University of Virginia Library

THE FOREST of LOVE.

Being some Copies Written to Amasia, on particular Occasions.

To Amasia, who made me a present of a Studying-Cap, variously Beautified with Trees and Flow'rs of Needle-Work.

How great's your skill, that you can here restore
What your Dear Sex lost all the World before!
Not readier, Chaos the strange Word Obey'd;
You wave your Hand, and Paradise is made.
Your suddain Plants, at first Appearance, bloom,
And all is Spring, where'er your Fingers come.
Only that sad Narcissus fades away,
As if Self-Love made ev'n the Flower decay.
Your lofty Cedars at full growth appear;
Not sooner Planted, than they Flourish here.
You Charm with Beauty, and you Charm with worth,
Your Needle ne'er Points to a Frozen North.
Where'er I Walk, thro' Pleasant Groves I go,
And I am blest with their dear Shades below.
Your grateful Bow'r diverting Thoughts inspires,
And my strong fancy with New notions Fires.
As, while the Sybills on the Tripos stood,
They grew inspir'd with their Prophetick God.
So, while my Head your Sacred present wears,
I boast a Knowledge, as Divine as theirs.
In polish'd Numbers all my Thoughts shall flow,
And (you my Muse) I shall Immortal grow.
While all those Beauteous, spreeding Trees I see,
Planted by your fair Fingers, seem to be
Still-blooming Laurels, in it, Crowning me.

To Amasia, on her filling a Glass with Water, whereon she had Painted Stags, and Birds, and Trees.

By this, you prove your Pow'r is truly great,
You Kill at Pleasure, and you here Create.
Some of the Herd, which you so lively drew,
Neglect all Food, and Joy to gaze at you.
While others bow to Drink, and bend so near,
We wonder still to see the Water there.
Actæon chang'd, had not been here pursu'd,
He had escap'd, secure among the Crowd;
In a fair Spring, by chance, he once descry'd
A Heav'nly Beauty, and transform'd, he dy'd.
And in this place, he might with wonder view
As bright a Goddess, and as fatal too;
In his own shape, he must have dy'd for you.
Your stately Stags rear high their lofty Heads,
Tall as the Trees, in thick, and fruitful Shades,
And a vast Grove above each Forehead spreads.
They, and your Forests, with each other vie,
Nor can I tell which seems more proudly high.
The Trees, fresh Life, from your late Bounty, drew,
As from the Fountain, which you pour'd, they grew,
Became more Green, and Flourish'd all anew.
One Phænix lives, and that is sprung from Fire,
But many seem to rise from Water here.
Whilst all your sporting Birds prepare to fly,
And cut with gawdy Wings, a strange, unusual Sky.

To Amasia, invested with a Muslin-Nightraile, variously Beautified with Birds, and Beasts of Needle-Work.

The wond'rous Rod set the Red Sea aside,
And here, your Finger can this white divide.
What you created, your invention saves,
You lead your Creatures thro' the Foaming Waves.
Tho' when you please, you make them Ebb, and Flow,
And stand on heaps, at the least touch of you.
A Head must be, whence all this Ocean rose,
Sure, from your Breasts this Beauteous deluge Flows.
Ambitious Waters once o'er-spread the ground,
Here, in a Sea of Milk the World is drown'd.
The wond'ring Flocks all Wisely here withdrew;
What better Ark could they desire, than you?
In all this Flood, give me the blest Command,
To be the Turtle, to find out the land.
I shall, I know, a happy soil descry,
A Heav'n lies hid, within this Silver Sky.
None here can err, none here can ever stray,
He's sure of bliss, that comes this Milky way.

To Amasia, wearing a Muslin-Apron, wrought with Trees and Beasts of Needle-Work.

'Tis said indeed, Achilles Launce could Wound,
And what it hurt, again could render sound.
Your pointed Spear here Acts, with wonder, more,
And thus Creates—these had no form before.
Nor, could the Pen so well describe this Field,
That, and the Sword, must to the Needle yield.
Your Wolf is here Cloath'd in a spotless skin,
'Tis pure without, and 'tis all soft within.
Your Pow'rful dart can make all Creatures tame,
That may, it self, be Shepherd to the Lamb.
Thro' all your Woods, the Dogs pursue the Hare,
Thro' all those Trees, you made so strangely Fair,
To bloom, and spread, and so much Winter here!
I track their Feet, for sure I think they run,
And hope to see them seize their Game anon.
I only fear, whilst thro' this Field they go,
The dropping Blood should Paint it's purer Snow.

To Amasia, on her Beautifying the Lining of her Gown, with Trees, and Groves in Needle-Work.

Not Juno's Bird can brighter glories shew,
That, Nature painted, this is drawn by you.
Where'er you Walk, the Airy People fly,
And, for your Groves, forsake the Silver Sky.
With doubled Force they hasten from above,
And wonder thus to see your Forests move.
Aim, to light fast on your deluding Gown,
And flutt'ring fall, with strange amazement down.
So, Xeuxis Birds snatch'd at false Grapes in vain,
And, fill'd with wonder, they return'd again.
Greater than his, your Charming skill we see,
For, with the Fruit he tempted, you, the Tree.
Like that of Eden, your Plantation spreads,
And Groves, Just set, rear high their stately Heads.
All the fair Draught does such exactness bear,
So wond'rous Curious does the Work appear,
I dread, methinks, a real Serpent here.
This is a glorious Paradise in show,
But the true Paradise is only you.

To Amasia, sticking Gardens cut in Paper, on a large Glass.

We see your Actions here are wond'rous all,
Your fruit Trees spread along this Chrystal Wall.
You make me fancy (they are all so fair)
A sweet Elyzium in this clearer Air.
Your Sissers, far the Pruninghooks outdo,
Those lop off Boughs, but these make Branches grow,
And, if our Eyes deceive not, Blossom too.
Rooted in Ice, your Beauteous Gardens stand,
And shew the wonders of your Pow'rful Hand.
O may no Winter to your Beauties come,
But may they ever, like your Orchards, Bloom.