<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539287" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Love and Honor</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sed neque Medorum silvae, ditissima terra<br>Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Haemus,<br>Laudibus Angligenum certent; non Bactra, nec Indi,<br>Totaque thuriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Imitation.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet let not Median woods, (abundant track!)<br>Nor Ganges fair, nor Haemus, miser-like,<br>Proud of his hoarded gold, presume to vie<br>With Britain's boast and praise; nor Persian Bactra,<br>Nor India's coasts, nor all Panchaia's sands,<br>Rich, and exulting in their lofty towers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">____</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let the green olive glad Hesperian shores;<br>Her tawny citron, and her orange groves,<br>These let Iberia boast; but if in vain,<br>To win the stranger plant's diffusive smile,<br>The Briton labours, yet our native minds,<br>Our constant bosoms, these the dazzled world<br>May view with envy; these Iberian dames<br>Survey with fix'd esteem and fond desire.<br>Hapless Elvira! thy disastrous fate<br>May well this truth explain, nor ill adorn<br>The British lyre; then chiefly, if the Muse,<br>Nor vain, nor partial, from the simple guise<br>Of ancient record catch the pensive lay,<br>And in less grovelling accents give to Fame.<br>Elvira! loveliest maid! the Iberian realm<br>Could boast no purer breast, no sprightlier mind,<br>No race more splendent, and no form so fair.<br>Such was the chance of war, this peerless maid,<br>In life's luxuriant bloom, enrich'd the spoil<br>Of British victors, victory's noblest pride!<br>She, she alone, amid the wailful train<br>Of captive maids, assign'd to Henry's care,<br>Lord of her life, her fortune, and her fame!<br>He, generous youth! with no penurious hand,<br>The tedious moments, that unjoyous roll<br>Where Freedom's cheerful radiance shines no more,<br>Essay'd to soften; conscious of the pang<br>That Beauty feels, to waste its fleeting hours<br>In some dim fort, by foreign rule restrain'd,<br>Far from the haunts of men, or eye of day!<br>Sometimes, to cheat her bosom of its cares,<br>Her kind protector number'd o'er the toils<br>Himself had worn; the frowns of angry seas,<br>Or hostile rage, or faithless friend, more fell<br>Than storm or foe; if haply she might find<br>Her cares diminish'd; fruitless, fond essay!<br>Now to her lovely hand, with modest awe<br>The tender lute he gave; she, not averse,<br>Nor destitute of skill, with willing hand<br>Call'd forth angelic strains; the sacred debt<br>Of gratitude, she said, whose just commands<br>Still might her hand with equal pride obey!<br>Nor to the melting sounds the nymph refused<br>Her vocal art; harmonious as the strain<br>Of some imprison'd lark, who, daily cheer'd<br>By guardian cares, repays them with a song;<br>Nor droops, nor deems sweet liberty resign'd.<br>The song, not artless had she framed to paint<br>Disastrous passion; how, by tyrant laws<br>Of idiot custom sway'd, some soft-eyed fair<br>Loved only one, nor dared that love reveal!<br>How the soft anguish banish'd from her cheek<br>The damask rose full-blown; a fever came,<br>And from her bosom forced the plaintive tale;<br>Then, swift as light, he sought the love-lorn maid,<br>But vainly sought her; torn by swifter fate<br>To join the tenants of the myrtle shade,<br>Love's mournful victims on the plains below.<br>Sometimes, as Fancy spoke the pleasing task,<br>She taught her artful needle to display<br>The various pride of spring; then swift upsprung<br>Thickets of myrtle, eglantine, and rose:<br>There might you see, on gentle toils intent,<br>A train of busy Loves; some pluck the flower,<br>Some twine the garland, some with grave grimace<br>Around a vacant warrior cast the wreath.<br>'Twas paint, 'twas life! and sure to piercing eyes<br>The warrior's face depictured Henry's mien.