National Epics by Kate Milner Rabb

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Thus she prepares a public death to meet,
A people's ransom at a tyrant's shrine:
Oh glorious falsehood! beautiful deceit!
Can Truth's own light thy loveliness outshine?
To her bold speech misdoubting Aladine
With unaccustomed temper calm replied:
"If so it were, who planned the rash design,
Advised thee to it, or became thy guide?
Say, with thyself who else his ill-timed zeal allied?"

"Of this my glory not the slightest part
Would I," said she, "with one confederate share;
I needed no adviser; my full heart
Alone sufficed to counsel, guide and dare."
"If so," he cried, "then none but thou must bear
The weight of my resentment, and atone
For the misdeed." "Since it has been my care,"
She said, "the glory to enjoy alone,
'T is just none share the pain; it should be all mine own."

To this the tyrant, now incensed, returned,
"Where rests the Image?" and his face became
Dark with resentment: she replied, "I burned
The holy Image in the holy flame,
And deemed it glory; thus at least no shame
Can e'er again profane it--it is free
From farther violation: dost thou claim
The spoil or spoiler? this behold in me;
But that, whilst time rolls round, thou never more shall see.

"Albeit no spoiler I; it was no wrong
To repossess what was by force obtained:"
At this the tyrant loosed his threatening tongue,
Long-stifled passion raging unrestrained:
No longer hope that pardon may be gained,
Beautiful face, high spirit, bashful heart!
Vainly would Love, since mercy is disdained,
And Anger flings his most envenomed dart,
In aid of you his else protecting shield impart!

Doomed in tormenting fire to die, they lay
Hands on the maid; her arms with rough cords twining.
Rudely her mantle chaste they tear away,
And the white veil that o'er her drooped declining:
This she endured in silence unrepining,
Yet her firm breast some virgin tremors shook;
And her warm cheek, Aurora's late outshining,
Waned into whiteness, and a color took,
Like that of the pale rose, or lily of the brook.

The crowd collect; the sentence is divulged;
With them Olindo comes, by pity swayed;
It might be that the youth the thought indulged,
What if his own Sophronia were the maid!
There stand the busy officers arrayed
For the last act, here swift the flames arise;
But when the pinioned beauty stands displayed
To the full gaze of his inquiring eyes,--
'_T is_ she! he bursts through all, the crowd before him flies.

Aloud he cries: "To her, oh not to her
The crime belongs, though frenzy may misplead!
She planned not, dared not, could not, king, incur
Sole and unskilled the guilt of such a deed!
How lull the guards, or by what process speed
The sacred Image from its vaulted cell?
The theft was mine! and 't is my right to bleed!"
Alas for him! how wildly and how well
He loved the unloving maid, let this avowal tell.

"I marked where your high Mosque receives the air
And light of heaven; I climbed the dizzy steep;
I reached a narrow opening; entered there,
And stole the Saint whilst all were hushed in sleep:
Mine was the crime, and shall another reap
The pain and glory? Grant not her desire!
The chains are mine; for me the guards may heap
Around the ready stake the penal fire;
For me the flames ascend; 't is mine, that funeral pyre!"

Sophronia raised to him her face,--her eye
Was filled with pity and a starting tear:
She spoke--the soul of sad humanity
Was in her voice, "What frenzy brings thee here,
Unhappy innocent! is death so dear,
Or am I so ill able to sustain
A mortal's wrath, that thou must needs appear?
I have a heart, too, that can death disdain,
Nor ask for life's last hour companionship in pain."

Thus she appeals to him; but scorning life,
His settled soul refuses to retreat:
Oh glorious scene, where in sublimest strife
High-minded Virtue and Affection meet!
Where death's the prize of conquest, and defeat
Seals its own safety, yet remains unblest!
But indignation at their fond deceit,
And rage, the more inflames the tyrant's breast,
The more this constant pair the palm of guilt contest.

