The Works of John Sheffield Earl of Mulgrave, Marquis of Normanby, and Duke of Buckingham. In two volumes ... The third edition, Corrected |
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ODE on LOVE.
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 | The Works of John Sheffield |  |
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ODE on LOVE.
[I.]
Let others Songs or Satires write,Provok'd by Vanity or Spite;
My Muse a nobler Cause shall move,
To sound aloud the Praise of Love:
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Which raises Man to all things good and great:
While other Passions of the Mind
To low Brutality debase Mankind,
By Love we are above ourselves refin'd.
Oh Love, thou Trance divine! in which the Soul,
Unclogg'd with worldly Cares, may range without Controul;
And soaring to her Heav'n, from thence inspir'd can teach
High Mysteries, above poor Reason's feeble Reach.
II.
To weak old Age Prudence some Aid may prove,And curb those Appetites that faintly move;
But wild, impetuous Youth is tam'd by nothing less than Love.
Of Men too rough for Peace, too rude for Arts,
Love's Pow'r can penetrate the hardest Hearts;
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Like that of Light, to shine all o'er the Mind.
The Want of Love does both Extremes produce;
Maids are too nice, and Men as much too loose;
While equal Good an am'rous Couple find,
She makes him constant, and he makes her kind.
New Charms in vain a Lover's Faith would prove;
Hermits or Bed-rid Men they'll sooner move:
The fair Inveigler will but sadly find,
There's no such Eunuch as a Man in Love.
But when by his chaste Nymph embrac'd,
(For Love makes all Embraces chaste)
Then the transported Creature can
Do Wonders, and is more than Man.
Both Heav'n and Earth would our Desires confine;
But yet in vain both Heav'n and Earth combine,
Unless where Love blesses the great Design.
Hymen makes fast the Hand, but Love the Heart;
He the Fool's God, thou Nature's Hymen art;
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But the false Breach itself is a Divorce.
III.
For Love the Miser will his Gold despise,The False grow faithful, and the Foolish wise;
Cautious the Young, and complaisant the Old,
The Cruel gentle, and the Coward bold.
Thou glorious Sun within our Souls,
Whose Influence so much controuls;
Ev'n dull and heavy Lumps of Love,
Quicken'd by thee, more lively move;
And if their Heads but any Substance hold,
Love ripens all that Dross into the purest Gold.
In Heav'n's great Work thy Part is such,
That master-like thou giv'st the last great Touch
To Heav'n's own Master-piece of Man;
And finishest what Nature but began:
Thy happy Stroke can into Softness bring
Reason, that rough and wrangling thing.
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And grow but greater Children ev'ry Day:
So, Reason, how can we be said to rise?
So many Cares attend the being wise,
'Tis rather falling down a Precipice.
From Sense to Reason unimprov'd we move;
We only then advance, when Reason turns to Love.
IV.
Thou reignest o'er our earthly Gods;Uncrown'd by thee, their other Crowns are Loads;
One Beauty's Smile their meanest Courtier brings
Rather to pity than to envy Kings;
His Fellow Slaves he takes them now to be,
Favour'd by Love perhaps much less than he,
For Love, the tim'rous bashful Maid
Of nothing but denying is afraid;
For Love she overcomes her Shame,
Forsakes her Fortune, and forgets her Fame;
Yet, if but with a constant Lover blest,
Thanks Heav'n for that, and never minds the rest.
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V.
Love is the Salt of Life; a higher TasteIt gives to Pleasure, and then makes it last.
Those slighted Favours which cold Nymphs dispense,
Mere common Counters of the Sense,
Defective both in Mettle and in Measure,
A Lover's Fancy coins into a Treasure.
How vast the Subject! What a boundless Store
Of bright Ideas, shining all before
The Muses Sight, forbids me to give o'er!
But the kind God incites us various Ways,
And now I find him all my Ardour raise,
His Precepts to perform, as well as praise.
| The Works of John Sheffield | |