soon we pass’d,
    Sacred to Chastity, to ward the pest
    With which her sensual foes inflame the breast;
    The patroness of noble dames alone—­
    Then was the fair plebeian Pole unknown,
    The victress here display’d her martial spoils,
    And here the laurel hung that crown’d her toils: 
    A guard she stationed on the temple’s bound—­
    The Tuscan, mark’d with many a glorious wound
    Suspicion in the jealous breast to cure: 
    With him a chosen squadron kept the door. 
    I heard their names, and I remember well
    The youthful Greek that by his stepdame fell,
    And him who, kept by Heaven’s command in awe,
    Refused to violate the nuptial law.

    BOYD.

THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH.

PART I.

Questa leggiadra e gloriosa Donna.

      The glorious Maid, whose soul to heaven is gone
    And left the rest cold earth, she who was grown
    A pillar of true valour, and had gain’d
    Much honour by her victory, and chain’d
    That god which doth the world with terror bind,
    Using no armour but her own chaste mind;
    A fair aspect, coy thoughts, and words well weigh’d,
    Sweet modesty to these gave friendly aid. 
    It was a miracle on earth to see
    The bow and arrows of the deity,
    And all his armour broke, who erst had slain
    Such numbers, and so many captive ta’en;
    The fair dame from the noble sight withdrew
    With her choice company,—­they were but few. 
    And made a little troop, true virtue’s rare,—­
    Yet each of them did by herself appear
    A theme for poems, and might well incite
    The best historian:  they bore a white
    Unspotted ermine, in a field of green,
    About whose neck a topaz chain was seen
    Set in pure gold; their heavenly words and gait,
    Express’d them blest were born for such a fate. 
    Bright stars they seem’d, she did a sun appear,
    Who darken’d not the rest, but made more clear
    Their splendour; honour in brave minds is found: 
    This troop, with violets and roses crown’d,
    Cheerfully march’d, when lo, I might espy
    Another ensign dreadful to mine eye—­
    A lady clothed in black, whose stern looks were
    With horror fill’d, and did like hell appear,
    Advanced, and said, “You who are proud to be
    So fair and young, yet have no eyes to see
    How near you are your end; behold, I am
    She, whom they, fierce, and blind, and cruel name,
    Who meet untimely deaths; ’twas I did make
    Greece subject, and the Roman Empire shake;
    My piercing sword sack’d Troy, how many rude
    And barbarous people are by me subdued? 
    Many ambitious, vain, and amorous thought
    My unwish’d presence hath to nothing brought;