He deems his power despised, and that in scorn
Of him they spurn the punishment assigned:
"Let," he exclaimed, "the fitting palm adorn
The brows of both! both pleas acceptance find!"
Beckoning he bids the prompt tormentors bind
Their galling chains around the youth--'t is done;
Both to one stake are, back to back, consigned,
Like sunflowers twisted from their worshipped sun,
Compelled the last fond looks of sympathy to shun.

Around them now the unctuous pyre was piled,
And the fanned flame was rising in the wind,
When, full of mournful thoughts, in accents wild,
The lover to his mate in death repined:
"Is this the bond, then, which I hoped should bind
Our lives in blissful marriage? this the fire
Of bridal faith, commingling mind with mind,
Which, I believed, should in our hearts inspire
Like warmth of sacred zeal and delicate desire?

"For other flames Love promised to impart,
Than those our envious planets here prepare;
Too, ah too long they kept our hands apart,
But harshly now they join them in despair!
Yet does it soothe, since by a mode so rare
Condemned to die, thy torments to partake,
Forbid by fate thy sweetnesses to share;
If tears I shed, 't is but for thy dear sake,
Not mine,--with thee beside, I bless the burning stake!

"And oh! this doom would be indeed most blest,
My sharpest sufferings blandishments divine,
Might I but be permitted, breast to breast,
On thy sweet lips my spirit to resign;
If thou too, panting toward one common shrine,
Wouldst the next happy instant parting spend
Thy latest sighs in sympathy on mine!"
Sorrowing he spake; she, when his plaints had end,
Did thus his fond discourse most sweetly reprehend.

"Far other aspirations, other plaints
Than these, dear friend, the solemn hour should claim.
Think what reward God offers to his saints;
Let meek repentance raise a loftier aim:
These torturing fires, if suffered in his name,
Will, bland as zephyrs, waft us to the blest;
Regard the sun, how beautiful his flame!
How fine a sky invites him to the west!
These seem to soothe our pangs, and summon us to rest."

The Pagans lifting up their voices, wept;
In stifled sorrow wept the Faithful too;
E'en the stern king was touched,--a softness crept
O'er his fierce heart, ennobling, pure, and new;
He felt, he scorned it, struggled to subdue,
And lest his wavering firmness should relent,
His eyes averted, and his steps withdrew;
Sophronia's spirit only was unbent;
She yet lamented not, for whom all else lament.

In midst of their distress, a knight behold,
(So would it seem) of princely port! whose vest
And arms of curious fashion, grained with gold,
Bespeak some foreign and distinguished guest;
The silver tigress on the helm impressed,
Which for a badge is borne, attracts all eyes,--
A noted cognizance, th' accustomed crest
Used by Clorinda, whence conjectures rise,
Herself the stranger is,--nor false is their surmise.

All feminine attractions, aims, and parts,
She from her childhood cared not to assume;
Her haughty hand disdained all servile arts,
The needle, distaff, and Arachne's loom;
Yet, though she left the gay and gilded room
For the free camp, kept spotless as the light
Her virgin fame, and proud of glory's plume,
With pride her aspect armed, she took delight
Stern to appear, and stern, she charmed the gazer's sight.

Whilst yet a girl, she with her little hand
Lashed and reined in the rapid steed she raced,
Tossed the huge javelin, wrestled on the sand,
And by gymnastic toils her sinews braced;
Then through the devious wood and mountain-waste
Tracked the struck lion to his entered den,
Or in fierce wars a nobler quarry chased;
And thus in fighting field and forest glen,
A man to savage beasts, a savage seemed to men.

From Persia now she comes, with all her skill
The Christians to resist, though oft has she
Strewed with their blood the field, till scarce a rill
Remained, that ran not purple to the sea.
Here now arrived, the dreadful pageantry
Of death presents itself,--the crowd--the pyre--
And the bound pair; solicitous to see,
And know what crime condemns them to the fire,
Forward she spurs her steed and hastens to inquire.

