 | Letters and poems |  |
Eclogue I.
Daphne.Sicilian Muse, my humble Voice inspire
To sing of Daphne's Charms and Damon's Fire.
Long had the faithful Swain supprest his Grief,
And since he durst not hope, ne'er askt relief.
But at th'arrival of the fatal Day
That took the Nymph and all his Joys away;
With dying Looks he gaz'd upon the Fair,
And what his Tongue could not, his Eyes declare:
Till with deep Sighs, as if his Heart-strings broke,
Pressing her Hand, these tender Things he spoke:
Damon.
Ah lovely Nymph! behold your Lover burn,
And view that Passion which you'll not return.
As no Nymphs Charms did ever equal thine;
So no Swain's Love did ever equal mine.
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Might I but sacrifice my self for thee?
Cou'd I but please thee with my dying Verse,
And make thee shed one Tear upon my Hearse?
Daphne.
Too free an Offer of that Love you make,
Which now, alas, I have not pow'r to take:
Your Wounds I cannot, tho' I wou'd, relieve:
Phaon has all the Love that I can give.
Had you among the rest at first assail'd
My Heart, when free, you had perhaps prevail'd.
Now if you blame, Oh blame not me, but Fate,
That never brought you till 'twas grown too late.
Damon.
Had the Fates brought me then, too charming Fair,
I could not hope, and now I must despair.
Rul'd by your Friends, you quit the Lovers Flame
For Flocks, for Pastures, for an empty Name.
Yet tho' the blest Possession Fate denies;
Oh let me gaze for ever on those Eyes.
So just, so true, so innocent's my Flame,
That Phaon did he see it, cou'd not blame.
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Such generous Ends I know you still pursue,
What I can do, be sure I will for you.
If on Esteem, or Pity you can live,
Or Hopes of more, if I had more to give;
Those you may have, but cannot have my Heart:
And since we now perhaps for ever part;
Such noble Thoughts through all your life express,
May make the Value more, the Pity less.
Damon.
Can you then go? Can you for ever part
(Ye Gods! what shivering Pains surround my Heart!)
And have one Thought to make your Pity less?
Ah Daphne, cou'd I half my Pangs express,
You cou'd not think, tho' hard as Rocks you were,
Your Pity ever cou'd too great appear.
I ne'er shall be one Moment free from pain,
Till I behold those charming Eyes again.
When gay Diversions do your Thoughts employ,
I wou'd not come to interrupt the Joy:
But when from them you some spare Moment find,
Think then, oh think on whom you leave behind!
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Where I so oft those charming Eyes have seen!
Think with what Grief I walk the Groves alone,
When You, the Glory of them all, are gone!
Yet, oh! that little time you have to stay,
Let me still speak, and gaze my Soul away!
But see, my Passion that small Aid denies;
Grief stops my Tongue, and Tears o'erflow my Eyes.
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