THE ARGUMENT.
The hero continues the history of the civil wars of France. The unfortunate death of Charles IX. Reign of Henry III. His character. That of the famous Duke of Guise, known by the name of Balafré. Battle of Coutras. Murder of the Duke of Guise. Extremities to which Henry III. is reduced. Mayenne at the head of the League. D’Aumale the hero of it. Reconciliation of Henry III., and Henry, King of Navarre. Queen Elizabeth’s answer to Henry de Bourbon.
When many a day (for thus the fates ordained)
With blackest deeds of murder had been stained;
When each assassin cruel, and abhorred,
Fatigued with crimes, had sheathed his glutted sword;
Those crimes at length the factious crowd alarmed
Whom zeal had blinded and their sovereign armed.
As rage subsided, melting pity moved
Each friend to virtue who his country loved;
Her plaintive voice awakened softer cares,
And Charles himself relented at her tears.
That early culture, by ill fate designed
To blast the fairer blossoms of his mind,
Conscience subdued — her whispering voice alone
Can shake with terror the securest throne.
Not all his mother’s principles could frame
A heart like hers, insensible of shame.
Severe remorse his anxious soul dismayed,
His strength was wasted, and his youth decayed.
Heaven marked him out in vengeance for his crimes,
A dread example to succeeding times.
Myself was present at his latest breath,
And still I shudder at that scene of death,
When, in return for tides of Gallic blood,
Each bursting vein poured forth the crimson flood.
Thus fell lamented in his early prime
A youthful monarch bred to every crime,
From whose repentance we had hoped to gain
The balmy blessings of a milder reign.
Soon as he died, with speed advancing forth
From the bleak bosom of the wintry North
Great Valois came, like some bright Orient star,
To claim his birthright in these realms of war.
On him Polonia had bestowed her throne,
Deemed by each province worthy of the crown.
Great are the dangers of too bright a name,
E’en Valois sank beneath the weight of fame:
Though in his cause each danger I defy,
Could toil forever, and with transport die,
Yet, heaven-born truth, this tongue thy accents loves,
And praises only what the heart approves.
Soon was the race of all his greatness run;
As morning vapors fly before the sun.
Oft have I marked these changes, often seen,
Heroes and kings become the weakest men:
Have seen the laurelled prince in battle brave
Wear the soft chain, and live a courtier’s slave.
This fact by long experience have I known,
Seeds of true courage in the mind are sown.
Valois was formed by heaven’s peculiar care
For martial prowess, and the deeds of war:
Yet was too weak the rod of power to wield,
Though great in arms and steady in the field.
Detested minions showed their artful skill,
And reigned supreme the sovereigns of his will.
His voice but dictated their own decrees;
Whilst they, indulging in voluptuous ease,
Drank of each joy which luxury supplies,
And scorned to listen to a nation’s cries.
Unmoved beheld afflicted France lament
Her strength exhausted, and her treasures spent.
Beneath their yoke whilst Valois tamely bowed,
And new oppressions from new taxes flowed,
Lo Guise appears! ambition spurs him on,
All eyes are fixed upon this rising sun.
His deeds of war, the glory of his race,
His manly beauty, and attractive grace;
But more than all, that happy, pleasing art,
Which wins our love, and steals upon the heart,
Subdued e’en those whom virtue faintly warms,
And gained their wishes by resistless charms.
None e’er like him could lead the mind astray,
Or rule the passions with more sovereign sway.
None e’er concealed from busy, curious eyes,
Their dark intentions in so fair disguise.
Though proud ambition kindled in his soul,
His cooler judgment could that pride control.
To gain the crowd, and win deserved esteem,
Detested levies were his daily theme.
Oft have they heard his flattering tongue declare
The public sorrows were his only care.
On modest worth he lavished all his store,
Or clothed the naked, or enriched the poor.
Oft would his alms prevent the starting tear,
And tell that Guise and charity were near.
All arts were tried which cunning might afford,
To court the nobles whom his soul abhorred.
Alike to virtue, as to vice inclined.
Or love, or endless hatred ruled his mind.
He braved all dangers which on arms await,
No chief more bold, none more oppressed the State.
When time at length had made his influence strong,
And fixed the passions of the giddy throng;
Stripped of disguise unmasked the traitor shone,
Defied his sovereign, and attacked the throne.
Within our walls the fatal League began,
And next through France the dire contagion ran.
Nursed by all ranks the hideous monster stood,
Pregnant with woes, and rioting in blood.
Two monarchs ruled o’er Gallia’s hapless land:
This shared alone the shadow of command;
That wide diffused fierce war’s destructive flame,
Master of all things save the royal name.
Valois awaked the threatening danger sees,
And quits the slumbers of lethargic ease.