The throng falls back, and she awhile remains,
The fettered pair more closely to survey;
One she sees silent, one she sees complains,
The stronger spirit nerves the weaker prey;
She sees him mourn like one whom the sad sway
Of powerful pity doth to tears chastise,
Not grief, or grief not for himself; but aye
Mute kneels the maid, her blue beseeching eyes
So fixed on heaven, she seems in heaven ere yet she dies.

Clorinda melts, and with them both condoles;
Some tears she sheds, but greater tenderness
Feels for her grief who most her grief controls,--
The silence moves her much, the weeping less;
No longer now does she delay to press
For information; turning towards one
Of reverend years, she said with eagerness,
"Who are they? speak! and oh, what crime has won
This death? in Mercy's name, declare the deed they've done!"

Thus she entreats; a brief reply he gives,
But such as well explains the whole event:
Amazed she heard it, and as soon conceives
That they are both sincerely innocent;
Her heart is for them, she is wholly bent
To avert their fate, if either arms can aid,
Or earnest prayers secure the king's consent;
The fire she nears, commands it to be stayed,
That now approached them fast, and to th' attendants said:

"Let none of you presume to prosecute
Your barbarous office, till the king I see;
My word I pledge that at Clorinda's suit,
Your fault he will forgive, if fault it be."
Moved by her speech and queenlike dignity
The guards obey, and she departs in quest
Of the stern monarch, urgent of her plea:
Midway they met; the monarch she addressed
And in this skilful mode her generous purpose pressed.

"I am Clorinda; thou wilt know perchance
The name, from vague remembrance or renown;
And here I come to save with sword and lance
Our common Faith, and thy endangered crown,
Impose the labor, lay th' adventure down,
Sublime, I fear it not, nor low despise;
In open field or in the straitened town,
Prepared I stand for every enterprise,
Where'er the danger calls, where'er the labor lies!"

"'T would be assuredly a thing most rare,
If the reward the service should precede;
But of thy bounty confident, I dare
For future toils solicit, as my meed,
Yon lovers' pardon; since the charge indeed
Rests on no evidence, 't was hard to press
The point at all, but this I waive, nor plead
On those sure signs which, urged, thou must confess
Their hands quite free from crime, or own their guilt far less.

"Yet will I say, though here the common mind
Condemns the Christians of the theft, for me,
Sufficient reasons in mine own I find
To doubt, dispute, disparage the decree;
To set their idols in our sanctuary
Was an irreverence to our laws, howe'er
Urged by the sorcerer; should the Prophet see
E'en idols of our own established there?
Much less then those of men whose lips his faith forswear:

"The Christian statue ravished from your sight
To Allah therefore rather I impute,
In sign that he will let no foreign rite
Of superstition his pure place pollute:
Spells and enchantments may Ismeno suit,
Leave him to use such weapons at his will;
But shall we warriors by a wand dispute?
No! no! our talisman, our hope, our skill,
Lie in our swords alone, and they shall serve us still!"

She ceased; and he, though mercy could with pain
Subdue a heart so full of rage and pride,
Relents, her reasons move, her prayers constrain.--
Such intercessor must not be denied;
Thus, though reluctant, he at length complied:
"The plea for the fair pleader I receive;
I can refuse thee nothing; this," he cried,
"May justice be or mercy,--let them live;
Guiltless--I set them free, or guilty I forgive!"

Restored to life and liberty, how blest.
How truly blest was young Olindo's fate!
For sweet Sophronia's blushes might attest,
That Love at length has touched her delicate
And generous bosom; from the stake in state
They to the altar pass; severely tried,
In doom and love, already made his mate,
She now objects not to become his bride.
And grateful live with him who would for her have died.

_Wiffen's Translation, Canto_

PARADISE LOST.

