"Within a little silent grove hard by,
Upon a small ascent he might espy
A stately chapel, richly gilt without,
Beset with shady sycamores about:
And ever and anon he might well hear
A sound of music steal in at his ear
As the wind gave it being :-so sweet an air
Would strike a syren mute.-
A hundred virgins there he might espy
Prostrate before a marble deity,
Which, by its portraiture, appear'd to be
The image of Diana :-on their knee
They tender'd their devotions: with sweet airs,
Offering the incense of their praise and prayers.
Their garments all alike; beneath their paps
Buckled together with a silver claps,
And cross their snowy silken robes, they wore
An azure scarf, with stars embroider'd o'er.
Their hair in curious tresses was knit
up,
Crown'd with a silver crescent on the top.
A silver bow their left hand held, their right,
For their defence, held a sharp-headed flight
Drawn from their broid'red quiver, neatly tied
In silken cords, and fasten'd to their side.
Under their vestments, something short before,
White buskins, lac'd with ribbanding, they wore.
It was a catching sight for a young eye,
That love had fir'd before :-he might espy
One, whom the rest had sphere-like circled round,
Whose head was with a golden chaplet crown'd.
He could not see her face, only his ear
Was blest with the sweet words that came from her."
The devotions of these nymphs are interrupted by a band of robbers, and after a show of resistance they take to flight, but some of the boldest, and amongst them their beautiful leader, are taken prisoners. Anaxus, on this, furiously rushes among the bandits, kills their leader, and speedily routs them. The virgins during this contest had dispersed and fled, but Anaxus, who had been severely wounded in the struggle, is opportunely relieved by Sylvanus, a benevolent recluse.
"A trim old man he was, though age had plough'd
Up many wrinkles in his brow, and bow'd
His body somewhat tow'rd the earth: his hairs,
Like the snow's woolly flakes, made white with cares,
The thorns that now and then pluck'd off the down,
And wore away for baldness to a crown:
His broad kemb'd beard hung down near to his waist,
The only comely ornament that grac'd
His reverend old age,-his feet were bare
But for his leathern sandals, which he ware
To keep them clean from galling, which compell'd
Him use a staff to help him to the field.
He durst not trust his legs, they fail'd him then,
And he was almost grown a child again:
Yet sound in judgement, not impair'd in mind,
For age had rather the soul's parts refin'd
Than any way infirm'd; his wit no less
'Than 'twas in youth, his memory as fresh ;
He fail'd in nothing but his earthly part,
That tended to its centre; yet his heart
Was still the same, and beat as lustily."
Sylvanus, to complete his cure, takes Anaxus home with him to his cell,
Promis'd as mean a lodging; pomp and pride
(Those peacocks of the time,) ne'er roosted there,
Content and lowliness the inmates were.
It was not so contemptible within,
There was some show of beauty that had been
Made much of in old time, but now well nigh
Worn out with envious time :"
Thealma, somewhat cheered in spirit by her unexpected meeting with her brother, and still more by a dream which told her that Clearchus lived,
trick'd herself in all her best attire,
As if she meant this day t' invite desire
To fall in love with her: her loose hair
Hung on her shoulders sporting with the air:
Her brow a coronet of rose-buds crown'd,
With loving woodbine's sweet embraces bound.
Two globe-like pearls were pendant to her ears,
And on her breast a costly gem she wears,
An adamant, in fashion like a heart,
Whereon love sat, a plucking out a dart,
With this same motto graven round about
On a gold border; Sooner in, than out.
This gem Clearchus gave her, when unknown,
At tilt, his valour won her for his own.
Instead of bracelets on her wrists, she wore
A pair of golden shackles, chain'd before
Unto a silver ring enamel'd blue,
Whereon in golden letters to the view
This motto was presented: Bound, yet free.
And in a true-love's knot, a T. and C.
Buckled it fast together; her silk gown
Of grassy green, in equal plaits hung down
Unto the earth: and as she went, the flowers,
Which she had broider'd on it at spare hours,
Were wrought so to the life, they seem'd to grow
In a green field, and as the wind did blow,
Sometimes a lily, then a rose takes place;
And blushing seems to hide it in the grass:
And here and there gold oates 'mong pearls she strew,
That seem'd like shining glow-worms in the dew.
Her sleeves were tinsel, wrought with leaves of green,
In equal distance spangeled between,
And shadowed over with a thin lawn cloud,
Through which her workmanship more graceful show'd."