But still to ease, and indolence a prey,
His eyes are dazzled by the blaze of day.
Though o’er his head the stormy thunders roll,
Nor storms, nor thunders rouse his sluggish soul.
Sweet to his taste the streams of pleasure flow,
And sleep conceals the precipice below.
Myself remained, the next succeeding heir,
To save the monarch, or his ruin share:
Eager I flew his weakness to supply;
Firmly resolved to conquer, or to die.
But Guise, alas! that sly, dissembling fiend,
By craft deprived him of his truest friend.
That old pretence through all revolving time,
Divine religion, veiled the horrid crime.
The busy crowd fictitious virtue warmed,
With zeal inspired them, and with fury armed.
Before their eyes in lively tints he drew
That ancient worship which their fathers knew.
From new-born sects declared what ills had flowed,
And painted Bourbon as a foe to God.
“Through all your climes, forbid it heaven!” he said,
“His tenets flourish, and his errors spread.
Yon walls, that cast a sacred horror round,
Will soon be sunk, and levelled with the ground.
Soon will you see unhallowed temples rise,
And point their airy summits to the skies.
So loved by Bourbon, so adored has been
The cursed example of Britannia’s queen.”
Scarce had he spoke when lo! the public fear
Was swiftly wafted to the royal ear.
Nay, more, the Leaguers issue Rome’s decree,
And curse the monarch that unites with me.
Now was this arm prepared to strike the blow,
Pour forth its strength, and thunder on the foe;
When Valois, won by subtle, dark intrigue,
Fixed on my ruin, and obeyed the League.
Unnumbered soldiers armed in dread array
Filled every plain, and spoke the king’s dismay.
With grief I saw such jealousy disclosed,
Bewailed his weakness, and his power opposed.
A thousand states were lavish of supplies,
Each passing hour beheld new armies rise,
Led on by fierce Joyeuse and well instructed Guise.
Guise, formed alike for prudence as for war,
Dispersed my friends, and baffled all their care.
Still undismayed, such strength my valor boasts,
I pressed through myriads of embattled hosts.
Through all the field I fought the proud Joyeuse —
But stay — the rest Eliza will excuse.
More of that chief ‘twere needless to relate,
You’ve heard his end, and fame has spread his fate.
“Not so,” the queen with eagerness replied,
“Well hast thou spoke with modesty thy guide;
But deign to tell me what I wish to hear,
Such themes are worthy of Eliza’s ear:
Joyeuse his fall in vivid colors draw;
Go on, and paint thy conquest at Coutras.”
Touched with these words the hero hung his head;
An honest blush his manly cheek o’erspread.
Pausing a while, the tale he thus led on,
Yet wished the glory any but his own.
Of all, who Valois could by flattery move,
Who nursed his weakness, and enjoyed his love
Joyeuse illustrious best deserved to share
The fairest sunshine of his royal care.
If to his years the stern decree of fate
Had fixed some period of a longer date,
In noble exploits had his virtue shone,
And Guise’s greatness not excelled his own.
But vice o’er virtue gained superior force,
Court was his cradle, luxury his nurse:
Yet dared the amorous chieftain to oppose
Unskilful valor to experienced foes.
From pleasure’s downy lap the courtiers came
To guard his person, and to share his fame.
In gay attire each gallant youth was dressed;
Some cipher glittered on each martial vest,
Some dear distinction, such as lovers wear,
To tell the fondness of the yielding fair.
The costly sapphire, or the diamond’s rays,
O’er their rich armor shed the vivid blaze.
Thus decked by folly, thus elate and vain,
These troops of Venus issued to the plain.
Swift marched their ranks, as tumult led the way,
Unwisely brave, and impotently gay.
In Bourbon’s camp, disdaining empty show,
Far other scenes were opened to the view:
An army, silent as the dead of night,
Displayed its forces well inured to fight;
Men gray in arms, and disciplined to blood,
Who bravely suffered for their country’s good.
The only graces, that employed their care,
Were swords well pointed, and the dress of war.
Like them arrayed, and steady to my trust,
I led the squadrons covered o’er with dust.
Like them ten thousand deaths I dared to face,
Distinguished only by my rank and place.
These eyes beheld the brilliant foe o’erthrown,
Expiring legions, and the field our own.
Deep in their breasts I plunged the fatal spear,
And wished some Spanish bosom had been there.
Still shall my tongue their honest praises tell;
Firm at his post each youthful courtier fell,
And bravely struggled to his latest breath
Amidst the terrors of surrounding death.
Our silken sons of pleasure and of ease
Preserve their valor in the midst of peace.
Called forth to war, they bravely scorn to yield,
Servile at court, but heroes in the field.