Paradise Lost was written by John Milton, who was born in London, Dec. 9,
1608, and died Nov. 8, 1674. After leaving college, he spent five years in
study at home, during which time he wrote L'Allegro, Il Penseroso,
Arcades, Comus, and Lycidas. In 1638 he travelled on the continent and in
Italy, where he met Galileo. He hastened home in 1639 on account of the
political disturbances in England, and espousing the Puritan cause,
devoted the next twenty years of his life to the writing of pamphlets in
its defence. In 1649 he was appointed Latin Secretary under Cromwell. In
1652 he lost his sight in consequence of overwork. At the age of
twenty-nine, Milton had decided to make an epic poem his life work, and
had noted many historical subjects. By 1641 he had decided on a Biblical
subject. He had probably conceived Paradise Lost at the age of thirty-two,
although the poem was not composed until he was over fifty. It was written
after his blindness and dictated in small portions to various persons, the
work being collected and revised by Milton and Aubrey Phillips. It was
completed, according to the authority of Phillips, in 1663, but on account
of the Plague and the Great Fire, it was not published until 1667.

Paradise Lost is divided into twelve books and is written, to use Milton's
own words, "In English heroic verse without rhyme, as that of Homer in
Greek and of Virgil in Latin, rhyme being no necessary adjunct or true
ornament of poem or good verse."

Paradise Lost was neglected until the time of the Whig supremacy in
England. In 1688 Lord Somers, the Whig leader, published an _edition de
luxe_ of the poem; Addison's papers on it, in 1712, increased its
popularity, and through the influence of the Whigs a bust of the poet was
placed in Westminster Abbey in 1737.

There is no better proof of the greatness of Paradise Lost than the way in
which it has survived hostile criticism. It has been criticised for the
lengthy conversations and "arguments" of its characters; for its
materialization of the Divine Being; because of its subject; because of
Milton's vagueness of description of things awesome and terrible, in
comparison with Dante's minute descriptions. But the earnest spirit in
which it was conceived and written; the subject, giving it a "higher
argument" than any merely national epic, even though many of Milton's, and
his age's, special beliefs are things of the past, and its lofty and
poetical style, have rendered unassailable its rank among the noblest of
the epics.

BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, PARADISE LOST.

Joseph Addison's Notes upon the Twelve Books of Paradise Lost;
by Albert S. Cook, 1892. (In the Spectator from Dec. 31, 1711-May 3,
1712);

Samuel Austin Allibone's Dictionary of Authors, 1891, vol. ii., pp.
1301-1311;

Matthew Arnold's A French Critic on Milton (see his Mixed Essays, 1880,
pp. 260-273);

Walter Bagehot's Literary Studies, by Richard Holt Hutton, 1879, vol. i.,
202-219;

Richard Bentley's Emendations on the Twelve Books of Paradise Lost, 1732;

E. H. Bickersteth's Milton's Paradise Lost, 1876. (St. James Lectures, 2d
series. Another edition, 1877);

Hugh Blair's Paradise Lost (see his Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles
Lettres, 1783, vol. ii., 471-476);

Miss Christian Cann's A Scriptural and Allegorical Glossary to Paradise
Lost, 1828;

Charles Dexter Cleveland's Complete Concordance to Milton's Poetical
Works, 1867;

Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Lectures and Notes on Shakespeare and other
English Poets collected by T. Ashe, 1893, pp. 518-529;

William T. Dobson's The Classic Poets, their lives and times etc., 1879;

Charles Eyre's Fall of Adam, from Milton's Paradise Lost, 1852;

George Gilfillan's Second Gallery of Literary Portraits, 1852, pp. 17-25;

S. Humphreys Gurteen's The Epic of the Fall of Man; a comparative Study of
Caedmon, Dante, and Milton, 1896;

William Hazlitt On the Character of Milton's Eve (see his Round Table ed.
by W. Carew Hazlitt, 1889, pp. 150-158);

William Hazlitt On Milton's Versification (see his Round Table, ed. by W.
Carew Hazlitt, 1889, pp. 51-57);

John A. Himes's Study of Milton's Paradise Lost, 1878;