<br>Now had the generous chief with joy perused<br>The royal scroll, which to their native home,<br>Their ancient rights, uninjured, unredeem'd,<br>Restored the captives. Forth with rapid haste<br>To glad his fair Elvira's ear, he sprung,<br>Fired by the bliss he panted to convey;<br>But fired in vain! Ah! what was his amaze,<br>His fond distress, when o'er her pallid face<br>Dejection reign'd, and from her lifeless hand<br>Down dropt the myrtle's fair unfinish'd flower!<br>Speechless she stood; at length, with accents faint,<br>'Well may my native shore,' she said, 'resound<br>Thy monarch's praise; and here Elvira prove<br>Of thine forgetful; flowers shall cease to feel<br>The fostering breeze, and Nature change her laws!'<br>And now the grateful edict wide alarm'd<br>The British host. Around the smiling youths,<br>Call'd to their native scenes, with willing haste<br>Their fleet unmoor; impatient of the love<br>That weds each bosom to its native soil.<br>The patriot passion! strong in every clime,<br>How justly theirs who find no foreign sweets<br>To dissipate their loves, or match their own.<br>Not so Elvira! she, disastrous maid!<br>Was doubly captive; power nor chance could loose<br>The subtle bands; she loved her generous foe;<br>She, where her Henry dwelt, her Henry smiled,<br>Could term her native shore; her native shore,<br>By him deserted, some unfriendly strand,<br>Strange, bleak, forlorn! a desert waste and wild.<br>The fleet careen'd, the wind propitious fill'd<br>The swelling sails, the glittering transports waved<br>Their pennants gay, and halcyons' azure wing,<br>With flight auspicious, skimm'd the placid main.<br>On her lone couch in tears Elvira lay,<br>And chid the officious wind, the tempting sea,<br>And wish'd a storm as merciless as tore<br>Her labouring bosom. Fondly now she strove<br>To banish passion; now the vassal days,<br>The captive moments, that so smoothly past,<br>By many an art recall'd; now from her lute<br>With trembling fingers call'd the favourite sounds<br>Which Henry deign'd to praise; and now essay'd,<br>With mimic chains of silken fillets wove,<br>To paint her captive state; if any fraud<br>Might to her love the pleasing scenes prolong,<br>And with the dear idea feast the soul.<br>But now the chief return'd, prepared to launch<br>On Ocean's willing breast, and bid adieu<br>To his fair prisoner. She, soon as she heard<br>His hated errand, now no more conceal'd<br>The raging flame; but with a spreading blush<br>And rising sigh, the latent pang disclosed.<br>'Yes, generous youth! I see thy bosom glow<br>With virtuous transport, that the task is thine<br>To solve my chains, and to my weeping friends,<br>And every longing relative, restore<br>A soft-eyed maid, a mild offenceless prey!<br>But know, my Soldier! never youthful mind,<br>Torn from the lavish joys of wild expense<br>By him he loathed, and in a dungeon bound<br>To languish out his bloom, could match the pains<br>This ill-starr'd freedom gives my tortured mind.<br>'What call I freedom? is it that these limbs,<br>From rigid bolts secure, may wander far<br>From him I love? Alas! ere I may boast<br>That sacred blessing, some superior power<br>To mortal kings, to sublunary thrones,<br>Must loose my passion, must unchain my soul:<br>Even that I loathe: all liberty I loathe!<br>But most the joyless privilege to gaze<br>With cold indifference, where desert is love.<br>'True, I was born an alien to those eyes<br>I ask alone to please; my fortune's crime!<br>And ah! this flatter'd form, by dress endear'd<br>To Spanish eyes, by dress may thine offend,<br>Whilst I, ill-fated maid! ordain'd to strive<br>With custom's load, beneath its weight expire.<br>'Yet Henry's beauties knew in foreign garb<br>To vanquish me; his form, howe'er disguised,<br>To me were fatal! no fantastic robe<br>That e'er Caprice invented, Custom wore,<br>Or Folly smiled on, could eclipse thy charms.<br>'Perhaps by birth decreed, by Fortune placed<br>Thy country's foe, Elvira's warmest plea<br>Seems but the subtler accent fraud inspires;<br>My tenderest glances but the specious flowers,<br>That shade the viper while she plots her wound.<br>And can the trembling candidate of love<br>Awake thy fears? and can a female breast,<br>By ties of grateful duty bound, ensnare?