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(From Gondibert)
NEAR to his evening region was the Sun, | |
| When Hurgonil with his lamented load, | |
| And faithful Tybalt their sad march begun | |
| To fair Verona, where the court aboad. | |
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| They slowly rode till night’s dominion ceast: | 5 |
| When infant morn (her scarce wak’d beames display’d) | |
| With a scant face peep’d shylie through the east; | |
| And seem’d as yet of the black world afraid. | |
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| But by increase of swift expansive light, | |
| The lost horizon was apparent grown, | 10 |
| And many tow’rs salute at once their sight; | |
| The distant glories of a royal town. | |
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| Verona, sprung from noble Vera’s name; | |
| Whom careless time (still scatt’ring old records | |
| Where they are loosly gather’d up by fame) | 15 |
| Proclaimes the chief of ancient Tuscan lords. | |
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| Verona borders on that fatal plaine, | |
| Whose barren thirst was quench’d with valiant blood, | |
| When the rough Cymbrians by fierce Marius slain, | |
| Left hills of bodies where their ensignes stood. | 20 |
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| So safely proud this town did now appear; | |
| As if it but immortal dwellers lack’d; | |
| As if Theodoric had ne’r been there, | |
| Nor Attila her wealth and beauty sack’d. | |
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| Here Hurgonill might follow with his eye | 25 |
| (As with deep stream it through the city pass’t) | |
| The fruitfull and the frighted Adice, | |
| Which thence from noise and nets to sea does haste. | |
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| And on her peopled bank they might behold | |
| The toyles of conquest paid with works of pride; | 30 |
| The palace of king Agilulf the old, | |
| Or monument, for ere ’t was built he dy’d. | |
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| To it that temple joynes, whose lofty head | |
| The prospect of a swelling hill commands; | |
| In whose coole wombe the city springs are bred: | 35 |
| On Dorique pillers this tall temple stands. | |
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| This to sooth Heav’n the bloody Clephes built; | |
| As if Heav’n’s king so soft and easy were, | |
| So meanly hous’d in Heav’n, and kind to guilt, | |
| That he would be a tyrant’s tenant here. | 40 |
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| And now they might arrest their wand’ring sight | |
| With that which makes all other objects lost; | |
| Makes Lombard greatness flat to Roman height, | |
| And modern builders blush, that else would boast; | |
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| An amphytheater which has controll’d | 45 |
| Unheeded conquests of advancing age, | |
| Windes which have made the trembling world look old, | |
| And the fierce tempests of the Gothick rage, | |
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| This great Flaminius did in youth erect, | |
| Where cities sat to see whole armies play | 50 |
| Death’s serious part: but this we may neglect, | |
| To mark the bus’ness which begins with day. | |
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| As day new open’ng fills the hemisphear, | |
| And all at once; so quickly ev’ry street | |
| Does by an instant op’ning full appear, | 55 |
| When from their dwellings busy dwellers meet. | |
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| From wider gates oppressors sally there; | |
| Here creeps the afflicted through a narrow dore; | |
| Groans under wrongs he has not strength to bear, | |
| Yet seeks for wealth to injure others more. | 60 |
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| And here the early lawyer mends his pace; | |
| For whom the earlier cliant waited long; | |
| Here greedy creditors their debtors chase, | |
| Who scape by herding in th’ indebted throng. | |
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| Th’ advent’rous merchant whom a storm did wake, | 65 |
| (His ship ’s on Adriatic billowes tost) | |
| Does hope of eastern winds from steeples take, | |
| And hastens there a currier to the coast. * * * * * | |
| There from sick mirth neglected feasters reel, | |
| Who cares of want in wine’s false Lethe steep. | 70 |
| There anxious empty gamsters homeward steal, | |
| And fear to wake, ere they begin to sleep. | |
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| Here stooping lab’rers slowly moving are; | |
| Beasts to the rich, whose strength grows rude with ease; | |
| And would usurp, did not their rulers’ care | 75 |
| With toile and tax their furious strength appease. | |
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| There th’ aged walk, whose needless carefulness | |
| Infects them past the mind’s best med’cine, sleep; | |
| There some to temples early vows address, | |
| And for th’ ore busie world most wisely weep. | 80 |
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| To this vast inn where tydes of strangers flow, | |
| The morn and Hurgonil together came; | |
| The morn, whose dewy wings appear’d but slow, | |
| When men the motion mark’d of swifter Fame. | |
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| For Fame (whose journeys are through ways unknown, | 85 |
| Traceless and swift, and changing as the wind) | |
| The morn and Hurgonil had much out-gone, | |
| Whilst Truth mov’d patiently within behind. | |
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