The Works of Mr. John Oldham :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Lamentation for ADONIS.

Imitated out of the Greek of Bion of Smyrna.

PASTORAL.

I mourn Adonis, fair Adonis dead,
He's dead, and all that's lovely, with him fled:
Come all ye Loves, come hither and bemoan
The charming sweet Adonis dead and gone:
Rise from thy Purple Bed, and rich Alcove,
Throw off thy gay attire, great Queen of Love:
Henceforth in sad and mournful weeds appear,
And all the marks of grief, and sorrow wear,

And tear thy locks, and beat thy panting breast,
And cry, My dear Adonis is deceast.

I mourn Adonis, the soft Loves bemoan
The gentle sweet Adonis dead and gone.
On the cold Mountain lies the wretched Youth,
Kill'd by a Savage Boar's unpitying tooth:
In his white thigh the fatal stroke is found,
Nor whiter was that tooth, that gave the wound:
From the wide wound fast flows the streaming gore
And stains that skin which was all snow before:
His breath with quick short tremblings comes and goes,
And Death his fainting eyes begins to close:
From his pale lips the ruddy colour's fled,
Fled, and has left his kisses cold and dead:
Yet Venus never will his kisses leave,
The Goddess ever to his lips will cleave:
The kiss of her dear Youth does please her still,
But her poor Youth does not the pleasure feel:
Dead he feels not her love, feels not her grief,
Feels not her kiss, which might ev'n life retrieve.

I mourn Adonis the sad Loves bemoan
The comely fair Adonis dead and gone.
Deep in his Thigh, deep went the killing smart,
But deeper far it goes in Venus heart:
His faithful Dogs about the Mountain yell,
And the hard Fate of their dead Master tell:
The troubled Nymphs alike in doleful strains
Proclaim his death through all the Fields & Plains:
But the sad Goddess, most of all forlorn,
With love distracted, and with sorrow torn,
Wild in her look, and ruful in her air,
With Garments rent, and with dishevel'd hair,
Through Brakes, through Thickets, and through pathless ways,
Through Woods, through Haunts, and Dens of Savages,
Undrest, unshod, careless of Honour, Fame,
And Danger, flies, and calls on his lov'd name.
Rude Brambles, as she goes, her body tear,
And her cut feet with bloud the stones besmear.

She thoughtless of the unfelt smart flies on,
And fills the Woods, and Vallies with her moan,
Loudly does on the Stars and Fates complain,
And prays them give Adonis back again:
But he, alass! the wretched Youth, alas!
Lies cold, and stiff, extended on the grass:
There lies he steep'd in gore, there lies he drown'd,
In purple streams, that gush from his own wound.

All the soft band of Loves their Mother mourn,
At once of beauty, and of love forlorn.
Venus has lost her Lover, and each grace,
That sate before in triumph in her face,
By grief chas'd thence, has now forsook the place.
That day which snatch'd Adonis from her arms,
That day bereft the Goddess of her charms.

The Woods and Trees in murmuring sighs bemoan
The fate of her Adonis dead and gone.
The Rivers too, as if they would deplore
His death, with grief swell higher than before:

The Flowers weep in tears of dreary dew,
And by their drooping heads their sorrow shew:
But most the Cyprian Queen with shrieks, and groans,
Fills all the neighb'ring Hills, and Vales, and Towns:
The poor Adonis dead! is all her cry,
Adonis dead! sad Eccho does reply.

What cruel heart would not the Queen of Love
To melting tears, and soft compassion move,
When she saw how her wretched Lover fell,
Saw his deep wound, saw it incurable?
Soon as her eyes his bleeding wounds survey'd,
With eager clips she did his Limbs invade,
And these soft, tender, mournful things she said:

“Whither, O whither fli'st thou, wretched Boy,
“Stay my Adonis, stay my only joy,
“O stay, unhappy Youth, at least till I
“With one kind word bespeak thee, e're thou die,
“Till I once more embrace thee, till I seal
“Upon thy dying lips my last farewel.

“Look up one minute, give one parting kiss,
“One kiss, dear Youth, to dry these flowing eyes:
“One kiss as thy last Legacy I'd fain
“Preserve, no God shall take it off again.
“Kiss, while I watch thy swimming eye-balls roul,
“Watch thy last gasp, and catch thy springing soul.
“I'll suck it in, I'll hoard it in my heart,
“I with that sacred pledg will never part,
“But thou wilt part, but thou art gone, far gone
“To the dark shades, and leav'st me here alone.
“Thou dy'st, but hopeless I must suffer life,
“Must pine away with easless endless grief.
“Why was I born a Goddess? why was I
“Made such a wretch to want the pow'r to die?
“If I by death my sorrows might redress,
“If the cold Grave could to my pains give ease,
“I'd gladly die, I'd rather nothing be
“Than thus condemn'd to immortality:
“In that vast empty void, and boundless wast,
“We mind not what's to come, nor what is past.