<br>Is there no brighter mien, no softer smile<br>For love to wear, to dark Deceit unknown?<br>Heaven search my soul! and if through all its cells<br>Lurk the pernicious drop of poisonous guile,<br>Full on my fenceless head its viall'd wrath<br>May Fate exhaust, and for my happiest hour<br>Exalt the vengeance I prepare for thee!<br>'Ah me! nor Henry's nor his country's foe,<br>On thee I gazed, and Reason soon dispell'd<br>Dim Error's gloom, and to thy favour'd isle<br>Assign'd its total merit, unrestrain'd.<br>Oh! lovely region to the candid eye!<br>'Twas there my fancy saw the Virtues dwell,<br>The Loves, the Graces, play, and bless'd the soil<br>That nurtured thee! for sure the Virtues form'd<br>Thy generous breast; the Loves, the Graces plann'd<br>Thy shapely limbs. Relation, birth, essay'd<br>Their partial power in vain; again I gazed,<br>And Albion's isle appear'd, amidst a tract<br>Of savage wastes, the darling of the skies!<br>And thou, by Nature form'd, by Fate assign'd,<br>To paint the genius of thy native shore.<br>''Tis true, with flowers, with many a dazzling scene<br>Of burnish'd plants, to lure a female eye,<br>Iberia glows; but, ah! the genial sun,<br>That gilds the lemon's fruit, or scents the flower,<br>On Spanish minds, a nation's nobler boast,<br>Beams forth ungentle influences. There<br>Sits Jealousy enthroned, and at each ray<br>Exultant lights his slow consuming fires.<br>Not such thy charming region; long before<br>My sweet experience taught me to decide<br>Of English worth, the sound had pleased mine ear.<br>Is there that savage coast, that rude sojourn,<br>Stranger to British worth? the worth which forms<br>The kindest friends, the most tremendous foes;<br>First, best supports of liberty and love!<br>No, let subjected India, while she throws<br>O'er Spanish deeds the veil, your praise resound.<br>Long as I heard, or ere in story read<br>Of English fame, my biass'd partial breast<br>Wish'd them success: and happiest she, I cried,<br>Of women happiest she, who shares the love,<br>The fame, the virtues, of an English lord.<br>And now, what shall I say? Blest be the hour<br>Your fair-built vessels touch'd the Iberian shores:<br>Blest, did I say, the time? if I may bless<br>That loved event, let Henry's smiles declare.<br>Our hearts and cities won, will Henry's youth<br>Forego its nobler conquest? will he slight<br>The soft endearments of the lovelier spoil?<br>And yet Iberia's sons, with every vow<br>Of lasting faith, have sworn these humble charms<br>Were not excell'd; the source of all their pains,<br>And love her just desert, who sues for love,<br>But sues to thee, while natives sigh in vain.<br>'Perhaps in Henry's eye (for vulgar minds<br>Dissent from his) it spreads a hateful stain<br>On honest Fame, amid his train to bear<br>A female friend. Then learn, my gentle youth!<br>Not Love himself, with all the pointed pains<br>That store his quiver, shall seduce my soul<br>From honour's laws. Elvira once denied<br>A consort's name, more swift than lightning flies<br>When elements discordant vex the sky,<br>Shall, blushing, from the form she loves retire.<br>Yet if the specious wish the vulgar voice<br>Has titled Prudence, sways a soul like thine,<br>In gems or gold what proud Iberian dame<br>Eclipses me? Nor paint the dreary storms<br>Or hair-breadth 'scapes that haunt the boundless deep,<br>And force from tender eyes the silent tear;<br>When Memory to the pensive maid suggests,<br>In full contrast, the safe domestic scene<br>For these resign'd. Beyond the frantic rage<br>Of conquering heroes brave, the female mind,<br>When steel'd by love, in Love's most horrid way<br>Beholds not danger, or, beholding, scorns.<br>Heaven take my life, but let it crown my love!'<br>She ceased; and ere his words her fate decreed,<br>Impatient, watch'd the language of his eye:<br>There Pity dwelt, and from its tender sphere<br>Sent looks of love, and faithless hopes inspired.<br>'Forgive me, generous maid!' the youth return'd,<br>'If by thy accents charm'd, thus long I bore<br>To let such sweetness plead, alas! in vain.