Samuel Johnson's Milton (see his Lives of the Poets; ed. by Mrs. Alexander
Napier, 1890, vol. i.);

Thomas Keightley's Introduction to Paradise Lost (see his An account of
the Life, Opinions, and Writings of John Milton, 1855, pp. 397-484);

Walter Savage Landor's Imaginary Conversations, Southey and Landor, 1853,
vol. ii., 57-74, 156-159;

Thomas Babington Macaulay's Milton (see his Critical and Historical
Essays, ed. 10, 1860, vol. i., pp. 1-61);

William Massey's Remarks upon Milton's Paradise Lost, 1761;

David Masson's Introduction to Paradise Lost (see his edition of Milton's
Poetical Works, 1893, vol. ii., pp. 1-57);

David Masson's Life of Milton, 1880, vol. vi., 505-558, 621-636;

David Masson's Three Devils (Luther's, Goethe's, and Milton's), (see his
Three Devils and other Essays, 1874);

James Peterson's A complete Commentary on Paradise Lost, 1744;

Jonathan Richardson's Explanatory Notes and Remarks on Paradise Lost,
1734;

Edmond Scherer's Milton and Paradise Lost (see his essays on English
Literature; Tr. by George Saintsbury, 1891, pp. 134-149);

John Robert Seeley's Milton (see his Roman Imperialism and other Lectures
and Essays), 1871, pp. 142-152;

First Edition of Paradise Lost, Book Lore, 1886, iii., 72-75;

J. A. Himes's Cosmology of Paradise Lost, Lutheran Quarterly, 1876, vi.,
187-204;

J. A. Himes's Plan of Paradise Lost, New Englander, 1883, xlii., 196-211;

Satan of Milton and the Lucifer of Byron compared, Knickerbocker, 1847,
xxx., 150-155;

Satan of Paradise Lost, Dublin University Magazine, 1876, lxxxviii.,
707-714;

Augustine Birrell's Obiter Dicta (2d series 1887, pp. 42-51);

Isaac Disraeli's Curiosities of Literature;
Bentley's Milton, 1867, pp. 138-139;

Henry Hallam's Literary History of Europe, 1873, ed. 5, vol. iii., pp.
475-483;

Mark Pattison's John Milton, n. d. (English Men of Letters Series);

H. A. Taine's History of English Literature; Tr. by H. Van Laun, 1877,
vol. ii., pp. 106-124.

THE STORY OF PARADISE LOST.

When that bright spirit, afterwards known as Satan, rose in rebellion
against the Almighty Ruler of the Universe, presumptuously thinking
himself equal to him in strength and following, he was overthrown by the
Great Power and cast with his followers out of Heaven down to his future
dwelling, flaming Hell.

Nine days he and his horrid crew fell through Chaos into the flaming pit
yawning to receive them, and there lay for nine days,--rendered still more
miserable by the thought of their immortality and the eternal bliss they
had forfeited. Then Satan, rousing himself from the stupor consequent upon
the fall, half rose and addressed the next in power to himself, Beelzebub.

"Thou art the same, yet not the same," said he; "changed, lost is some of
thy former brightness. Yet why repine? While we live, while we have so
large a following, all is not lost. Our hate still lives, and have we but
strength enough, we may still revenge ourselves upon him who thrust us
into this accursed place."

Rising from the lake, his great shield slung over his shoulders, the
unconquered archangel walked over the burning marl to the beach of that
fiery sea, and there with chiding words addressed the legions strewn
around him. The great army rose hastily at the voice of its chief and
passed before him, spirits whose heavenly names were now forever lost, who
later became the gods of the idolaters. There was mighty Moloch, Chemos,
those who later went by the general names of Baalim and
Ashtaroth,--Thammuz, Dagon, Rimmon, Osiris, Isis, Orus and their train,
Belial, and last of all, the Ionian gods.