“Of life, or death we know no difference,
“Nor hopes, nor fears at all affect our sense:
“But those who are of pleasure once bereft,
“And must survive, are most unhappy left:
“To ravenous sorrow they are left a prey,
“Nor can they ever drive despair away.

“Take, cruel Proserpine, take my lov'd Boy,
“Rich with my spoils, do thou my loss enjoy.
“Take him relentless Goddess, for thy own,
“Never till now wast thou my envy grown.
“Hard Fate! that thus the best of things must be
“Always the plunder of the Grave, and thee:
“The Grave, and thou now all my hopes engross,
“And I for ever must Adonis lose.
“Thou'rt dead, alas! alas! my Youth, thou'rt dead,
“And with thee all my pleasures too are fled:
“They're all like fleeting vanish'd dreams pass'd o're,
“And nought but the remembrance left in store
“Of tasted joys ne're to be tasted more:

“With thee my Cestos, all my charms are gone,
“Thy Venus must thy absence ever moan,
“And spend the tedious live-long nights alone.
“Ah! heedless Boy, why would'st thou rashly choose
“Thy self to dang'rous pleasures to expose?
“Why would'st thou hunt? why would'st thou any more
“Venture with Dogs to chase the foaming Boar?
“Thou wast all fair to mine, to humane eyes,
“But not (alas!) to those wild Savages.
“One would have thought thy sweetness might have charm'd
“The roughest kind, the fiercest rage disarm'd:
“Mine (I am sure) it could; but wo is thee!
“All wear not eyes, all wear not breasts like me.

In such sad words the Dame her grief did vent,
While the Wing'd Loves kept time with her complaint:
As many drops of Bloud as from the wound
Of slain Adonis fell upon the ground,

So many tears, and more you might have told,
That down the cheeks of weeping Venus roul'd:
Both tears, and bloud to new-born flow'rs give rise,
Hence Roses spring, and thence Anemonies.

Cease, Venus, in the Woods to mourn thy Love,
Thou'st vented sighs, thou'st lavish'd tears enough:
See! Goddess, where a glorious bed of State
Does ready for thy dear Adonis wait:
This bed was once the Scene of Love, and Joy,
But now must bear the wretched, murder'd Boy:
There lies he, like a pale, and wither'd Flower,
Which some rude hand had cropt before its hour:
Yet smiles, and beauties still live in his face,
Which death can never frighten from their place.
There let him lie upon that conscious bed,
Where you loves mysteries so oft have tried:
When you've enjoy'd so many an happy night,
Each lengthen'd into ages of delight.
There let him lie, there heaps of Flowers strow,
Roses and Lillies store upon him throw,
And myrtle Garlands lavishly bestow:

Pour Myrrh, and Balm, and costliest Ointments on,
Flowers are faded, Ointments worthless grown,
Now thy Adonis, now thy Youth is gone,
Who was all sweetnesses compriz'd in one.

In Purple wrapt, Adonis lies in state,
A Troop of mourning Loves about him wait:
Each does some mark of their kind sorrow show,
One breaks his Shafts, t'other unstrings his Bow,
A third upon his Quiver wreaks his hate,
As the sad causes of his hasty fate:
This plucks his bloudy garments off, that brings
Water in Vessels from the neighb'ring Springs,
Some wash his Wound, some fan him with their Wings:

All equally their Mothers loss bemoan,
All moan for poor Adonis dead and gone.
Sad Hymen too the fatal loss does mourn,
His Tapers all to Funeral Tapers turn,
And all his wither'd Nuptial Garlands burn:

His gay, and airy Songs are heard no more,
But mournful Strains, that hopeless love deplore.
Nor do the Graces fail to bear a part
With wretched Venus in her pain and smart:
The poor Adonis dead! by turns they cry,
And strive in grief the Goddess to out-vie.
The Muses too in softest Lays bewail
The hapless Youth, and his fled Soul recal:
But all in vain;—ah! numbers are too weak
To call the lost, the dead Adonis back:
Not all the pow'rs of Verse, or charms of Love
The deaf remorsless Proserpine can move.
Cease then, sad Queen of Love, thy plaints give o're,
Till the next year reserve thy grief in store:
Reserve thy Sighs, and tears in store till then,
Then thou must sigh, then thou must weep agen.