Joyeuse, alas! I tried, in vain, to save;
None heard the orders which my mercy gave.
Too soon I saw him sunk to endless night,
Sustained by kind associates in the fight,
A pale and breathless corpse, all ghastly to the sight.
Thus some fair stem, whose opening flowers display
Their fragrant bosoms to the dawn of day,
Which decks the early scene, and fresh appears
With zephyrs’ kisses, and Aurora’s tears,
Too soon decays, on nature’s lap reclined,
Cropped by the scythe, or scattered by the wind.
But why should memory recall to view
Those horrid triumphs to oblivion due?
Conquests so gained forever cease to charm,
Whilst Gallic blood still blushes on my arm.
Those beams of grandeur with false lustre shone,
And tears bedew the laurels which I won.
Unhappy Valois! that ill-fated day
Showered down on thee dishonor and dismay.
Paris grew proud, the League’s submission less,
And Guise’s glory doubled thy distress.
Vimori’s plains saw Guise the sword unsheath,
Germania suffered for Joyeuse’s death.
Auneau beheld my army of allies
Yield to his power, defeated by surprise.
Through Paris’ streets he marched with haughty air,
Arrayed in laurels, and the pride of war.
E’en Valois tamely to his insults bowed,
And served this idol of the gazing crowd.
Shame will at length the coolest courage warm,
And give new vigor to the weakest arm.
Such vile affronts made Valois less incline
To offer incense at so mean a shrine.
Too late he tried his greatness to restore,
And reign the monarch he had lived before.
Now deemed a tyrant by the factious crew,
Nor loyal fear nor love his subjects knew.
All Paris arms, sedition spreads the flame,
And headstrong mutiny asserts her claim.
Encircling troops raise high the hostile mound,
Besiege his palace, and his guards surround.
Guise undisturbed, amidst the raging storm,
Gave it a milder, or severer form:
Ruled the mad tumult of rebellious spleen,
And guided, as he pleased, the great machine.
All had been lost; and Valois doomed to die
By one command, one glance of Guise’s eye;
But when each arm was ready for the blow,
Compassion soothed the fierceness of the foe;
Enough were deemed the terrors of the fight,
And meek-eyed pity gave the power of flight.
Guise greatly erred, such subjects all things dare,
Their king must perish, or themselves despair.
This day confirmed, and strengthened in his schemes,
He saw that all was fatal but extremes:
Himself must mount the scaffold, or the throne,
The lord of all things, or the lord of none.
Through Gallia’s realms adored, from conquest vain,
Aided by Rome, and seconded by Spain;
Pregnant with hope, and absolute in power,
He thought those iron ages to restore,
When erst our kings in mouldering cloisters lived,
In early infancy of crowns deprived.
In hallowed shades they wept the hours away,
Whilst tyrants governed with oppressive sway.
Valois, indignant at so high a crime,
Delayed his vengeance to some better time.
Our states at Blois were summoned to appear,
And fame, no doubt, has told you what they were.
In barren streams from oratory’s tongue
Smooth flowed the tide of eloquence along;
Laws were proposed whose power none e’er perceived,
And ills lamented which none e’er relieved.
Guise in the midst, with high imperious pride,
Was vainly seated by his sovereign’s side.
Sure of success, he saw around the throne,
Or thought he saw, no subjects but his own.
These sons of infamy, this venal band
Was ready to bestow the dear command,
When Valois’s power was destined to appear,
And burst the chains of mercy and of fear.
Each day his rival studied to attain
The mean, the odious triumphs of disdain;
Nor deemed that ever such a prince could show
Those stern resolves which strike the assassin’s blow.
Fate o’er his eyes with envious hand had spread
Her thickest veil’s impenetrable shade.
The hour arrived when Guise was doomed to bear
That lot of nature which all mortals share.
Disgraced with wounds before the royal eye
The mighty victim was condemned to die.
All pale, and covered by the crimson tide,
This sun descended in his native pride.
The parting soul, by thirst of glory fired,
In life’s last moments to the throne aspired.
Thus fell the powerful chief, assemblage rare
Of foulest vices, and perfections fair.
With other conduct than to kings belongs,
Did Valois suffer, and avenge his wrongs.
Soon did the dire report through Paris spread,
That heaven was injured, and that Guise was dead.
The young, the old, with unavailing sighs
Displayed their grief, and joined their plaintive cries.
The softer sex invoked the powers above,
And clasped his statues in the arms of love.
All Paris thought her father and her God
Called loud for vengeance, and inspired to blood.
Amidst the rest, the brave and valiant Mayenne
Sought not their zealous fury to restrain:
But more by interest than resentment moved,
The flame augmented, and their zeal approved.
