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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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 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
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 CCIX. 
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 CCXV. 
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 CCXXXIII. 
CCXXXIII. Canticles, Chap. V, VII, VIII.
 CCXXXIV. 
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 CCXXXIX. 
 CCXL. 
 CCXLI. 
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CCXXXIII. Canticles, Chap. V, VII, VIII.

O thou to whom my Faith by Holy Vows
Is firmly pledg'd—my Sister and my Spouse!
My Friends I've in my Garden entertain'd,
But for my Love this happy Moment gain'd:
For what are Friends to thee? I left 'em there,
My Feast, my Fruits, my gen'rous Wines to share
All, all, and more, are Thou, my charming Fair!

555

My weary'd Eyes, imperfect Slumbers close,
But, ah! my panting Heart has no Repose!
I know his Voice, the Voice of him I love,
“Why thus unkind, my fair, my spotless Dove!
“So long I wait till dewy Night has shed
“Its cold unwholsom moisture o're my Head.
Must I agen my Robes so soon indue?
Must I my Feet, new-wash'd, defile anew?
Agen he calls and does for Entrance sue:
My conscious Heart, tho' now too late, was mov'd,
Ah, how unkind my Sloth to him I lov'd!
I rose, I ran, I flew with eager haste,
My Hopes already had their Lord embrac'd:
But he was gone and left me to Despair:
With loud Complaints I wound the gentle Air,
With loud Complaints which scatter'd into Wind,
And call him false, and cruel, and unkind.
Hurry'd by Passion thro' the Streets I flew,
But whither, neither did regard nor knew:
Agen, I by the churlish Watch was found,
My Veil they rudely take, and me they wound.
O Salem's Daughters! if more bless'd than me.
My lovely Fugitive you chance to see,
Tell him, what may perhaps his Pity move,
Tell him I languish and I die for Love.
O fairest of thy Sex, to whom compell'd,
We all the rivall'd Palm of Beauty yield!

556

What Charms has he that can such Passion move!
Describe the dear, the happy Swain you love!
O he is fair, he is all heav'nly Fair,
Beyond Expression, and beyond compare:
The white and manly Red his Face adorn,
Gay as those Beams that dress the rising Morn.
His Head like polish'd Gold, but far more fine
Like Ravens glossy Plumes his curling Tresses shine,
But O, his Eyes, his Dove-like Eyes are all Divine.
On his lov'd Face a Bed of Spices grows,
Blushes the Lily and looks pale the Rose,
When shown with him, and with majestic Grace,
All Lebanon is open'd in his Face.
Who then, what Words can speak, what Tongue can tell
The Charms that on his Lips for ever dwell?
Lovely all o're, himself in every part:
—This, Virgins, this is he that charms my Heart.

Chap. VII. Ver. 10.

Yet he is mine: agen of me possess'd,
Agen he strains me to his panting Breast:
Soon, soon my Love, the noisie Town forsake!
To our sweet Country Shades a Journey make!
To where the verdant Fields our Loves invite,
And where no envious Eye controls our chast Delight.

557

Before the ruddy Dawn has mark'd the Skies,
Before the Sun on dewy Hermon rise;
I'll to the Vineyards with my Love repair,
Together will we taste sweet Vernal Air;
To see the mantling Vine its Gems disclose,
And how to Life the tender Cluster grows:
To see the purple Granats forward press
Their dawning Buds, and in that calm recess
Shalt thou my Loves and all my Soul possess.

Chap. VIII. Ver. 13, 14.

The flow'ry Gardens are thy happy Choice,
Where thy Companions hear thy tuneful Voice:
And why to me deny'd thy charming Song!
O do not, do not thy Return prolong!
Haste, as the Royal Hart or nimble Roe
Shoot o're the flow'ry Hill where bloomy Spices grow.