 | Miscellany Poems |  |
Hippomenes and Atalanta.
When young Hippomenes beheld the place,The ground, on which was run the fatal Race,
Where Atalanta should the Victor grace:
And saw their Members scatter'd o're the plain,
Whom Fate ordain'd to Love and to be slain;
Who paid their Life which in the Race did yield,
By fair, but cruell, Atalanta kill'd.—
“Is this the sole Reward, great Love, he cry'd,
“That doth to thy unhappy Slaves betide?
“Are these the Deities we must adore;
“That thus delight themselves in humane gore?
“If i'th the Æthereal Plains such Monsters be,
“Heaven shall be uninhabited for me.
“My bleeding Country shall my Aid demand,
“My Friend in danger shall require my hand,
“Actions like these beget a glorious Name,
“If i'th attempt I die, I die with Fame.
“These mangled Limbs were Men, that by their Hands
“Might have gain'd Crowns and conquer'd foreign Lands.
12
“And Ignominy o're their Names doth creep.
“They throve by War, were by soft Love undone,
“They well knew how to stand, but not to run.
“Hence then for ever I abjure the flame.—
—But as he spoke, fair Atalanta came.—
A Bearded shaft did thrô his Liver dart:
And throbbing pain went tingling to his heart.
Silence seal'd up his lips, the fight took place,
The Valiant Heart bow'd to the charming Face.
Th' expanded Organ greedily receiv'd
Those piercing Looks, that him of rest bereav'd.
A secret Warmth thrô every Vein did glide,
And his Blood flow'd in an unusual tide.
In's Mind thoughts of untasted Joys did move
And sunk insensibly his Soul to Love.
His hardned Resolutions now expire,
And melt like rigid Ice before the Fire.
He now rejects the vows he once did make,
And thus, quite chang'd, his Words in Raptures brake.
“Pardon, great Love, a Criminal, that ne're knew
“What was to Thee, or Atalanta due.
“And you (bless'd Souls) whom Love and Beauty slew,
“I'll either Conquer, or make One of You.
“In bold Attempts 'tis gallant even to dare,
“For thô we miss the Prize, we Honour share.
“Show me the Post—I with Impatience dy,—
“My eager Love will double strength supply;
“And in the Race what warmth my breast will heat,
“To save a Life, and Atalanta get:
“All that I fear is, lest my throbbing heart,
“From her fair side unwillingly will part:
“It will be Lead, when it from Her is gone,
“Nor can I from so great a Treasure run.
13
“'Twill be worth while to perish by her Hand.
“For since we once must yield to Destiny,
“By such an Angel who'd not wish to dy?
“Her Eyes can cure the wounds, her fair Hand gave,
“One Look of hers can ransom from the grave.
| Miscellany Poems | |