No More Learning

XVII
Of that old sire, and why he would dispense
Idly, all those fair names, as 'twould appear,
And of the birds and holy place, from whence
The nymph was to the river seen to steer,
The solemn mystery, and the secret sense,
Astolpho, marvelling, desired to hear;
And prayed the man of God would these unfold,
Who to the warrior thus their meaning told.

XVIII
"There moves no leaf beneath, thou hast to know,
But here above some sign thereof we trace;
Since all, in Heaven above or Earth below,
Must correspond, though with a different face.
That ancient, with his sweeping beard of snow,
By nought impeded and so swift of pace,
Works the same end and purpose in our clime,
As are on earth below performed by Time.

XIX
"The life of man its final close attains,
When on the wheel is wound the fatal twine;
There fame, and here above the mark remains;
For both would be immortal and divine,
But for that bearded sire's unwearied pains,
And his below, that for their wreck combine.
One drowns them, as thou seest, mid sand and surges.
And one in long forgetfulness immerges.

XX
"And even, as here above, the raven, daw,
Vulture, and divers other birds of air,
All from the turbid water seek to draw
The names, which in their sight appear most fair;
Even thus below, pimps, flatterers, men of straw,
Buffoons, informers, minions, all who there
Flourish in courts, and in far better guise
And better odour, than the good and wise;

XXI
"And by the crowd are gentle courtiers hight,
Because they imitate the ass and swine:
When the just Parcae or (to speak aright)
Venus and Bacchus cut their master's twine,
-- These base and sluggish dullards, whom I cite --
Born but to blow themselves with bread and wine,
In their vile mouths awhile such names convey,
Then drop the load, which is Oblivion's prey.

XXII
"But as the joyful swans, that, singing sweet,
Convey the medals safely to the fane,
So they whose praises poets well repeat,
Are rescued from oblivion, direr pain
Than death. O Princes, wary and discreet,
That wisely tread in Caesar's steps, and gain
Authors for friends! They, doubt it not, shall save
Your noble names from Lethe's laxy wave.

XXIII
"Rare as those gentle swans are poets too,
That well the poet's name have merited,
As well because it is Heaven's will, that few
Great rulers should the paths of glory tread,
As through foul fault of sordid lordlings, who
Let sacred Genius beg his daily bread;
Who putting down the Virtues, raise the tribe
Of Vices, and the liberal arts proscribe.

XXIV
"Believe it, that these ignorant men should be
Blind and deprived of judgment, is God's doom;
Who makes them loathe the light of poetry,
That envious Death may wholly them consume.
Besides that Song can quicken and set free
Him that is prisoned in the darkness tomb,
Though foul his name, if Cirrha him befriend.
Its savour myrrh and spikenard shall transcend.

XXV
"Aeneas not so pious, nor of arm
So strong Achilles, Hector not so bold,
Was, as 'tis famed; and mid the nameless swarm,
Thousands and thousands higher rank might hold:
But gift of palace and of plenteous farm,
Bestowed by heirs of them, whose deeds they told,
Have moved the poet with his honoured hand,
To place them upon Glory's highest stand.
XXVI
"Augustus not so holy and benign
Was as great Virgil's trumpet sounds his name,
Because he savoured the harmonious line.
His foul proscription passes without blame.
That Nero was unjust would none divine,
Nor haply would he suffer in his fame,
Though Heaven and Earth were hostile, had he known
The means to make the tuneful tribe his own.

XXVII
"Homer a conqueror Agamemnon shows,
And makes the Trojan seem of coward vein,
And from the suitors, faithful to her vows,
Penelope a thousand wrongs sustain:
Yet -- would'st thou I the secret should expose? --
By contraries throughout the tale explain:
That from the Trojan bands the Grecian ran;
And deem Penelope a courtezan.

XXVIII
"What fame Eliza, she so chaste of sprite,
On the other hand, has left behind her, hear!
Who widely is a wanton baggage hight,
Solely that she to Maro was not dear,
Marvel not this should cause me sore despite,
And if my speech diffusive should appear.
Authors I love, and pay the debt I owe,
Speaking their praise; an author I below!

XXIX
"There earned I, above all men, what no more
Time nor yet Death from me shall take away;
And it behoved our Lord, of whom I bore
Such testimony, so my paints to pay.
It grieves me much for them, on whom her door
Courtesy closes on a stormy day;
Who meagre, pale, and worn with hopeless suit,
Knock night and day, and ever without fruit.

XXX
Henceforth with that apostle let the peer
Remain; for I have now to make a spring
As far as 'tis from heaven to earth; for here
I cannot hang for ever on the wing.
I to the dame return, who was whilere
Wounded by jealousy with cruel sting.
I left her where, successively o'erthrown,
Three kings she quickly upon earth had strown;

XXXII
And afterwards arriving in a town,
At eve, which on the road to Paris lay,
Heard tidings of Rinaldo's victory blown;
And how in Arles the vanquished paynim lay.
-- Sure, her Rogero with the king is gone --
As soon as reappears the dawning day,
Towards fair Provence, whither (as she hears)
King Charlemagne pursues, her way she steers.

XXXIII
She towards Provence, by the nearest road,
So journeying, met a maid of mournful air;
Who, though her cheeks with tears were overflowed,
Was yet of visage and of manners fair.
She was it, so transfixed with Love's keen goad,
Who sighed for Monodante's valiant heir,
Who at the bridge had left her lord a thrall,
When with King Rodomont he tried a fall.