The fragrant rose of Sharon's bow'rs, Refresh'd by morning's dewy show'rs, Ere burning suns prevail, Could boast no tint, no charm, no grace, Like Elda's form, like Elda's face. Her mind as crystal streams was pure, But worth nor beauty can secure From sad affliction's storm: And though the knight her love repaid, A powerful hand their hopes betray'd. Arganta, skill'd in magic charms, Long woo'd Sir Albert to her arms, Till, by her art, the cause she learn'd, "Ah! where, sir knight, is now thy fair? Ah! where does Elda pine? By demons carried through the air, Haste, mount and seek thy destin'd bride, His breast by bitter anguish torn, Sir Albert took his steed, And onward pass'd, like lightning borne, At length, as dawn'd the second day, And a deep stream, that cross'd the way, For rocks, that fenc'd the other side, While lost in wonder stood the knight, A snake, with scales of silver bright, And, swift descending from the skies, True knights the weak from wrong should guard, This well Sir Albert knew; And quickly, with his keen-edg'd sword, The feather'd tyrant slew; When, thus from fear reliev'd, the snake Sprang to a verdant bank and spake: "Sir Knight, a fairy's power I hold, And this your gen'rous aid, That sav'd my life, a hundred fold Shall shortly be repaid. Through streams and woods now force your way, For Elda chides your long delay." Th' enamour'd knight the voice obey'd, And, plunging through the deep, Still by his gen'rous steed convey'd, Soon climb'd the rocky steep, Where trees grew thick, his course to stay, But soon, as by his dauntless might Soft from each shade the dulcet sound Sir Albert stopp'd, amaz'd, confounded, Perfumes that scented ev'ry breeze His steed he left, and listless laid A tree, enrich'd with golden fruit, The knight beheld, with wishing eyes, But as he lay, his arm's extent At length his sword he drew, in haste, But wonder seiz'd the startled knight, When, from the wound, to chill his sight, Nor less affright his bosom stirr'd, "Ah, me! Sir Knight," it, sighing, said, By arts transform'd, your Elda view, The madning phrensy of despair, Yet still fast flow'd the purple tide, The fatal weapon then he rais'd, She twin'd around the bleeding wood, "Sir Knight," she said, "in this sad hour Arganta's charms prevail; And I, now robb'd of half my power, But, if my grateful aid you prize, The form of this much-injur'd fair, Nor can the arm, your vent'rous sword Till, by your valour, you obtain, Made from two locks, as white as snow, But think that she you boast to love Arganta now reposing lies, And if she 'scape, your Elda dies." Fir'd with this dawning hope, the knight Across the valley flew; But threat'ning clouds obscur'd the light, As tow'rds the wood he drew; Yet nought disturb'd his dauntless breast, And onwards to the task he press'd. Now, sudden walls of burning fire Rose up to stop his way, Where horrid fiends and monsters dire Appear'd in grim array; Fearless he march'd to scale the wall, When fiends and monsters vanish'd all. |