And then they fell, and now neer upper Heaven, Heav'n's better part of them is hov'ring still, To watch what end is to their princes given,

And to brave Hubert and to Hurgonil. In progress thus to their eternal home,

Some method is observ'd by Destiny, Which at their princes' setting out did doom These as their leading harbingers to die. And fatal Hubert we must next attend,

Whom Hurgonil had brought to such distress,
That though life's stock he did not fully spend,
His glory that maintain'd it is grown less.
Long had they strove, who first should be destroy'd,
And wounds (the marks of manhood) gave and
took,

Which though, like honour'd age, we would avoid,
Yet make us when possess'd for rev'rence look.
O honour! frail as life, thy fellow flower!

Cherish'd and watch'd, and hum'rously esteem'd, Then worn for short adornments of an hour,

And is, when lost, no more than life redeem'd.

This fatall Hubert findes, if honour be

As much in princes lost, when it grows less, As when it dies in men of next degree:

Princes are only princes by excess.

For having twice with his firm opposite

[life,

Exchang'd a wound, yet none that reach'd at The adverse sword his arm's best sinew hit, Which holds that strength, which should main

tain their strife.

When thus his dear defence had left his hand, "Thy life" (said Hurgonil) "rejoyce to wear As Orna's favour, and at her command,

Who taught the mercy I will practise here." To which defenceless Hubert did reply,

"My life (a worthless blank) I so despise, Since Fortune laid it in her lotary,

That I'me asham'd thou draw'st it as a prise." His grief made noble Hurgonil to melt,

Who mourn'd in this a warrior's various fate; For though a victor now, he timely felt That change which pains us most by coming late. But Orna (ever present in his thought)

[fame

Prompts him to know, with what success, for And empire, Gondibert and Oswald fought; Whilst Hubert seeks out death, and shrinks from shame.

Valour, and all that practise turns to art,
A like the princes had and understood;
For Oswald now is cool as Gondibert,

Such temper he has got by losing blood.
Calmly their temper did their art obey;

Their stretch'd arms regular in motion prove, And force with as unseen a stealth convey,

As noyseless houres by hands of dials move. By this new temper Hurgonil believ'd

That Oswald's elder vertues might prevail; To think his own help needful much he griev'd, But yet prepar'd it, lest the duke should fail. Small wounds they had, where as in casements Disorder'd life, who seem'd to look about, [sate And fain would be abroad, but that a gate She wants so wide, at once to sally out. VOL. VI.

When Gondibert saw Hurgonill draw near,

And doubly arm'd at conquer'd Hubert's cost, He then, who never fear'd, began to fear

Lest by his help his honour should be lost. 'Retire," said he; for if thou hop'st to win My sister's love, by aiding in this strife, May Heav'n (to make her think they love a sin) Eclipse that beauty which did give it life." Count Hurgonill did doubtfully retire,

Fain would assist, yet durst not disobey; The duke would rather instantly expire, Than hazard honour by so mean a way. Alike did Oswald for dispatch prepare,

And cries, since Hubert knew not to subdue, "Glory, farewel! thou art the soldier's care! More lov'd than woman, less than woman true!" And now they strive with all their sudden force To storm life's cittadel, each other's brest; At which, could Heav'n's chief eye have felt re

morse,

It would have wink'd, or hast'ned to the west.
But sure the heav'nly movers little care
Whither our motion here be false or true;
For we proceed, whilst they are regular,
As if we dice for all our actions threw.

We seem surrender'd to indiff'rent chance;
Even Death's great work looks like fantastick
That sword, which oft did Oswald's fame advance
play;
In publick war, fails in a private fray.

For when (because he ebbs of blood did feel)
He levell'd all his strength at Gondibert,
It clash'd and broke against the adverse steel,
Which travell'd onward till it reach'd his heart.
Now he that like a stedfast statue stood
In many battails register'd by Fame,
Does fall, depriv'd of language as of blood;
Whilst high the hunters send their victor's name.
Some shout aloud, and others winde the horn!
They mix the citie's with the field's applause ;
Which Borgio soon interprets as their scorn,
And will revenge it ere he mourn the cause.
This the cold evening warm'd of Vasco's age,

He shin'd like scorching noon in Borgio's looks;
Who kindled all about him with his rage,
And worse the triumph than the conquest brooks.
The troops (astonish'd with their leader's fate)
The horrour first with silence entertain;
With loud impatience then for Borgio waite,
And next with one confusion all complain.
Whom thus he urg'd: "Prince Oswald did com.
mand

We should remove far from the combat's list, And there like unconcern'd spectators stand, Justly restrain'd to hinder or assist.

