The Grecian Story Being an Historical Poem, in Five Books. To which is Annex'd The Grove: Consisting of Divers Shorter Poems upon several Subjects. By J. H. [i.e. John Harington] |
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 | The Grecian Story |  |
To Bow'r withdrawn, where Gales soft murmur made,
(Whilst th' Envying Sun last pleasing Glance display'd)
Through sober thoughts; her Father was o're-heard
To tell that News; with which like Thunder scar'd,
Heart's Qualm began, that rather seem'd to bleed;
Strange Soul-convulsion felt, Hope's gasp indeed.
She louder Sigh'd, then wept Love-Storm as't were,
Deep Groan the last: but being less private there.
Small Garden 'twas, She mounts from thence back-way
To th' Chamber, Bed, whereon Prostrated lay.
Sighs, Tears, and Groans increas'd to mournful Sum,
As lost th' whole World, Grief's perfect Draught become.
She nought beheld but brave Orsamne's Face
Her Fancy saw, Portray'd in every place.
There last she view'd his Person thought; and there
Last heard him speak; such looks for wounding were.
Bright Darts and Flames; such, such his words then found,
Love's Musick Notes, Harmonious Compound:
There last he spake to her, joyn'd kiss-salute
Pleas'd that Sense too; what Sighs did breath compute.
What Groans for them, by Turn, as those should prove
Loud Funeral-Knells to all her Joys of Love.
Tongue rouz'd at length, tho seem'd in part to Fail,
She thus began: prime wonder of the Vale
Of Greece, the whole World (paus'd there) O most refin'd,
Choicest of men, but hard withal, unkind.
Thy Conquest Trophies, to our Anguish, smarts,
On Maiden Ruins built, and, broken Hearts.
I sent thee mine, which, tho discharg'd to day,
Ne're whole return'd; 'twas broken by the way:
Such here it proves: That Heart, once Ayr-like Free,
Now worn Tormenting Chains; loath'd Destiny!
Nor Marvel thought since seiz'd by Love-distraction:
I hop'd too much; with Hope conjoyned-action.
Too much I look'd, alas! too strangely Lov'd,
Fond, easie Soul: till Freedom Blasted prov'd.
Weep, weep my Traitor-Eyes, in kindness now
O'reflow and Drown me quite; sigh Breast till thou
Want'st Ayr to breath; rend, break my Heart outright;
But live Orsamnes still, enjoy this Light.
O Love! thou worst of Tyrant-Lords, to whom
Death mild appears! how lingring, slow thy Doom!
True Lovers oft in Torment, pain surpass
The rest o'th' World, die ten fold o're, alas!
Not Lov'd again: groan'd there for sad Rejection,
Then Mus'd, streight, thought of each rare Perfection;
His Body more advanc'd by far, and Mind,
Thus (lost) new-rated all, as Love inclin'd.
Week's term expir'd, more strange resolve possess'd
(Shewn afterwards) her Wave-distempered Breast.
(Whilst th' Envying Sun last pleasing Glance display'd)
Through sober thoughts; her Father was o're-heard
To tell that News; with which like Thunder scar'd,
Heart's Qualm began, that rather seem'd to bleed;
Strange Soul-convulsion felt, Hope's gasp indeed.
She louder Sigh'd, then wept Love-Storm as't were,
Deep Groan the last: but being less private there.
Small Garden 'twas, She mounts from thence back-way
To th' Chamber, Bed, whereon Prostrated lay.
Sighs, Tears, and Groans increas'd to mournful Sum,
As lost th' whole World, Grief's perfect Draught become.
She nought beheld but brave Orsamne's Face
Her Fancy saw, Portray'd in every place.
There last she view'd his Person thought; and there
Last heard him speak; such looks for wounding were.
Bright Darts and Flames; such, such his words then found,
Love's Musick Notes, Harmonious Compound:
There last he spake to her, joyn'd kiss-salute
Pleas'd that Sense too; what Sighs did breath compute.
What Groans for them, by Turn, as those should prove
Loud Funeral-Knells to all her Joys of Love.
Tongue rouz'd at length, tho seem'd in part to Fail,
She thus began: prime wonder of the Vale
Of Greece, the whole World (paus'd there) O most refin'd,
Choicest of men, but hard withal, unkind.
Thy Conquest Trophies, to our Anguish, smarts,
On Maiden Ruins built, and, broken Hearts.
I sent thee mine, which, tho discharg'd to day,
Ne're whole return'd; 'twas broken by the way:
Such here it proves: That Heart, once Ayr-like Free,
Now worn Tormenting Chains; loath'd Destiny!
Nor Marvel thought since seiz'd by Love-distraction:
I hop'd too much; with Hope conjoyned-action.
Too much I look'd, alas! too strangely Lov'd,
Fond, easie Soul: till Freedom Blasted prov'd.
Weep, weep my Traitor-Eyes, in kindness now
O'reflow and Drown me quite; sigh Breast till thou
59
But live Orsamnes still, enjoy this Light.
O Love! thou worst of Tyrant-Lords, to whom
Death mild appears! how lingring, slow thy Doom!
True Lovers oft in Torment, pain surpass
The rest o'th' World, die ten fold o're, alas!
Not Lov'd again: groan'd there for sad Rejection,
Then Mus'd, streight, thought of each rare Perfection;
His Body more advanc'd by far, and Mind,
Thus (lost) new-rated all, as Love inclin'd.
Week's term expir'd, more strange resolve possess'd
(Shewn afterwards) her Wave-distempered Breast.
| The Grecian Story | |