FROM 'GONDIBERT'-CANTO II. THE ARGUMENT. The hunting which did yearly celebrate 1 Small are the seeds Fate does unheeded sow Of slight beginnings to important ends; Whilst wonder, which does best our reverence show To Heaven, all reason's sight in gazing spends. 2 For from a day's brief pleasure did proceed, eyes. 3 In a fair forest, near Verona's plain, Fresh as if Nature's youth chose there a shade, 4 Much was his train enlarged by their resort To celebrate this day with annual sport, On which by battle here he earned his fame, 5 And many of these noble hunters bore Command amongst the youth at Bergamo; Whose fathers gathered here the wreaths they wore, When in this forest they interred the foe. 6 Count Hurgonil, a youth of high descent, Was listed here, and in the story great; He followed honour, when towards death it went; Fierce in a charge, but temperate in retreat. 7 His wondrous beauty, which the world approved, He blushing hid, and now no more would own (Since he the Duke's unequalled sister loved) Than an old wreath when newly overthrown. 8 And she, Orna the shy! did seem in life So bashful too, to have her beauty shown, 9 Not less in public voice was Arnold here; He that on Tuscan tombs his trophies raised; 10 Laura, the Duke's fair niece, enthralled his heart, Who was in court the public morning glass, Where those, who would reduce nature to art, Practised by dress the conquests of the face. 11 And here was Hugo, whom Duke Gondibert 12 In gentle sonnets he for Laura pined, Soft as the murmurs of a weeping spring, 13 Yet, whilst she Arnold favoured, he so grieved, As loyal subjects quietly bemoan Their yoke, but raise no war to be relieved, Nor through the envied fav'rite wound the throne. 14 Young Goltho next these rivals we may name, Whose manhood dawned early as summer light; As sure and soon did his fair day proclaim, And was no less the joy of public sight. 15 If love's just power he did not early see, Some small excuse we may his error give; 16 But such it is; and though we may be thought To have in childhood life, ere love we know, Yet life is useless till by reason taught, And love and reason up together grow. 17 Nor more the old show they outlive their love, If, when their love 's decayed, some signs they give Of life, because we see them pained and move, Than snakes, long cut, by torment show they live. 18 If we call living, life, when love is gone, We then to souls, God's coin, vain reverence pay; Since reason, which is love, and his best known And current image, age has worn away. 19 And I, that love and reason thus unite, May, if I old philosophers control, Confirm the new by some new poet's light, Who, finding love, thinks he has found the soul. 20 From Goltho, to whom love yet tasteless seemed, And he alike from either's wounds had bled. 21 Public his valour was, but not his love, One filled the world, the other he contained; Of that ne'er boasted, nor of this complained. 22 With these, whose special names verse shall preserve, Many to this recorded hunting came; Whose worth authentic mention did deserve, 23 Now like a giant lover rose the sun From the ocean queen, fine in his fires and great; Seemed all the morn for show, for strength at noon, As if last night she had not quenched his heat. 24 And the sun's servants, who his rising wait, 25 All were, like hunters, clad in cheerful green, 26 These martial favours on their waists they wear, On which, for now they conquest celebrate, In an embroidered history appear Like life, the vanquished in their fears and fate. 27 And on these belts, wrought with their ladies' care, Hung cimeters of Akon's trusty steel; Goodly to see, and he who durst compare Those ladies' eyes, might soon their temper feel. 28 Cheered as the woods, where new-waked choirs they meet, Are all; and now dispose their choice relays 29 To them old forest spies, the harbourers, With haste approach, wet as still weeping night, 30 And dogs, such whose cold secrecy was meant 31 Yet vainlier far than traitors boast their prize, 33 For Aribert had pierced him at a bay, Yet 'scaped he by the vigour of his head; |