"This (patient friends!) we dully have obey'd, A temp'rance which he never taught before; But though alive he could forbid our aid,

Yet dead, he leaves revenge within our pow'r."

Сс

GONDIBERT.

CANTO THE FIFTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

The battail in exact though little shape,
Where none by flight, and few by fortune, scape;
Where even the vanquish'd so themselves behave,
The victors mourn for all they could not save:
And fear (so soon is Fortune's fuluess wayn'd) ·
To lose, in one, all that by all they gain'd.

Now Hubert's page assists his wounded lord

To mount that stecd, he scarce had force to guide;

And wept to see his hand without that sword
Which was so oft in dreadfull battails try'd.
Those who with Borgio saw his want of blood,

Cry'd out," If of thy strength enough remain, Though not to charge, to make thy conduct good, Lead us to add their living to our slain." Hubert reply'd, "Now you may justly boast,

You sons of war, that Oswald was your sire, Who got in you the honour I have lost, [mire. And taught those deeds our fadies' songs ad"But be (war's ancestor, who gave it birth, The father of those fights we Lombards fought) Lies there imbracing but his length of earth,

Who for your use the world's vast empire sought.

"And cold as he lies noble Dargonet,

And Paradine, who wore the victor's crown; Both swift to charge, and slow in a retreat;

Brothers in blood, and rivals in renown."
This said, their trumpets sound revenge's praise;
The hunters' horns (the terrour of the wood)
Reply'd so meanly, they could scarcely raise
Eccho so loud as might be understood.
The duke (his fit of fury being spent,

Which onely wounds and opposition bred)
Does weep o'er the brave Oswald, and lament
That he, so great in life, is nothing dead.
But cry'd, when he the speechless rivals spy'd,
"O worth above the ancient price of love!
Lost are the living, for with these love dy'd,
Or, if immortal, fled with them above.
"In these we the intrinsick vallue know

By which first lovers did love currant deem; But love's false coyners will allay it now, [temn." Till men suspect what next they must conNot less young Hurgonil resents their chance,

Though no fit time to practice his remorse; For now he cries, (finding the foe advance) "Let death give way to life to horse! to horse!

"This sorrow is too soft for deeds behinde,
·Which I (a mortal lover) would sustain,
So I could make your sister wisely kinde,
And praise me living, not lament me slain.".
Swift as Armenians in the panther's chase

They fly to reach where now their hunters are; Who sought out danger with too bold a pace, Till thus the duke did them alow'd prepare.

[long!

Burn not, in blaze, rage that should warm you I wish to foes the weaknesses of baste,

To you such slowness as may keep you strong. "Not their scorn's force should your fix'd patience [provoke,

move; Tho' scorn does more than bonds free mindes Their flashy rage shall harmless lightning prove, Which but fore-runs our thunder's fatal stroke. "For when their fury's spent, how weak they are With the dull weight of antick Vandall arins! Their work but short, and little is in war,

Whom rage within, and armour outward, warms. "When you have us'd those arts your patience yields,

Try to avoid their cowched launces' force
By dext'rous practice of Croatian fields,

Which turns to lazy elephants their horse.
"When false retreat shall scatter you in flight,
As if you back to elements were fled,
And no less faith can you again unite,

Than recollects from elements the dead,
"Make chasers seem, by your swift rallys, slow;
Whilst they your swifter change of figures fear,
Like that in batails which, t' amuse the foe,

My grandsire taught, as war's philosopher. "Think now your valour enters on the stage, Think Fame th' eternal Chorus to declare Your mighty mindes to each succeeding age, And that your ladyes the spectators are." This utter'd was with such a haughty grace, That ev'ry heart it empty'd, and did raise Life's chiefest blood in valour to the face, Which made such beauty as the foe did praise. Yet 'twas ambition's praise, which but approves Those whom thro' envy it would fain subdue; Likes others' honour, but her own so loves,

And that which was erewhile the duke's firm van,
Before old Vasco's front vouchsafe to fly,
Till with their subtle rallys they began

In small divisions hidden strength to try;

Then cursing Borgio cry'd, “Whence comes his skill,

Who men so scatter'd can so firmly mix? The living metal, held so violatile

By the dull world, this chymick lord can fix!" He press'd where Hurgonill his fury spends, As if he now in Orna's presence fought; And with respect his brave approach attends, To give him all the dangers which he sought. So bloody was th' event of this new strife,