<br>Thy virtue merits more than crowns can yield<br>Of solid bliss, or happiest love bestow<br>But ere from native shores I plough'd the main,<br>To one dear maid, by virtue, and by charms<br>Alone endear'd, my plighted vows I gave;<br>To guard my faith, whatever chance should wait<br>My warring sword: if conquest, fame, and spoil,<br>Graced my return, before her feet to pour<br>The glittering treasure, and the laurel wreath,<br>Enjoying conquest then, and fame and spoil:<br>If Fortune frown'd adverse, and Death forbade<br>The blissful union, with my latest breath<br>To dwell on Medway's and Maria's name.<br>This ardent vow deep-rooted, from my soul<br>No dangers tore; this vow my bosom fired<br>To conquer danger, and the spoil enjoy.<br>Her shall I leave, with fair events elate,<br>Who crown'd mine humblest fortune with her love?<br>Her shall I leave, who now, perchance, alone<br>Climbs the proud cliff, and chides my slow return?<br>And shall that vessel, whose approaching sails<br>Shall swell her breast with extasies, convey<br>Death to her hopes, and anguish to her soul?<br>No! may the deep my villain corse devour,<br>If all the wealth Iberian mines conceal,<br>If all the charms Iberian maids disclose,<br>If thine, Elvira, thine, uniting all,<br>Thus far prevail-nor can thy virtuous breast<br>Demand what honour, faith, and love, denies.'<br>'Oh! happy she,' rejoin'd the pensive maid,<br>'Who shares thy fame, thy virtue, and thy love!<br>And be she happy! thy distinguish'd choice<br>Declares her worth, and vindicates her claim.<br>Farewell my luckless hopes! my flattering dreams<br>Of rapturous days! my guilty suit, farewell!<br>Yet fond howe'er my plea, or deep the wound<br>That waits my fame, let not the random shaft<br>Of Censure pierce with me the Iberian dames;<br>They love with caution, and with happier stars.<br>And, oh! by pity moved, restrain the taunts<br>Of levity, nor brand Elvira's flame;<br>By merit raised, by gratitude approved,<br>By hope confirm'd, with artless truth reveal'd,<br>Let, let me say, but for one matchless maid<br>Of happier birth, with mutual ardour crown'd.<br>'These radiant gems, which burnish Happiness,<br>But mock Misfortune, to thy favourite's hand<br>With care convey; and well may such adorn<br>Her cheerful front, who finds in thee alone<br>The source of every transport, but disgrace<br>My pensive breast, which, doom'd to lasting woe,<br>In thee the source of every bliss resign.<br>'And now, farewell, thou darling youth! the gem<br>Of English merit! Peace, content, and joy,<br>And tender hopes, and young desires, farewell!<br>Attend, ye smiling Train! this gallant mind<br>Back to his native shores; there sweetly smooth<br>His evening pillow, dance around his groves,<br>And, where he treads, with violets paint his way:<br>But leave Elvira! leave her, now no more<br>Your frail companion! in the sacred cells<br>Of some lone cloister let me shroud my shame<br>There to the matin bell, obsequious, pour<br>My constant orisons. The wanton Loves<br>And gay Desires, shall spy the glimmering towers,<br>And wing their flight aloof: but rest confirm'd,<br>That never shall Elvira's tongue conclude<br>Her shortest prayer, ere Henry's dear success<br>The warmest accent of her zeal employ.'<br>Thus spoke the weeping fair, whose artless mind<br>Impartial scorn'd to model her esteem<br>By native customs; dress, and face, and air,<br>And manners, less; nor yet resolved in vain.<br>He, bound by prior love, the solemn vow<br>Given and received, to soft compassion gave<br>A tender tear; then with that kind adieu<br>Esteem could warrant, wearied Heaven with prayers<br>To shield that tender breast he left forlorn.<br>He ceased; and to the cloister's pensive scene<br>Elvira shaped her solitary way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Shenstone">William Shenstone</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539287" data-title="Love and Honor de William Shenstone" data-description="Sed neque Medorum silvae, ditissima terra Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Haemus, Laudibus Angligenum certent; non Bactra, nec Indi, Totaque thuriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis. Imitation. Yet let not Median woods, (abundant track!) Nor G..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black