The Fair Circassian, A Dramatic Performance Done from the Original By a Gentleman-Commoner of Oxford. The Second Edition Corrected. To which are added Several Occasional Poems. By the same Author [i.e. Samuel Croxall] |
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To SYLVIA. |
 | The Fair Circassian, A Dramatic Performance |  |
37
To SYLVIA.
Still let us love, my Sylvia, and be wise;
Look grave sometimes, but in our Hearts despise
The Things which formal Hypocrites advise.
The Sun, whose flagging Beams decline at Night,
Rises each Morn with fresh recruited Light:
But We, when once we've spent our scanty Day,
Must bid good Night to Pleasure, Love and Play,
And sleep a whole Eternity away.
Then, while You live, be constant to employ
Each ebbing Moment in the Affairs of Joy;
When Privacy permits, and Youth requires,
Exert your Strength, and light up all your Fires;
Wrestling detain the Angel of Delight,
And force a Blessing e'er he takes his Flight.
Ten Thousand Kisses let your Lips prepare,
The balmy Prelude to the Lover's War,
Thick as the whirling Sands on Libya's Coast,
Suck'd in Confusion, and in Rapture lost.
Look grave sometimes, but in our Hearts despise
The Things which formal Hypocrites advise.
The Sun, whose flagging Beams decline at Night,
Rises each Morn with fresh recruited Light:
But We, when once we've spent our scanty Day,
Must bid good Night to Pleasure, Love and Play,
And sleep a whole Eternity away.
Then, while You live, be constant to employ
Each ebbing Moment in the Affairs of Joy;
When Privacy permits, and Youth requires,
Exert your Strength, and light up all your Fires;
Wrestling detain the Angel of Delight,
And force a Blessing e'er he takes his Flight.
Ten Thousand Kisses let your Lips prepare,
The balmy Prelude to the Lover's War,
Thick as the whirling Sands on Libya's Coast,
Suck'd in Confusion, and in Rapture lost.
O Venus, grant thy Suppliant such a Death;
O'erwhelm'd in Storms like This to lose his Breath.
Or when the fated Point of Time draws nigh,
Stretch'd on thy sacred Altar let me lye,
Sylvia the Priestess, and the Victim I.
As under Ida's Shades, Almighty Jove,
Bath'd in the Sweets of soft ambrosial Love,
Exhausted lay on Juno's panting Breast,
Godlike dissolving to immortal Rest.
O'erwhelm'd in Storms like This to lose his Breath.
38
Stretch'd on thy sacred Altar let me lye,
Sylvia the Priestess, and the Victim I.
As under Ida's Shades, Almighty Jove,
Bath'd in the Sweets of soft ambrosial Love,
Exhausted lay on Juno's panting Breast,
Godlike dissolving to immortal Rest.
| The Fair Circassian, A Dramatic Performance | |