In this attire she leads "her milky drove to field," and while she is singing and playing, Cleon, a Lemnian nobleman, and Rhotus, an Arcadian fisherman,* passing on their way to court, have their attention arrested by her sweet soul-melting accents," and Cleon recognizing Thealma, informs her that her father was dead, and that he himself was in search of the Prince Anaxus to call him to the throne. Rhotus, learning from Thealma's self-accusing laments the supposed loss of Clearchus, relates that he had rescued from drowning a noble youth, who since had won the Arcadian crown. This youth called himself Alexis, but from the time of his shipwreck, the grief with which he appeared overwhelmed, and from his often hearing him sigh out Thealma," he conjectured that he was no other than the lost Clearchus. Thealma entrusts Cleon with a jewel which Clearchus had given her, as a token to the king, and he and Rhotus proceed on their journey to the court.
"Home now Thealma wends 'twixt hope and fear,
Sometimes she smiles; anon she drops a tear
That stole along her cheeks, and falling down,
Into a pearl it freezeth with her frown."
* This fisherman acts a very prominent and dignified part in the story, and confirms, if any proof were wanted, the great predilection of Chalkhill for the profession.
Anaxus sojourns with Sylvanus until his wounds are healed. The latter, by his skill in soothsaying, not only discovers the quality and country of his guest, and the object of his journey, but informs him of his father's death, and of the plots that were forming against him at home. He advises him to repair to the Arcadian coast, and tells him he will find his squire Pandevius, inquiring his master's fate of the witch Orandra, of whose blandishments he warns Anaxus to beware, and gives him a herb as a defence against her sorcery.
"Down in a gloomy valley, thick with shade,
Which two aspiring hanging rocks had made,
That shut out day, and barr'd the glorious sun
From prying into th' actions there done;
Set full of box, and cypress, poplar, yew,
And hateful elder, that in thickets grew,
Among whose boughs the screech-owl and night-crow
Sadly recount their prophecies of woe,
Where leather-winged bats, that hate the light,
Fan the thick air, more sooty than the night.
The ground o'er-grown with weeds, and bushy shrubs,
Where milky hedge-hogs nurse their prickly cubs:
And here and there a mandrake grows, that strikes
The hearers dead with their loud fatal shrieks;
Under whose spreading leaves the ugly toad,
The adder, and the snake, make their abode.
Here dwelt Orandra, so the witch was hight,
And hither had she toal'd him by a sleight:
She knew Anaxus was to go to court,
And, envying virtue, she made it her sport
To hinder him, sending her airy spies
Forth with delusions to entrap his eyes,
And captivate his ear with various tones,
Sometimes of joy, and other whiles of moans:
Sometimes he hears delicious sweet lays
Wrought with such curious descant as would raise
Attention in a stone:-anon a groan
Reacheth his ear, as if it came from one
That craved his help; and by and by he spies
A beauteous virgin with such catching eyes
As would have fir'd a hermit's chill desires
Into a flame; his greedy eye admires
The more than human beauty of her face,
And much ado he had to shun the grace,
Conceit had shaped her out so like his love,
That he was once about in vain to prove,
Whether 'twas his Clarinda, yea or no,
But he bethought him of his herb, and so
The shadow vanish'd-many a weary step,
It led the prince, that pace with it still kept,
Until it brought him by a hellish power
Unto the entrance of Orandra's bower,
Where underneath an elder tree he spied
His man Pandevius, pale and hollow ey'd ;
Inquiring of the cunning witch what fate
Betid his master; they were newly sate
When his approach disturb'd them; up she
And tow'rd Anaxus (envious hag) she goes;
Pandevius she had charm'd into a maze,
And struck him mute, all he could do was gaze.
He call'd him by his name, but all in vain,
Echo returns Pandevius back again;
Which made him wonder, when a sudden fear
Shook all his joints : she, cunning hag, drew near,
And smelling to his herb, he recollects
His wandering spirits, and with anger checks
His coward fears; resolved now to outdare
The worst of dangers, whatsoe'er they were;
He ey'd her o'er and o'er, and still his eye
Found some addition to deformity.
An old decrepit hag she was, grown white
With frosty age, and wither'd with despight,
And self-consuming hate; in furs yclad,
And on her head a thrummy cap she had.
Her knotty locks, like to Alecto's snakes,
Hang down about her shoulders, which she shakes
Into disorder; on her furrow'd brow
One might perceive Time had been long at plough.
Her eyes like candle-snuffs by age sunk quite
Into their sockets, yet like cats'-eyes bright:
And in the darkest night like fire they shin'd,
The ever open windows of her mind.
Her swarthy cheeks, Time, that all things consumes,
Had hollowed flat unto her toothless gums.
Her hairy brows did meet above her nose,
That like an eagle's beak so crooked grows,
It well nigh kiss'd her chin; thick bristled hair
Grew on the upper lip, and here and there
A rugged wart with grisly hairs behung;
Her breasts shrunk up, her nails and fingers long,
|