University of Virginia Library

Pan and Syrinx.

Ye haughty Maids, let this example warn,
And fright you all from your injurious scorn.
Fair Syrinx liv'd on sweet Arcadia's plains,
The Joy, and Torment of the wondring Swains.
Belov'd by all, yet no one's Flames return'd,
For her the Rival Gods, for her the Sylvans burn'd.
Nay, the rough Satyrs lay their rudeness by,
Such was her Form! And gaze when she is nigh.
For, thro' the Woods oft with her Bow she came,
And like Diana, chac'd the flying game.
At her approach the yielding Branches Bow,
And hasty twigs bend till she passes through.
The darkest Groves are on a suddain bright,
And seem to smile at their new Robe of light.
The Am'rous Trees Bow their Officious heads,
And strew their willing leaves, where'er fair Syrinx Treads.
All who behold her, are her Suitors grown,
But the Chast Nymph resolves to live alone,
To live a Maid, and therefore pities none.
Unhappy fair! By her own Charms betray'd,
Such Beauties sure were for enjoyment made.
Her eager Lovers now in vain pursue,
And strive to Ravish, since in vain they wooe.
Untouch'd, till now, she sported all abroad,
But now is Courted by the Shepherd's God.
As, Crown'd with Pines, Pan from Lycæus came,
He saw the Nymph at her delightful game,
He saw, he Lov'd, and must reveal his Flame.
And with such Words as these, he urg'd her stay,
Why from a God do you thus hast away?
Sweating, and spent, he follows still the fair,
Sees the blest Zephyrs wanton in her Hair,
And all her flying Garments loosely bear.
Her growing Beauties now inflame him more,
And his fresh Crown he from his Temples tore,
A Crown he always much esteem'd before.
Now, to smooth Ladon's Sandry Banks they flew,
She shuns him fast, who does more fast pursue,
In the God's reach the Nymph does now appear,
The Wings of Love out-fly the Wings of fear.
With longing Arms he strives to seize his prey,
Which from his cheated Arms escapes as oft away.
Thus the balk'd Hound snaps at the Hare in vain,
Deceiv'd, Posts on, and is deceiv'd again.
But now the Nymph no more has Pow'r to run,
Nor knows she how the eager God to shun.
She strait the watry Deity adores,
Desires their pity, and their aid implores.
Her Pray'rs are heard, and she is caught at last,
Whom, chang'd to Reeds, the wond'ring Pan embrac't.
Amaz'd, he now for his lost Mistress Mourns,
And speaks her praises, and his griefs by turns.
Stirr'd with his sighs, the Reeds with tremblings move,
And in short Murmurs make complaints of Love.
Pleas'd with the Sound, the God, all Ravish'd cries,
Tho' thee in Person Rigid fate denies,
Thy sweet, thy Charming Musick never dies.
Still shall such converse by thy change be found,
And her own Pipe shall Syrinx praises Sound.