Palamon and Arcite

(_underscores_ denote italics)

-

To Her Grace the Duchess of Ormond, with the following poem of Palamon and Arcite.

-

MADAM,

The bard who first adorned our native tongue Tuned to his British lyre this ancient song; Which Homer might without a blush reherse, And leaves a doubtful palm in Virgil's verse: He matched their beauties, where they most excel; Of love sung better, and of-arms as well.

Vouchsafe, illustrious Ormond, to behold What power the charms of beauty had of old; Nor wonder if such deeds of arms were done, Inspired by two fair eyes that sparkled like your own.

If Chaucer by the best idea wrought, And poets can divine each other's thought, The fairest nymph before his eyes he set; And then the fairest was Plantagenet, Who three contending princes made her prize, And ruled the rival nations with her eyes; Who left immortal trophies of her fame, And to the noblest order gave the name.

Like her, of equal kindred to the throne, You keep her conquests, and extend your own:

As when the stars, in their etherial race, At length have rolled around the liquid space, At certain periods they resume their place, From the same point of heaven their course advance, And move in measures of their former dance; Thus, after length of ages, she returns, Restored in you, and the same place adorns: Or you perform her office in the sphere, Born of her blood, and make a new Platonic year.

O true Plantagenet, O race divine, (For beauty still is fatal to the line,) Had Chaucer lived that angel-face to view, Sure he had drawn his Emily from you; Or had you lived to judge the doubtful right, Your noble Palamon had been the knight; And conquering Theseus from his side had sent Your generous lord, to guide the Theban government.

Time shall accomplish that; and I shall see A Palamon in him, in you an Emily.

Already have the Fates your path prepared, And sure presage your future sway declared: When westward, like the sun, you took your way, And from benighted Britain bore the day, Blue Triton gave the signal from the shore, The ready Nereids heard, and swam before To smooth the seas; a soft Etesian gale But just inspired, and gently swelled the sail; Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand Heaved up the lightened keel, and sunk the sand, And steered the sacred vessel safe to land. The land, if not restrained, had met your way, Projected out a neck, and jutted to the sea. Hibernia, prostrate at your feet, adored In you the pledge of her expected lord,

Due to her isle; a venerable name; His father and his grandsire known to fame; Awed by that house, accustomed to command, The sturdy kerns in due subjection stand, Nor bear the reins in any foreign hand.

At your approach, they crowded to the port; And scarcely landed, you create a court: As Ormond's harbinger, to you they run, For Venus is the promise of the Sun.