word,When her stern guards dispatch'd the Persian lord;Or like a man that feels a strong diseaseHis shivering members in a moment seize--Such direful throes convulsed the despot's frame.His hands, that veil'd his eyes, confess'd his shame,And mental pangs, more agonising far,In his sick bosom bred a civil war;And hate and anguish, with insatiate ire,Flash'd in his eyes with momentary fire.--Not raging Ocean, when its billows boil;Nor Typhon, when he lifts the trembling soilOf Arima, his tortured limbs to ease;Nor Etna, thundering o'er the subject seas--Surpass'd the fury of the baffled Power,Who stamp'd with rage, and bann'd the luckless hourScenes yet unsung demand my loftiest lays--But oh! the theme transcends a mortal's praise.A sweet but humbler subject may sufficeTo muster in my song her fair allies;But first, her arms and vesture claim my songBefore I chant the fair attendant throng:--A robe she wore that seem'd of woven light;The buckler of Minerva fill'd her right,Medusa's bane; a column there was drawnOf jasper bright; and o'er the snowy lawnAnd round her beauteous neck a chain was slung,Which glittering on her snowy bosom hung.Diamond and topaz there, with mingled ray,Return'd in varied hues the beam of day;A treasure of inestimable cost,Too long, alas! in Lethe's bosom lost:To modern matrons scarcely known by fame,Few, were it to be found, the prize would claim.With this the vanquish'd god she firmly bound,While I with joy her kind assistance own'd;But oh! the feeble Muse attempts in vainTo celebrate in song her numerous train;Not all the choir of Aganippe's springThe pageant of the sisterhood could sing:But some shall live, distinguished in my lay,The most illustrious of the long array.--The dexter wing the fair Lucretia led,With her, who, faithful to her nuptial bed,Her suitors scorn'd: and these with dauntless handThe quiver seized, and scatter'd on the strandThe pointless arrows, and the broken bowOf Cupid, their despoil'd and recreant foe.--Lovely Virginia with her sire was nigh:Paternal love and anger in his eyeBeam'd terrible, while in his hand he show'dAloft the dagger, tinged with virgin blood,Which freedom on the maid and Rome at once bestow'd.--Then the Teutonic dames, a dauntless race,Who rush'd on death to shun a foe's embrace;--And Judith chaste and fair, but void of dread,Who the hot blood of Holofernes shed;--And that fair Greek who chose a watery graveHer threaten'd purity unstain'd to save.--All these and others to the combat flew,And all combined to wreak the vengeance dueOn him, whose haughty hand in days of yoreFrom clime to clime his conquering standard bore.Another troop the vestal virgin led,Who bore along from Tyber's oozy bedHis liquid treasure in a sieve, to showThe falsehood of her base calumnious foeBy wondrous proof.--And there the Sabine queenWith all the matrons of her race was seen,Renown'd in records old;--and next in fameWas she, who dauntless met the funeral flame,Not wrong'd in Love, but to preserve her vowsImmaculate to her Sidonian spouse.Let others of AEneas' falsehood tell,How by an unrequited flame she fell;A nobler, though a self-inflicted doom,Caused by connubial Love, dismiss'd her to the tomb.--Picarda next I saw, who vainly triedTo pass her days on Arno's flowery sideIn single purity, till force compell'dThe virgin to the marriage bond to yield.The triumph seem'd at last to reach the shoreWhere lofty Baise hears the Tuscan roar.'Twas on a vernal morn it touch'd the land,And 'twixt Mount Barbaro that crowns the strandAnd old Avernus (once an hallow'd ground);For the Cumaean sibyl's cell renown'd.Linterno's sandy bounds it reach'd at last,Great Scipio's favour'd haunt in ages past;Famed Africanus, whose victorious bladeThe slaughterous deeds of Hannibal repaid,And to his country's heart a bloody passage made.Here in a calm retreat his life he spent,With rural peace and solitude content.And here the flying rumour sped before,And magnified the deed from shore to shore.The pageant, when it reach'd the destined spot,Seem'd to exceed their utmost reach of thought.There, all distinguish'd by their deeds of arms,Excell'd the rest in more than mortal charms.Nor he, whom oft the steeds of conquest drew,Disdained another's triumphs to pursue.At the metropolis arrived at last,To fair Sulpicia's temples soon we pass'd,Sacred to Chastity, to ward the pestWith which her sensual foes inflame the breast;The patroness of noble dames alone--Then was the fair plebeian Pole unknown,The victress here display'd her martial spoils,And here the laurel hung that crown'd her toils:A guard she stationed on the temple's bound--The Tuscan, mark'd with many a glorious woundSuspicion in the jealous breast to cure:With him a chosen squadron kept the door.I heard their names, and I remember wellThe youthful Greek that by his stepdame fell,And him who, kept by Heaven's command in awe,Refused to violate the nuptial law.