King Arthur An Heroick Poem. In Twelve Books. By Richard Blackmore. To which is Annexed, An Index, Explaining the Names of Countrys, Citys, and Rivers, &c |
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 | King Arthur |  |
Then, beauteous Merula reply'd, 'tis true
The Means to save my Clovis I pursue.
No Joy but you, no Life but yours I own,
I must survive my self, when you are gone.
How strong, how pure, how bright a Flame of Love
To Clovis always in my Bosom strove?
You're conscious of my Passion, you must know
That from your Presence all my Pleasures flow.
If you withdraw your Light, how black a Shade
Must the sad Region of my Breast invade?
This World's a Heav'n to me when you are here,
And Heav'n will more be Heav'n to meet you there.
What I could ever Joy or Pleasure call
'Twas you I tasted, you enjoy'd in all.
The Spring from whence your Stream of Life proceeds
My Veins with vital Warmth and Vigor feeds.
My Life's dependent and precarious Fire
Must quickly cease, should you its Source retire,
As Evening Rays forsaken soon expire.
Deserted and defrauded of Supply
Streams flow no longer, when the Fountain's dry.
Should I behind my Clovis here remain,
I should of Life's uneasy Load complain,
And drown'd in Tears drag on th'encumbring Chain.
How sad, and hard a Task it is to live
When I must all that Life endears, survive?
No wonder then I strive a Life to save,
Where I such vast Concern and Int'rest have.
The Means to save my Clovis I pursue.
No Joy but you, no Life but yours I own,
I must survive my self, when you are gone.
How strong, how pure, how bright a Flame of Love
To Clovis always in my Bosom strove?
You're conscious of my Passion, you must know
That from your Presence all my Pleasures flow.
If you withdraw your Light, how black a Shade
Must the sad Region of my Breast invade?
This World's a Heav'n to me when you are here,
And Heav'n will more be Heav'n to meet you there.
What I could ever Joy or Pleasure call
'Twas you I tasted, you enjoy'd in all.
The Spring from whence your Stream of Life proceeds
My Veins with vital Warmth and Vigor feeds.
My Life's dependent and precarious Fire
Must quickly cease, should you its Source retire,
As Evening Rays forsaken soon expire.
Deserted and defrauded of Supply
Streams flow no longer, when the Fountain's dry.
Should I behind my Clovis here remain,
I should of Life's uneasy Load complain,
And drown'd in Tears drag on th'encumbring Chain.
How sad, and hard a Task it is to live
When I must all that Life endears, survive?
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Where I such vast Concern and Int'rest have.
| King Arthur | |