His despair in part dissipated by the sight of this heroic array, their
prince, towering high above all, addressed them. No one had foreseen the
calamity that had overtaken them. Who could have guessed the power of the
Almighty? But though overthrown they were not totally defeated. A rumor
had long since been rife of the creation of another world with which they
could interfere. At any rate, there must never be peace between them and
the heavenly Powers. War there must be, war in secret, or war waged
openly. As he ended, shield clashed against shield, and swords, quickly
drawn, flashed before his eyes, and loud cries hurled defiance to Heaven.

The legions, led by Mammon, who in Heaven had been an honored architect,
sought a hill near by, and quickly emptying it of its rich store of gold
and jewels, built a massive structure. Like a temple in form was it, and
round about it stood Doric columns overlaid with gold. No king of any
future state could boast of a grander hall than this palace of Pandemonium
which was so quickly reared upon a hill in Hell, and to which the heralds'
trumpets now summoned all the host.

On the massive throne, blazing with jewels, sat the fallen spirit, and
thus addressed his followers: "Our success is sure in whatever we
undertake. We shall never be riven with internecine warfare, for surely no
one will quarrel over precedence in Hell. Therefore, united, we can, sure
of our success, debate of the way in which we shall take up our warfare
with the powers that have overthrown us."

Moloch, Belial, Mammon, and Beelzebub spoke. Moloch was in favor of open
war, since nothing could be worse than Hell, and continued assault against
the Most High would, in annoying him, be a sweet revenge. Belial, who
though timorous and slothful, was a persuasive orator, denounced Moloch's
plan. Since the ruler of Heaven was all-powerful, and they immortal, no
one knew to what greater misery he could push them; perhaps he would bury
them in boiling pitch to eternity, or inflict a thousand undreamed-of
tortures. War, open and secret, he disliked, since it was impossible to
conceal aught from the eye of the Most High. To make the best of Hell
seemed all that was possible; in time they might become inured to its
flames and better days might come, if they but accepted their doom
patiently.

Mammon also considered war impossible. They could never hope to overcome
the Almighty; neither could they hope nor wish for a reconciliation, for
how hateful would be an eternity spent in cringing to one whom they hated.
The desert soil of Hell teemed with riches, they could find peaceful
pursuits, and it was his advice to continue there in quiet, untroubled by
any thoughts of revenge.

Amid the murmur of applause that followed Mammon's speech, Beelzebub, than
whom none towered higher save Satan, arose, his face grave, his attitude
majestic. "Would you, Thrones and Imperial Powers," he cried, "think to
build up a kingdom here, secure from the arm of Heaven? Have you so soon
forgotten that this is not a kingdom ceded to you by the Most High, but a
dungeon in which he has shut you for your everlasting punishment? Never
will he forget that you are his prisoners; your lot will not be peace, but
custody and stripes. What return can we make, then, but to think out some
slow but sure and sweet revenge? It is not necessary to attempt to scale
the walls of Heaven. Other things remain. There is this new world, his
plaything. It may lie exposed, and we can at least make the attempt to
seize it and lay it waste, and thus vex him." As he saw their eyes
sparkle, he continued: "We may in this attempt come near to the steps of
our old abode and breathe again its delicious airs instead of these
hellish flames. But first we must find some one, strong, wary, and
watchful, to send in search of it."

Satan strode forth, his courage and his consciousness of it making his
face shine with transcendent glory. "Long is the way and hard; its dangers
unknown and terrible, but I should be a poor sovereign did I hesitate in
the attempt to seek it out. I do not refuse the sovereignty, for I fear
not to accept as great a share of hazard as of honor. Stay here; charm
away your time, and I will seek deliverance abroad for all of us."

As he spoke he rose to depart, fearful lest others might now offer to go
and share the glory with him.

The legions rose with a sound like thunder, bowed in deepest reverence and
went forth, some, to explore their dismal abode, others to amuse
themselves at games, others to discuss Free Will and Fate, while their
leader pursued his way toward the gate of Hell.

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