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The successful lovers having called for Florenza, who was then with her father, fled through untrod paths' until they reached a sequestered valley;

"Where every bough

Maintain❜d a feather'd chorister to sing
Soft panegyrics, and the rude winds bring
Into a murmuring slumber, whilst the calm
Morn on each leaf did hang her liquid balm,
With an intent, before the next sun's birth,
To drop it in those wounds which the cleft earth
Receiv'd from's last day's beams."

They sat down near a ruined temple of Ceres, where

"With mournful majesty,

A heap of solitary ruins lie,

Half sepulchred in dust, the bankrupt heir
To prodigal antiquity. *

* * * * * *

* * * * * The world's first man did woo
The blushing offspring of his side, the first
Unpractick virgin, with as great a thirst
Of blood as theirs, when in the safe defence
Of paradise, each act was innocence."
"Whilst she

Slept 'mongst the rose beds of security,
Exalted far above the gross mistakes

Of vulgar love-cloth'd in such thoughts as shakes
Ripe souls from out their husks of earth, to be
Pick'd up by angels, joy's stenography

In their embraces met."

Danger drew near; the lovers were awakened from their sweet repose by the sudden approach of a band of robbers, whom they at first mistook for the king's troops sent in search of them.

"Silence,

By rude noise banish'd from her solemn throne,
Did in a deep and hollow echo groan."-

Argalia attempted to defend himself; his sword broke, and he fell.

"Not the powerful prayer

Of her, whose voice had purified the air

To a seraphic excellence, the sweet
Heav'n-lov'd Pharonnida,"

could infuse pity into these rude inhabitants of the wil-
derness. The banditti carried off the two ladies, but left

the wounded Argalia to his fate. After travelling some time they arrived at a barren rock, through which they descended into a golden valley, at the end whereof was what externally appeared a hill covered with ivy-but internally displayed a gorgeous palace hewn out of the living stone. On their entrance the chieftain of the gang, who to their surprise and dismay was no other than Almanzor, appeared before them. He was equally surprised, and better pleased. Enraged at failing in all his attempts to regain the good opinion of the princess, the robber resolved to " mew the royal eaglet" and her companion in separate apartments. Having learned through his spies the name of their brave defender, and finding that the fear of personal ills could not subdue Pharonnida, he determined to try what her affection for Argalia would effect. In pursuance of this scheme, one night the curtains of her bed were withdrawn by a matronly lady, who is introduced in some lines, which breathe such a tender and solemn air, as might usher in some sainted abbess, who had arisen from her ashes, and re-assumed her human form.

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[Of] Grief from the sullen world conceal'd, to turn

The troubled stream-as if the silent urn

Of some dead friend, to private sorrow had
Summon'd her thither, enter'd was a sad

And sober matron; in her hand she bore
A light, whose feeble rays could scarce restore
The sick successor of the day unto

A cheerful smile. Sad pilgrims that renew
Acquaintance with their better angels by

Harsh penitence, have of humility

Less in their looks than she-her habits shew'd

Like costly ruins that their fashion ow'd

To elder pride."

This semblance of virtue having gained the confidence of Pharonnida, unfolded the object of her mission: which was, that Almanzor meant to make the possession of the princess's person the condition of his granting life to a wounded stranger, who now sent the very ring with which she had plighted her troth to Argalia, as a token that he released her from her vows.

"Pharonnida, whose fears confirm'd, did need
No more to wound a fancy that did bleed

At all the springs of passion, being by
The fatal present taught, whose liberty
Her love's exchange must purchase, with a sad
Reverse of th' eye beholding it, unclad

Her sorrow thus: And did, Oh did this come
By thy commands, Argalia? No; by some
Unworthy hand thou'rt robb'd of it-I know
Thou sooner would'st be tempted to let
go
Reliques of thy protecting saint-Oh cease,
Whate'er you are, to wrong him; the calm peace
He wears t' encounter death in, cannot be
Scatter'd by any storm of fear. Would he,
That hath affronted death in ev'ry shape
Of horror, tamely yield unto the rape
Of's virgin's honor, and not stand the shock
Of a base tyrant's anger? But I mock
My hopes with vain fantasmas; 'tis the love
He bears to me, carries his fear above
The orb of his own noble temper, to

An unknown world of passions, in whose new
Regions ambitious grown, it scorns to fall
Back to its centre, reason-whither all
The lines of action until now did bend
From's soul's circumference; yet know, his end,
If doom'd unto this cursed place, shall tell
The bloody tyrant that my passing bell
Tolls in his dying groans, and will ere long
Ring out in death-if sorrow, when grown strong
As fate, can raise the strokes of grief above
The strength of nature; which if not, yet love
Will find a passage, where our souls shall rest
In an eternal union-whilst opprest

With horror, he by whose command he dies,
Falls to the eternal powers a sacrifice.
If that your pity were no fiction, to
Betray my feeble passions, and undo
The knots of resolution, tell my friend
I live but to die his, and will attend

Him with my pray'rs (those verbal angels) 'till
His soul's on the wing; then follow him, and fill
Those blanks our fate left in the lines of life
Up with eternal bliss, where no harsh strife
Of a dissenting parent shall destroy

The blooming springs of our conjugal joy.'”