That we may here applauded valour blame; Which oft too easily abandons life,

Whilst death's the parent made of noble fame. For many now (belov'd by both) forsake,

In their pursuit of flying fame, their breath;
And through the world their valour currant make,
By giving it the ancient stamp of death.
Young Hurgonil's renowned self had bought
Honour of Borgio at no less a rate,

Had not the duke dispatch'd with those he fought,
And found his aid must fly or come too late.
For he advancing saw, (which him much griev'd)
That in the fairest region of the face,
He two wide wounds from Borgio had receiv'd;
His beauty's blemish, but his valour's grace.
"Now," cry'd the duke, "strive timely for renown!
Thy age will kiss those wounds thy youth may
loath;

Be not dismay'd to think thy beauty gone;

My sister's thine, who has enough for both." Then soon the youth, death as an honour gave To one that strove to rescue Borgio's life; Yet Borgio had aispatch'd him to his grave,

Had Gondibert stood neutral in the strife: Who with his sword (disdaining now to stay, And see the blood he lov'd so rudely spilt) Pierc't a bold Lombard who would stop his way; Even till his heart did beat against his hilt. Timely old Vasco came to Borgio's aid;

Whose long experienc'd arme wrought sure and His rising oppositions level laid,

[faste,

And miss'd no execution by his haste. And timely where the bleeding count now fought, And where the duke with number was opprest, Resistless Tybalt came, who Borgio sought, But here with many Borgios did contest. As tydes that from their sev'ral channels haste, Assemble rudely in th' Ubæan bay,

And meeting there to indistinction waste,

Strive to proceed, and force each other's stay: So here the valiant, who with swift force come, With as resistless valour are engag'd; Are hid in anger's undistinguish'd fome, And make less way by meeting so inrag'd! But room for Goltho now! whose valour's fire, Like light'ning, did unlikely passage make; Whose swift effects like light'nings they admire, And even the harms it wrought with rever'ncé take.

"Love warm'd you with those sparks which kindled And form'd ideas in each lovers thought [me; Of the distress of some beloved she, [fought. Who then inspir'd and prais'd you whilst you "You nobly prompt my passion to desire,

That the rude crowd who lovers' softness scorn, Might in fair field meet those who love admire,

To try which side must after batail mourn. "O that those rights which should the good advance, And justly are to painful valour due, (Howe're misplac'd by the swift hand of chance) Were from that crowd defended by those few! "With this great spectacle we should refresh

Those chiefs, who (though preferr'd by being Would kindly wish to fight again in flesh; [dead) So all that lov'd, by Hurgonil were led." This gracious mention from so great a lord,

Bow'd Hurgonill with dutious homage down, Where at his feet he lay'd his rescu'd sword;

Which he accepts, but he returns his own. "By this and thine," said gentle Gondibert, "In all distress of various courts and warre, We interpledg, and bind each other's heart, To strive who shall possess griefs' greatest share. "Now to Verona haste, and timely bring

Thy wounds unto my tender sister's care, This day's said story to our dreaded king, [pare. And watch what veng'ance Oswald's friends pre"Brave Arnold, and his rival strait remove; Where Laura shall bestrew their hallow'd ground; Protectors both, and ornaments of love;"

This said, his eies outwep'd his widest wound. "Tell her, now these (love's faithful saints) are gon, The beauty they ador'd, she ought to hide; For vainly will love's miracles be shown,

Since lovers' faith with these brave rivals dy'd. Say, little Hugo never more shall mouru In noble numbers, her unkind disdain; Who now not seeing beauty, feels no scorn;

And wanting pleasure, is exempt from pain. "When she with flowres lord Arnold's grave shall strew,

And hears why Hugo's life was thrown away, She on that rival's hearse will drop a few; Which merits all that April gives to May.

"Let us forsake for safety of our eies,

Our other loss; which I will strait inter And raise a trophy where each body lies;

Vain marks, how these alive the dead prefer! "If my full breast, my wounds that empty be, And this day's toil (by which my strength is gon) Forbid me not, I Bergamo will see

Ere it beholds the next succeeding Sun. "Thither convay thy soul's consid'rate thought, How in this cause the court and camp's inclin'd; What Oswald's faction with the king has wrought, And how his loss prevails with Rhodalind." The count and Tybalt take their lowly leaves;

Their slain they sadly with consuming hearts Bear tow'rds Verona, whilst the duke perceives Prince Hubert's gricf, and thus his tears diverts. "Afflicted prince! in an unpleasant how'r

You and your living (by blinde valour led) Are captives made to such an easie pow'r,

Shall you as little vex, as death your dead.