The Amyntas of Tasso/Prologue

by Torquato Tasso

THE

PROLOGUE.

 

CUPID in a Shepherd's Dress.

'TIS strange—but in a shepherd's poor disguise
A God conceals himself from curious eyes:
Yet no plebeian deity am I;
My power controuls the greatest of the sky.
Mars oft by me suspends his lust for war,
Foregoes his crimson sword, and rattling car:
Rough Neptune oft acknowledges my reign,
And drops the trident which compels the main,
Nay, my extensive influence reaches Jove,
Ruler of men below, and gods above;
Oft, at my will, some nymph's relaxing charms
The universe's governour disarms;
No more those bolts omnipotent are hurled
That shake Olympus, and chastise the world.

 Skreened by a simple shepherd's garb, and face,
My mother sure in vain my flight will trace.
Whene'er at simple hearts my shafts I aim,
I'm forced by stealth to leave my haughty dame;
For she, a very female, proud, and vain,
Despises empire of a modest strain;
Allows me not to prostitute my darts
(Such is her rant) to vile, ignoble hearts;
Counts every victim for my bow too mean,
Except a courtier, or a King, or Queen;
And bids me send my scouts, my menial loves,
To skulk in cottages, and range in groves.
But though I'm playful, and of youthful mien
(Sure joyous love should in it's god be seen)
She shall not guide my province in her way;
I am a deity, I know my sway,
Know to my awful ensigns what I owe,
The torch omnipotent, the golden bow.

 For this I often court the peaceful plain,
Nor can a mother's prayers my fight restrain;
Tired with a capital's parade, and noise,
I fly for refuge to Arcadia's joys:
There am I pleased to see plain nature live;
Olympus only purer sweets can give:
There do I visit undistorted life———
———No rank diseases, no chagrin, no strife;
There to extend my power, well-pleased I aim,
And shed a lambent, not a scorching flame;
There I can act upon my genuine plan,
And, like a god, promote the good of man.

 Thus when I chuse in person to maintain
O'er fields, and villages my peaceful reign;
My mother, ever bent on some great aim,
Too haughty to inspire a rural flame,
To call me to her aid, from paltry views,
The vagrant rebel oft in vain persues;
And promises to those who find her boy,
The rapturous kiss, or more extatic joy.
Mistaken Venus! is not mine the power,
As well as thine, to bless the tender hour?
To purchase my concealment when I rove
In happy vales, and cherish guiltless love,
Say, cannot I those tempting bribes employ,
The rapturous kiss, or more extatick joy?
 The fair, most apt a secret to reveal,
True to my interest, my retreats conceal:
A kiss from Venus, with her charms divine,
To females is not half so dear as mine;
A kiss by me, the God of Love, impressed,
Must speak strong language to a fair-one's breast;
The god of love, who sure must know it's art,
Can always for himself transfix a heart.

 But that I might elude each curious view,
And at my leisure my design persue,
I carry not the marks that Cupid show,
I'm stripped of wings, of quiver, and of bow.

 Yet not without my arms I take the field;
'Tis not in vain this magick rod I wield;
My torch I've metamorphosed to this rod,
It still obeys the purpose of it's god;
It's powerful motions certain love inspire;
Sure as Jove's bolt it darts it's subtle fire.
And though this arrow is not tipped with gold,
In it my wonted sovereignty I hold;
It will not lag, nor will it miss it's aim,
But through the destined heart drive all my flame.
I with this arrow mean to pierce the heart
Of one who never felt love's pungent smart;
To thaw from steril frost to warm desire
The coldest virgin of Diana's choir;
And Sylvia's breast shall all that ardour know
With which my dart inflamed some years ago
Amyntas' bosom, who, as yet a boy,
By Sylvia's side still felt a secret joy;
Still at the chace with Sylvia scoured the plains,
And joined in all the pastimes of the swains.
And that my shaft it's errand well may go,
And make a thorough victim of my foe,
The tender, lucky moment I'll espy,
When pity from her soul darts to her eye;
When, listening to his tale of artless truth,
She sheds soft glances on the constant youth.
Then when her virgin ice dissolves away,
Then when her ear endures his amorous lay,
When she forgets each frown, each female whim,
I'll pierce her through, and make her bleed like him.

 Coy Sylvia now is hastening to the plain,
Where spotless mirth oft chears the nymph and swain;
Where to the dance, the song, and rural play,
The happy throng devote this sestal day.
Thither will I in shepherd's garb repair,
Mix with the peasants, in their pleasure share;
And at the crisis let my arrow fly,
Too swift, and fine to meet a mortal eye.

 These wondering woods, and rivulets, to-day,
Shall echo an unusual amorous lay;
And by it's energy it shall appear
The deity of love himself is here.
I, as I list, the human frame controul;
Í mollify, and raise the rudest soul;
By me the clown imbibes rich fancy's store,
And rustick tongues fine elocution pour:
And whilst my flame inspires the shepherd's thought,
His reed shall emulate a Pindar's note.
I generously remove wealth's proud barrier,
Of distant ranks bring kindred tempers near;
And spurning custom's arbitrary rule,
Would fain bring back the world to nature's school.

 Yet rashly 'tis pronounced that I am blind—
———No; be the blindness charged on human kind.
Let man with reason mix my hallowed fire,
And then shall happiness exalt desire.

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