Dreadful was the revenge meditated by the old hag and her master-in the dead silence of night, the princess was alarmed by the sound of groans "dead as death's alarms;" and through the grates of her prison beheld, by the faint rays

of a lamp, a dying figure habited like her "gentle love;" immediately afterwards a band of ruffians entered her apartment, and hurried her into the place where this unfortunate person was entombed,

"Whom she must embrace
In death's dark lodgings; and ere life was fled,
Remain a sad companion of the dead-
Confining beauty, in youth's glorious bloom,
To the black prison of a dismal tomb,

Where fast enclos'd, earth's fairest blossom must
Unnaturally be planted in the dust;

Where life's bright star, heav'n's glorious influence,
Her soul, in labour in the slow suspense

Of lingering torments, must expecting lie

'Till famine nature's ligatures untie."

For almost a whole day Pharonnida remained a living tenant of the grave, when two prisoners confined in the next dungeon seeing through a chink in the wall, the lamp suspended over the tomb, forced their way to it, in hopes of escape their further progress was stopped, and as they were about to return, they were arrested by a deep groan. After a pious adjuration, the unfortunate lady exclaimed that she was there entombed alive.

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My spirit were
Blest if resolv'd to air; but here it must
A sad companion, in the silent dust,
To loath'd corruption be, until the pale
Approaching fiend, harsh famine, shall exhale
In dews of blood, the purple moisture, that
Fed life's fresh springs."

The two prisoners attempted to release her, but their efforts were fruitless-the ponderous marble over the tomb was not to be removed. Whilst they were thus engaged the old woman and her gang entered the sepulchre to see how their work proceeded the former was seized by one of the prisoners, and her coadjutors disposed of by the other. In order to save her life, the woman directed them to a spring, by touching which the tomb flew open, and Euriolus (for it was he and his friend Ismander) in amazement beheld the princess-they compelled the old woman to point out the prison of Florenza, whom they liberated; and putting the old gentlewoman in the princess's place, they seized some horses, fled the castle, and soon arrived at the hospitable mansion of Ismander, The story now returns to the

wounded Argalia, who was found by a monk, whose assistance Argalia's page had besought, struggling with death"Whilst his dim eyes,

Like a spent lamp, which, ere its weak flame dies,
In giddy blazes glares, as if his soul

Were at those casements flying out, did roll,

Swifter than thought, their blood-shot orbs, his hands
Did with death's agues tremble-cold dew stands

Upon his clammy lips."

Being removed to a monastery he was soon cured of his wounds. The attention of a monk, who had been one day dressing his wounds, was casually attracted by the jewel suspended on Argalia's neck, and knowing the matchless gem, he discovered, on inquiry, that the owner was the son of his old master, the king of Ætolia. From him Argalia first learned the secret of his birth: the account given by the monk was as follows: The town of Enna, in which the Ætolian king had taken refuge, having been besieged and captured by his rebellious subjects, he fled with his infant son, (in childbed of whom the queen had died) accompanied only by a faithful counsellor, (the friar) and left his son with the cottagers, as before related. The king and his friend retired to this monastery, where, after having reposed for a long time, the king called to mind a vow he had formerly made of a pilgrimage to the town of Enna. Accompanied by the monk he accordingly set off, and arriving near the town, sought protection in an adjacent monastery, where he was recognized by an old minister. By him he was informed of the state of his kingdom, and that the people having expressed a desire to see the old line restored, the usurper Zarrobrin had brought forward a pretended son of his. The king having been persuaded to appear once more in the world, an army was raised to support his rights-a battle was fought he was conquered, and taken prisoner by the usurper, and at that time remained in prison. To confirm this story, the monk opened the jewel by a secret spring, and shewed Argalia the picture of his father.

Pharonnida not being able to learn any tidings of her lover, had formed the resolution of retiring to a monastery, near Ismander's palace: thither she was escorted by her friends in solemn procession; and the ceremonies of profession were not gone through before

"The day was, on the glittering wings of light,
Fled to the western world, and swarthy night
On her black empire thron'd"—

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