 | A collection of poems |  |
25
Belinda. A Pastoral.
Like Phœbus, thus, acquiring unsought praise
He catch'd at love; and fill'd his arms with bays.
Waller.
He catch'd at love; and fill'd his arms with bays.
Waller.
“Ye tuneful nine, who all my soul inspire,
“Whose numbers charm me, and whose transports fire,
“Snatch me, O snatch me to some gentle seat,
“Where shady forests form a soft retreat.
“And thou, O spring, deck the surrounding bow'rs,
“Ye blossoms bloom, and flourish all ye flow'rs.
“Belinda comes, I hear her heav'nly voice,
“Let the flow'rs flourish, and the blooms rejoice.
“Whose numbers charm me, and whose transports fire,
“Snatch me, O snatch me to some gentle seat,
“Where shady forests form a soft retreat.
“And thou, O spring, deck the surrounding bow'rs,
“Ye blossoms bloom, and flourish all ye flow'rs.
“Belinda comes, I hear her heav'nly voice,
“Let the flow'rs flourish, and the blooms rejoice.
“Belinda fair my wanton fancy leads
“Where fainting breezes whisper o'er the meads,
“High leaps my heart, and ev'ry pulse beats love,
“While the dear name soft dies along the grove;
“Her name, in echoes dances on the hills,
“Adds softer musick to the bubb'ling Rills,
“Bids each gay tree a livelier verdure show,
“The lillies whiten, and the roses glow,
“Scatters the gloomy horrors of the night,
“And gives a glory to the noon-day light.
“Where fainting breezes whisper o'er the meads,
“High leaps my heart, and ev'ry pulse beats love,
“While the dear name soft dies along the grove;
“Her name, in echoes dances on the hills,
“Adds softer musick to the bubb'ling Rills,
“Bids each gay tree a livelier verdure show,
“The lillies whiten, and the roses glow,
“Scatters the gloomy horrors of the night,
“And gives a glory to the noon-day light.
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“But, ah! fond youth, forbear thy am'rous strain,
“Vain is thy passion, and thy numbers vain!
“Could'st thou e'er hope, presumptuous, that the fair,
“With smiling eyes should dawn upon thy pray'r,
“That panting, sinking, with surrend'ring charms,
“The beauteous nymph should bless thy circling arms?
“Ah! no, some happier youth the fates have blest
“To reign, unrival'd, in her lovely breast;
“Some happier youth, ah! so ye pow'rs decree,
“Who never sung, who never lov'd like me;
“He, coldly asking, shall obtain the prize,
“And bear the beauty from my trembling eyes,
“Shall, without rapture, on the goddess gaze,
“And uninspir'd, behold her smiling face;
“When her sweet voice chimes in his tasteless ear,
“He'll hear indeed, but will regardless hear:
“While I, unhappy, shall the nymph deplore,
“Nor court the day, nor ask a pleasure more:
“Pensive, I'll wander through the lonely woods,
“And tell my sorrows to the list'ning floods,
“Give to the hills and vales my passions vent,
“While the rough rocks repeat my loud complaint,
“The trees, attentive, shall forget to bloom,
“Nor a ray glimmer in their solemn gloom.
“Vain is thy passion, and thy numbers vain!
“Could'st thou e'er hope, presumptuous, that the fair,
“With smiling eyes should dawn upon thy pray'r,
“That panting, sinking, with surrend'ring charms,
“The beauteous nymph should bless thy circling arms?
“Ah! no, some happier youth the fates have blest
“To reign, unrival'd, in her lovely breast;
“Some happier youth, ah! so ye pow'rs decree,
“Who never sung, who never lov'd like me;
“He, coldly asking, shall obtain the prize,
“And bear the beauty from my trembling eyes,
“Shall, without rapture, on the goddess gaze,
“And uninspir'd, behold her smiling face;
“When her sweet voice chimes in his tasteless ear,
“He'll hear indeed, but will regardless hear:
“While I, unhappy, shall the nymph deplore,
“Nor court the day, nor ask a pleasure more:
“Pensive, I'll wander through the lonely woods,
“And tell my sorrows to the list'ning floods,
“Give to the hills and vales my passions vent,
“While the rough rocks repeat my loud complaint,
“The trees, attentive, shall forget to bloom,
“Nor a ray glimmer in their solemn gloom.
Thus Strephon sung to all th' admiring swains,
And moving numbers warbled o'er the plains;
Sometimes, elate, he sung the yielding fair,
Then mourn'd, and sigh'd, abandon'd to despair,
The shepherds, fixt in deep attention hung,
And griev'd, or triumph'd, to the varying song;
They blest th' harmonious accents of his lyre,
And the nice hand that touch'd the trembling wire,
Their hearts o'ercome with gen'rous passions flam'd,
They curs'd his rival, and Belinda blam'd.
And moving numbers warbled o'er the plains;
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Then mourn'd, and sigh'd, abandon'd to despair,
The shepherds, fixt in deep attention hung,
And griev'd, or triumph'd, to the varying song;
They blest th' harmonious accents of his lyre,
And the nice hand that touch'd the trembling wire,
Their hearts o'ercome with gen'rous passions flam'd,
They curs'd his rival, and Belinda blam'd.
When Strephon thus—“Forbear rash swains forbear,
“Nor wish the rival ill, nor fault the fair.
“O bless Belinda, all ye pow'rs above,
“And bless the man, Belinda deigns to love!
“But me, ah! me ten thousand pangs arrest,
“And mix tumultuous in my beating breast,
“Must that fair form (forbid it, O ye Skies!)
“Must that fair form be ravish'd from my eyes?
“Shall some more favour'd youth with haughty air,
“Far from my sight the lovely charmer bear?
“Throw round her slender waist his stupid arms,
“Nor own, ungrateful, the superiour charms?
“From her gay bosom snatch th' unsullied snows,
“And from her blushing cheeks, the op'ning rose,
“Yet his cold lips taste no exalted joys,
“Nor one glad sparkle languish in his eyes?
“Shall he—No more, my heart forgets to move,
“And life's warm stream its circling maze to rove;
“The killing thought defaces all the scene,
“Fades evry flow'r, and withers ev'ry green,
“Augments the murmur of the running rills,
“And spreads a gloomier shadow o'er the hills.
“Nor wish the rival ill, nor fault the fair.
“O bless Belinda, all ye pow'rs above,
“And bless the man, Belinda deigns to love!
“But me, ah! me ten thousand pangs arrest,
“And mix tumultuous in my beating breast,
“Must that fair form (forbid it, O ye Skies!)
“Must that fair form be ravish'd from my eyes?
“Shall some more favour'd youth with haughty air,
“Far from my sight the lovely charmer bear?
“Throw round her slender waist his stupid arms,
“Nor own, ungrateful, the superiour charms?
“From her gay bosom snatch th' unsullied snows,
“And from her blushing cheeks, the op'ning rose,
“Yet his cold lips taste no exalted joys,
“Nor one glad sparkle languish in his eyes?
“Shall he—No more, my heart forgets to move,
“And life's warm stream its circling maze to rove;
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“Fades evry flow'r, and withers ev'ry green,
“Augments the murmur of the running rills,
“And spreads a gloomier shadow o'er the hills.
Thus while he sung the soft Belinda's praise,
Hills, fields, and vales re-echo'd to his lays;
The shepherds hearken'd 'till the god of light
Roll'd down his car; and rush'd along the night.
Hills, fields, and vales re-echo'd to his lays;
The shepherds hearken'd 'till the god of light
Roll'd down his car; and rush'd along the night.
| A collection of poems | |