Mayenne, under Guise inured to war’s alarms,
Was nursed in battle, and trained up to arms:
His brother’s equal in each dark intrigue,
And now the lord and glory of the League.
Thus highly raised, thus eminently great;
He grieved no longer for his brother’s fate:
But better pleased to govern, than obey,
Forgot the loss, and wiped his tears away.
Mayenne, with a soul to generous deeds inclined,
A statesman’s cunning, and a hero’s mind,
By subtle arts unnumbered followers draws
To yield him homage, and to serve his laws.
Skilful e’en good from evil to produce,
Full well he knows their talents and their use.
Though brighter splendors dazzled all our eyes,
Not greater dangers ever rose from Guise.
To young Aumale, and this more prudent guide,
The Leaguers owe their courage and their pride.
Aumale, the great invincible by name,
Is high exalted in the lists of fame.
Through all their ranks he spreads ambition’s fires,
Presumptuous valor, and his own desires.
Unshaken in their cause the League protects,
And bravely executes what Mayenne directs.
Meantime, the king, whose power the Germans dread,
To deeds inhuman from his cradle bred;
That tyrant Catholic, that artful foe,
Incensed at Bourbon, and Eliza too:
Ambitious Philip sends his warlike train
To aid our rivals, and the cause of Mayenne.
Rome, best employed in making wars to cease,
Lights Discord’s torch, and bids her fires increase.
The same fierce views the Christian father owns,
Points the keen blade, and animates his sons.
From Europe’s either end the torrent falls:
Uniting sorrows burst upon our walls.
Weak, and defenceless in this evil hour
Valois relented, and implored my power.
Humane benevolence my soul approves,
The state commiserates, and Valois loves.
Impending dangers banish all my ire,
A brother’s safety is my sole desire.
With honest zeal I labor for his good:
‘Tis duty calls me, and the ties of blood.
I know the royal dignity my own,
And vindicate the honors of the crown.
Nor treaty made, nor hostage asked I came,
And told him, courage was his guide to fame.
On Paris’ ramparts bid him cast his eye,
And there resolve to conquer, or to die.
These friendly words, thus happily applied,
Through all his soul diffused a generous pride.
Manners thus changed, thus resolutely brave,
The sense of shame, and not example gave.
The serious lessons, which misfortune brings,
Are needful often, and of use to kings.
Thus Henry spoke with honesty of heart,
And begged for succors on Eliza’s part.
Now from the towers where rebel Discord stood,
Conquest recalls him to her scenes of blood.
The flower of England follows to the plain,
And cleaves the bosom of the azure main.
Essex commands — the proud Iberian knows
That Essex conquers e’en the wisest foes;
Full little deeming that injurious fate
Should blast his laurels with her keenest hate.
To France brave Henry hastens to repair,
Eager to grace the theatre of war.
“Go,” said the queen, “thyself, and virtue please;
My troops attend thee o’er the azure seas.
For thee, not Valois, they endure the fight;
Thy cares must guard them, and defend their right.
From thy example will they scorn to swerve;
And rather seem to imitate, than serve.
Who now the sword for valiant Bourbon draws
Will learn to triumph in Britannia’s cause.
Oh! may thy power the factious Leaguers quell,
And Mayenne’s allies thy gallant conquests feel!
Spain is too weak thy rebel foes to save,
And Roman thunders never awe the brave.
Go, free mankind, and break the iron chains
Where Sixtus governs, or where Philip reigns.
The cruel Philip, artful as his sire
In all that views of interest may require,
Though less renowned in war, less great and brave,
Division spreads in order to enslave;
Forms in his palace each ambitious scheme,
And boundless triumph is his darling theme.
“Lo! Sixtus raised from nothing to the throne,
Designs more haughty blushes not to own.
Montalto’s shepherd monarchs would o’ercome,
And dictate laws in Paris, as at Rome:
Safe in the honors which adorn his brow,
To Philip, and to all mankind a foe:
As serves his cause, or insolent, or meek,
Rival of kings, and tyrant o’er the weak.
Through every clime, with faction at their head,
E’en to our court his dark intrigues have spread.
These mighty rulers fear not to defy;
They both have dared Eliza’s power to try:
Witness, ye seas! how Philip fought in vain
‘Gainst English valor, and the stormy main.
These shores beheld the proud Armada lost;
Yon purple billows bore the floating host.
Rome’s pontiff still in quiet silence bears
The loss of conquest, and our greatness fears.
“Display thy banners in the martial field;
When Mayenne is conquered, Rome herself will yield.
Though proud when fortune smiles, her own defeat
Lays her submissive at the victor’s feet.
Prompt to condemn, and eager to absolve,
Her flames and thunders wait on thy resolve.”