The history of The Old Testament In verse With One Hundred and Eighty sculptures: In Two Volumes. Vol. I. From the Creation to the Revolt of the Ten Tribes from the House of David. Vol. II. From that Revolt to the End of the Prophets. Written by Samuel Wesley ... The Cuts done by J. Sturt |
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| CCXXX. | CCXXX. The Canticles, or Song of Solomon.
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 | The history of The Old Testament In verse |  |
546
CCXXX. The Canticles, or Song of Solomon.
Ye
Mortals, who a mortal Form admire,
And only warm you at a painted Fire,
Look here, and raise your Souls to more sublime Desire!
While David's Son in Numbers worthy Kings,
The Churches Loves, and then the Saviour's sings.
And only warm you at a painted Fire,
Look here, and raise your Souls to more sublime Desire!
While David's Son in Numbers worthy Kings,
The Churches Loves, and then the Saviour's sings.
O let him breath unmeasurable Bliss,
In the chast Turtles kindest, softest Kiss!
Thy Love, my Flame! transporting and divine,
Imparts a stronger, nobler warmth than Wine:
Thy fragrant Name Ambrosial Sweets respires,
And fills the Virgins Breast with chast and fair Desires.
In the chast Turtles kindest, softest Kiss!
Thy Love, my Flame! transporting and divine,
Imparts a stronger, nobler warmth than Wine:
Thy fragrant Name Ambrosial Sweets respires,
And fills the Virgins Breast with chast and fair Desires.
Ah! will my Charmer then himself debase,
To love so rustic and so mean a Face?
Yet since he's pleas'd to like it, I am Fair,
And, Salem's Daughters! can with you compare.
To love so rustic and so mean a Face?
Yet since he's pleas'd to like it, I am Fair,
And, Salem's Daughters! can with you compare.
O thou who art of all my Soul possess'd!
As e're resembling Passion warm'd thy Breast;
Tell me, too lovely Shepherd! tell me where
Thou dost at Noon to cooling Shades repair;
Tho' cooling Shades will scorch, when thou my Sun, art there.
Where by some crystal Fountains flow'ry side,
Thy happy Flocks thou dost both feed and guide.
Why shou'd I wander thence? For, who can be
Or bless'd without thee, or unbless'd with thee?
As e're resembling Passion warm'd thy Breast;
Tell me, too lovely Shepherd! tell me where
Thou dost at Noon to cooling Shades repair;
Tho' cooling Shades will scorch, when thou my Sun, art there.
548
Thy happy Flocks thou dost both feed and guide.
Why shou'd I wander thence? For, who can be
Or bless'd without thee, or unbless'd with thee?
O fairest Name of all thy charming Kind!
If thou thy Lover's Walk desire to find;
Go where the bleating Train are wont to pass!
See where their num'rous Footsteps print the Grass!
Nor shalt thou there his Presence long prevent,
Thy Kids the while may graze besides the Shepherd's Tent.
If thou thy Lover's Walk desire to find;
Go where the bleating Train are wont to pass!
See where their num'rous Footsteps print the Grass!
Nor shalt thou there his Presence long prevent,
Thy Kids the while may graze besides the Shepherd's Tent.
Those Jewels which that heav'nly Face adorn,
Brought from the Bosom of the rising Morn,
Which at a Kingdom's Rate we justly prize,
Look dim, or borrow Lustre from those Eyes:
The Gold does but by thy Reflexion shine,
Nor can the Silver grace a Form like thine.
Brought from the Bosom of the rising Morn,
Which at a Kingdom's Rate we justly prize,
Look dim, or borrow Lustre from those Eyes:
The Gold does but by thy Reflexion shine,
Nor can the Silver grace a Form like thine.
While he, the only Lord of my Desires,
And only Good my ravish'd Soul admires,
Sits at his Table, fann'd by gentle Gales,
My flowing Nard its balmy Sweets exhales:
—But with his Breath what Spices can compare!
The blooming Spring less sweet, less sweet th'Arabian Air:
While on my Bosom he securely rests,
His Head reclining on my panting Breasts;
'Tis Myrrh, 'tis Frankincense, 'tis Rapture all,
And nothing Sweet but him, and nothing Fair I call.
And only Good my ravish'd Soul admires,
Sits at his Table, fann'd by gentle Gales,
My flowing Nard its balmy Sweets exhales:
—But with his Breath what Spices can compare!
The blooming Spring less sweet, less sweet th'Arabian Air:
While on my Bosom he securely rests,
His Head reclining on my panting Breasts;
549
And nothing Sweet but him, and nothing Fair I call.
| The history of The Old Testament In verse | |