University of Virginia Library

Boreas and Orythia.

The fair Orythia still remain'd unmov'd,
Tho' she by Boreas had been long belov'd.
No kindled Flame he in the Maid could find,
Nor raise one spark with all his force of Wind.
His colder blasts all Am'rous heat supprest,
And chill'd the warmth of the Young Virgin's Breast.
So much he Lov'd, he but in sighs could blow,
Which spread his Fires and made them fiercer glow,
'Till at the last, when he all means had try'd,
Had often ask'd, and been as oft deny'd.
Vex'd, and inrag'd at her unkind disdain,
And rack'd to find that he had burn'd in vain.
Storming aloud, all Furious does he move,
Incens'd, with Anger much, but more with Love,
In show'rs of Tears, he sheds his wat'ry store,
Yet all can't lay the Tempests rais'd before.
In Blustring sounds he does aloud Proclaim,
With all his Breath, his Lov'd Orythia's Name,
Wildly, from place to place in hast he roves,
Tells all the Vallies his rejected Loves,
Then Whispers soft Orythia to the bending Groves
As thro' the Forests in Despair he flies,
Each Tree that he Salutes, for his scorn'd Passion sighs,
Ah! Charming Maid, he crys, too late I find,
That you are deafer than my Northern Wind;
Will nothing move you, nothing make you kind?
Where can your Favours be by you bestow'd,
When you refuse them proudly to a God?
Alas! you know not, beauteous, scornful fair,
How I make War in our wide Field, the Air.
There I my Breth'ren in a storm assail,
And Fight with Oaks, and beat the Earth with Hail.
I meet all Winds with such impetuous shock,
That Thund'ring Skies with our encounters rock.
I toss the Billows, and I dash the Floods,
And force out Light'nings from the bursting Clouds.
Tow'rs I throw down, and fly thro' hollow Caves,
Driving pale Ghosts, all trembling; to their Graves.
Whene'er I shake my horrid Wings around,
Their Airy motion strikes with Blasts, the ground.
I trail my dusky Mantle on the shore,
And, when I please, I make the Ocean roar.
Fierce as I am, where ever else I flee,
Yet, soft as Zephyrs, do I play with thee.
This said—he strait the Lovely Maid beheld,
And he resolves she shall be now compell'd.
In Clouds of dust, which he had rais'd, he hid,
And there observ'd whate'er Orythia did.
Soon she perceives him, and not yet grown kind,
Out-fled the God, tho' the swift God of Wind.
His speedy flight his fiercer Fires had spread,
Fleet, as Love's shafts which wounded him, he fled,
And, now he overtakes, now ravishes the Maid.
Vain might his Wings, with all their Fleetness prove,
Unless assisted by the Wings of Love.