University of Virginia Library

In a deep Vale; lodg'd among Ancient Trees,
Which Shade it round, a Silver Fountain lies.
Girt with long Grass, whose Verdant Beauties show,
To whose great Bounty they their freshness owe.
No angry blasts the Spring's smooth surface moves,
A peaceful Calm the liquid Chrystal Loves,
No loose, rude leaves it's Virgin Waters stain,
From the least Mote, and every Blemish clean.
So clear it shows, the Beauteous Trees appear,
As if they saw to place their branches there.
Whose lofty Tops do with such tremblings move,
As if they too were with themselves in Love.

Here, tir'd with hunting, fair Narcissus came,
Nor from such Waters fear'd a rising Flame.
Pleas'd with the Shade, upon his Face he lies,
Till Captiv'd there by his own Conquering Eyes.
He sees his Shadow in the liquid Glass,
But knew not what his Charming Shadow was.
With constant Eyes the fleeting form he views,
For fear the darling object he should lose.
So have I seen a well-Cut Parian Stone,
Appear to gaze, with admiration, down.
He Loves himself, what shall the Lover do,
Both his own Mistress, and his Suitor too?
Oft stoop'd he down to catch the pleasing Cloud,
And fill'd his Arms with the deceitful Flood.
From the fierce Lover the false image fled,
Coy, and Disdainful, as a Courted Maid.
How could he hope, or e'er expect to find
So cold a Mistress to his wishes kind?
How could her wat'ry Breast his Flames approve,
Too chill alas! to feel the warmth of Love.
Raising at length, with pain, his drooping Head,
Thus, with a sigh, and folded Arms, he said.
Tell me, ye Woods, ye aged Woods declare,
Have ye yet known a Youth so Wretched here?
No Seas, nor Mountains do our Joys remove,
Nought, but a little Water, parts our Love.
As oft as I to Kiss the Flood design,
So oft his Lips ascend, to Join with mine.
Ah! Beauteous Boy! Why should you scornful flee?
I too am Young, I too have Charms, like thee.
Come forth, whate'er thou art, nor grieve me so,
Or I will follow you where'er you go.
You move your Lips, I see your Breath appear,
But what you utter I must never hear.
Oh! 'tis my self, alas! I plainly see,
'Tis my own Shadow that bewitches me.
In my own Flames I burn; what shall I do?
Direct me, Heavens! Shall I be woo'd, or wooe?
What shall I wish, what shall I further crave,
Since what I covet I already have?
Ye bounteous Gods! too much has made me Poor,
Disjoin me from my self, I ask no more.
Sure my desire may admiration move,
I would be dispossess'd of all I Love.
Alas! I faint, I find I cannot live,
Sure after Death I shall no longer grieve.
Would her I Love might stay when I am gone,
Two Wretched Lovers are destroy'd in one.
Then gaz'd again upon the form he made,
And view'd with Watry Eyes the false, deluding Shade.
His dropping Tears rais'd Circles, as they fell,
And sunk the Shadow which he Lov'd so well.
Weeping, methinks, should ease the pains he bore,
But ev'n his Tears made him Lament the more.
Soon as he saw the fleeting Shadow flee,
Ah! stay he cry'd, and I will die with thee.
Let me but see you in the Envious Flood,
And Feast my Passion on that empty food.
Ah! too, too Justly I deserve my pain,
The Nymphs all Lov'd me, yet they Lov'd in vain.
The Beauteous Eccho, oh! I Mourn for her,
Ungrateful I, who would not hear her Pray'r.
My harsh disdain did that fair Virgin kill,
Shame to my Sex! By me, by me she fell.
Complaining thus, he beats his Naked Breast,
But feels the Torment where the pain was least.
His Snowy skin by his rude Blows was made
Like fairest Apples streakt around with red.
Which when he saw in his fair form appear,
He could no longer such a sorrow bear,
Here he receiv'd the strokes, but smarted there.
As virgin Wax dissolves with fervent heat,
Or Morning Frost, whereon the Sun-beams beat.
So thaws Narcissus with his fierce desire,
And Melts consum'd in an unsual Fire.
From his pale Cheeks their wonted glories fled,
They Blush no longer with a Beauteous Red.
None of those Charms, those fatal Charms remain,
Which Wretched Eccho so admir'd in vain.
That slighted Nymph deplores his hopeless fate,
Nor, for his scorn, did she return him hate.
From her sad Breast all Thoughts of Vengeance fled,
She living Lov'd him, and she Mourns him dead.
He dying cry'd, farewel, belov'd in vain,
She Sympathizing, so complain'd again.
The wasted Youth a Yellow Flow'r became,
A Beauteous Flow'r, which still retains the name.
The Swains bewail him, all throughout the Groves,
And every Shepherd Moans Narcissus Loves.
The Mourning Nymphs bedew the ground with Tears,
That much Lov'd ground, which fair Narcissus bears.
Then view with sorrow the deluding well,
And with their Flowing griefs the Waters swell,
Those hated Waters where Narcissus fell.
No tuneful Bird in all those Woods will sing,
And pensive Flocks pass bleating by the Spring.
It's very Waters a repentance show,
And seem to Weep, as from the well they flow.