HKB
and from the razor free, Shall fall a plenteous crop, reserved for thee. So may my arms with victory be blest, I ask no more; let Fate dispose the rest."
The champion ceased; there followed in the close A hollow groan; a murmuring wind arose; The rings of iron, that on the doors were hung, Sent out a jarring sound, and harshly rung: The bolted gates blew open at the blast, The storm rushed in, and Arcite stood aghast: The flames were blown aside, yet shone they bright, Fanned by the wind, and gave a ruffled light. Then from the ground a scent began to rise, Sweet smelling as accepted sacrifice: This omen pleased, and as the flames aspire, With odorous incense Arcite heaps the fire: Nor wanted hymns to Mars or heathen charms: At length the nodding statue clashed his arms, And with a sullen sound and feeble cry, Half sunk and half pronounced the word of Victory. For this, with soul devout, he thanked the God, And, of success secure, returned to his abode.
These vows, thus granted, raised a strife above Betwixt the God of War and Queen of Love. She, granting first, had right of time to plead; But he had granted too, nor would recede. Jove was for Venus, but he feared his wife, And seemed unwilling to decide the strife: Till Saturn from his leaden throne arose, And found a way the difference to compose: Though sparing of his grace, to mischief bent, He seldom does a good with good intent. Wayward, but wise; by long experience taught, To please both parties, for ill ends, he sought: For this advantage age from youth has won, As not to be outridden, though outrun. By fortune he was now to Venus trined, And with stern Mars in Capricorn was joined: Of him disposing in his own abode, He soothed the Goddess, while he gulled the God: "Cease, daughter, to complain, and stint the strife; Thy Palamon shall have his promised wife: And Mars, the lord of conquest, in the fight With palm and laurel shall adorn his knight. Wide is my course, nor turn I to my place, Till length of time, and move with tardy pace. Man feels me when I press the etherial plains; My hand is heavy, and the wound remains. Mine is the shipwreck in a watery sign; And in an earthy the dark dungeon mine. Cold shivering agues, melancholy care, And bitter blasting winds, and poisoned air, Are mine, and wilful death, resulting from despair. The throttling quinsey 'tis my star appoints, And rheumatisms I send to rack the joints: When churls rebel against their native prince, I arm their hands, and furnish the pretence; And housing in the lion's hateful sign, Bought senates and deserting troops are mine. Mine is the privy poisoning; I command Unkindly seasons and ungrateful land. By me kings' palaces are pushed to ground, And miners crushed beneath their mines are found. 'Twas I slew Samson, when the pillared hall Fell down, and crushed the many with the fall. My looking is the sire of pestilence, That sweeps at once the people and the prince. Now weep no more, but trust thy grandsire's art, Mars shall be pleased, and thou perform thy part. 'Tis ill, though different your complexions are, The family of Heaven for men should war." The expedient pleased, where neither lost his right; Mars had the day, and Venus had the night. The management they left to Chronos' care. Now turn we to the effect, and sing the war.