GUENDOLEN acknowledged by both Armies. Estrildis hears of the Death of Locrine. She is made captive with her Daughter Sabra. Both are condemned to death by Guendolen. Apotheosis of Sabra.

THE

REVENGE OF GUENDOLEN.

BOOK V.

Now
ow with firm hand Corineus' daughter grasps

The double sceptre, and Loëgria's chiefs,

Join'd with Cornubia, to her sovereign throne

Their ready homage bear, her right confess'd.

And either army, which so lately wag'd

With mutual hatred unrelenting war,

Now with united banners march, now own

One common leader, and one prince obey.
Towards Avon's banks they move: for so the queen
Commands; whose soul, impatient for revenge,

Can know no rest, while yet the guilty dame,

The rival fair, beholds the light of heav'n.

Sullen and sad, the haughty Guendolen

Conceals her cruel purpose, and resolv'd
Shuts up each avenue to mercy, steels
Her breast to every tender thought; ev'n grief
Finds there no entrance, while revenge and rage
Fill all her soul, and all her pow'rs employ.
The chiefs respect her sorrows, nor inquire

Her secret counsels; but conjecture oft

Estrildis' fate.

"Alas!" they cry,

"what pray'rs

Shall calm the fury of a woman's breast,

When rous'd by jealous scorn to hate and vengeance?

Yet Guendolen is born of generous race,

By virtue grac'd, by fortune's gifts adorn'd,

And pity soonest dwells in noble minds.

For gentle Sabra too, her tender years,

Her artless innocence may surely plead,

May win some pardon for Estrildis' fault."

Thus commun'd they; for much the hapless dame

Their minds to favour and compassion mov'd: ́

For she was fairer than the blushing morn,

And gentler than the gentle western air
Breathing o'er flow'rs, and all her fault was love.
Since Boarex her baffled spells deplor'd;

Since the dread vision of the fatal grove;

Long time to grief abandon'd, and despair,
All bath'd in tears the mournful nymph appear'd,

As some fair lily droops, surcharg'd with rain.

At length bright hope again began to dawn;

For when does hope's soft pow'r the wretch forsake?

When wisdom tries her boasted arts in vain,

When baffled reason fails, and all is dark,

Hope spreads gay visions round the mourner's head, Grief smiles in tears, and pain forgets to groan.

Then stern adversity her iron scourge

Plies with redoubled force, and all her storms

With fury gathers round the victim's head :

But plies her scourge, and calls her storms in vain; Amidst the gloom the fair illusions play,

And fancy gives the joy by fate denied.

Hence, to her wonted sports return'd at length,
Each irksome thought with pleasures still renew'd
She charms to rest; and dance, and jocund song,
The lute's soft music, and the sounding lyre,
Float on the breeze, and gladden ev'ry shade.

Now too the tongue of fame proclaim'd aloud
How all Loëgria in her monarch's cause

Pour'd forth her armed youth prepar'd for war:
How Sture's fair banks with glitt'ring armour shone,

And far and wide the crowded camp extends :

And how the king, with swift and secret march,

Had pass'd the foe, and join'd his loyal bands.
This heard, her woman's mind, still prone to change,

Pass'd quick to rash presumption from despair;

And deem'd the foe subdu'd, and her lov'd lord

Ev'n then returning, with the laurel crown'd.

'Twas night, and sleep, descending o'er her couch,

Shed on her languid limbs his balmy dew:

When, lo! a fearful vision rose.

A bier,

Borne slow, with solemn march before her pass'd,