What helps it to have weathered out one storm!
Fear of our father does another form.
High in his hall, rocked in a chair of state,
The king with his tempestuous council sate;
Through this large room our only passage lay,
By which we could the new-born babe convey.
Swathed in her lap, the bold nurse bore him
out,
With olive branches covered round about;
And, muttering prayers, as holy rites she meant,
Through the divided crowd unquestioned went.
Just at the door the unhappy infant cried;
The grandsire heard him, and the theft he spied.
Swift as a whirlwind to the nurse he flies,
And deafs his stormy subjects with his cries.
With one fierce puff he blows the leaves away;
Exposed the self-discovered infant lay.
The noise reached me, and my presaging mind
Too soon its own approaching woes divined.
Not ships at sea with winds are shaken more,
Nor seas themselves, when angry tempests roar,
Than I, when my loud father's voice I hear;
The bed beneath me trembled with my fear.
He rushed upon me, and divulged my stain ;
Scarce from my murder could his hands refrain.
I only answered him with silent tears;
They flowed; my tongue was frozen up with
fears.
His little grandchild he commands away,
To mountain wolves and every bird of prey.
The babe cried out, as if he understood,
And begged his pardon with what voice he
could.
By what expressions can my grief be shown?
Yet you may guess my anguish by your own,
To see my bowels, and, what yet was worse,
Your bowels too, condemned to such a curse!
Out went the king; my voice its freedom found,
My breasts I beat, my blubbered cheeks I
And now appeared the messenger of death;
Sad were his looks, and scarce he drew his breath, 110
"Your father sends you "-(with that
His trembling hands presented me a sword ;)— "Your father sends you this; and lets you know, your own crimes the use of it will show." Too well I know the sense those words impart ; 115 His present shall be treasured in my heart. Are these the nuptial gifts a bride receives? And this the fatal dower a father gives? Thou God of marriage, shun thy own disgrace, And take thy torch from this detested place! Instead of that, let furies light their brands, And fire my pile with their infernal hands! With happier fortune may my sisters wed, Warned by the dire example of the dead. For thee, poor babe, what crime could they
How could thy infant innocence offend?
guilt there was; but, oh, that guilt was mine! Thou suffer'st for a sin that was not thine.
Thy mother's grief and crime! but just enjoyed,
Shown to my sight, and born to be destroyed! 130
Unhappy offspring of my teeming womb!
Dragged headlong from thy cradle to thy tomb!
Thy unoffending life I could not save,
weeping could I follow to thy grave; Nor on thy tomb could offer my shorn hair, Nor show the grief which tender mothers bear. Yet long thou shalt not from my arms be lost; soon I will o'ertake thy infant ghost. But thou, my love, and now my love's despair, Perform his funerals with paternal care;
His scattered limbs with my dead body burn,
And once more join us in the pious urn.
If on my wounded breast thou dropp'st a tear,
Think for whose sake my breast that wound did
And faithfully my last desires fulfil,
As I perform my cruel father's will.
Helen, having received an epistle from Paris, returns the following answer; wherein she seems at first to chide him for his presumption in writing as he had done, which could only proceed from his low opinion of her virtue; then owns herself to be sensible of the passion which he had expressed for her, though she much suspected his constancy; and at last discovers her inclination to be favourable to him; the whole letter showing the extreme artifice of womankind.
WHEN loose epistles violate chaste eyes,
She half consents, who silently denies.
How dares a stranger, with designs so vain,
Marriage and hospitable rights profane ?
Was it for this, your fleet did shelter find
From swelling seas, and every faithless wind?
For though a distant country brought you forth,
usage here was equal to your worth.
Does this deserve to be rewarded so?
you come here a stranger, or a foe?
This Epistle was partly translated by Lord Mulgrave. It is not included in the folio published immediately after Dryden's death.-ED.]
Your partial judgment may perhaps complain,
And think me barbarous for my just disdain ;
Ill-bred then let me be, but not unchaste,
Nor my clear fame with any spot defaced.
Though in my face there's no affected frown,
Nor in my carriage a feigned niceness shown,
I keep my honour still without a stain,
Nor has my love made any coxcomb vain.
Your boldness I with admiration see;
What hope had you to gain a queen like me?
Because a hero forced me once away,
Am I thought fit to be a second prey?
Had I been won, I had deserved your blame,
But sure my part was nothing but the shame.
Yet the base theft to him no fruit did bear,
I scaped unhurt by any thing but fear.
Rude force might some unwilling kisses gain ;
But that was all he ever could obtain.
You on such terms would ne'er have let me go;
Were he like you, we had not parted so.
Untouched the youth restored me to my friends,
And modest usage made me some amends.
'Tis virtue to repent a vicious deed;
Did he repent, that Paris might succeed?
Sure 'tis some fate that sets me above wrongs,
Yet still exposes me to busy tongues.
I'll not complain; for who's displeased with love,
If it sincere, discreet, and constant prove?
But that I fear; not that I think
Or doubt the blooming beauties of my face;
But all your sex is subject to deceive,
And ours, alas! too willing to believe.
Yet others yield; and love o'ercomes the best;
But why should I not shine above the rest?
Fair Leda's story seems at first to be
A fit example, ready formed for me.
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