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University of Virginia Library

Poems upon several occasions

with a voyage to the Island of Love. By Mrs A. Behn

Behn, Aphra (1640-1689)

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TO Mrs. BEHN, ON THE PUBLISHING HER POEMS.

To ASTRÆA, on her Poems.

To the excellent Madam Behn, on her Poems.

To the Authour, on her Voyage to the Island of Love.

To the Lovely Witty Astræa, on her Excellent Poems.

Upon these and other Excellent Works of the Incomparable Astræa.

To the excellent Astræa.

To Madam A. Behn on the publication of her Poems.

To Madam Behn, on her Poems.

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POEMS UPON Several OCCASIONS.

The Golden Age.

A Farewel to Celladon, On his Going into Ireland.

On a Juniper-Tree, cut down to make Busks.

On the Death of Mr. Grinhil, the Famous Painter.

A Ballad on Mr. J. H. to Amoret, asking why I was so sad.

My dear Brother J. C.

My dear Amoret, Mris. B.

Mr. E. B. and Mrs. F M.

SONG. The Willing Mistriss.

SONG. Love Arm'd.

SONG. The Complaint.

SONG. The Invitation.

To Mr. Creech (under the Name of Daphnis) on his Excellent Translation of Lucretius.

To Mrs. W. On her Excellent Verses (Writ in Praise of some I had made on the Earl of Rochester) Written in a Fit of Sickness.

The Sence of a Letter sent me, made into Verse; To a New Tune.

On a Copy of Verses made in a Dream, and sent to me in a Morning before I was Awake.

To my Lady Morland at Tunbrige.

Song to Ceres. In the Wavering Nymph, or Mad Amyntas.

Song in the same Play, by the Wavering Nymph.

The Disappointment.

On a Locket of Hair Wove in a True-Loves Knot, given me by Sir R.O.

The Dream. A Song.

A Letter to a Brother of the Pen in Tribulation.

The Reflection: A Song.

SONG. To Pesibles Tune.

SONG. On her Loving Two Equally.

The Counsel. A Song.

SONG. The Surprize.

The Invitation: A Song.

Silvio's Complaint: A SONG

In Imitation of Horace.

To Lysander, who made some Verses on a Discourse of Loves Fire.

A Dialogue for an Entertainment at Court, between Damon and Sylvia.

On Mr. J. H. In a Fit of Sickness.

To Lysander, on some Verses he writ, and asking more for his Heart then 'twas worth.

To the Honourable Edward Howard, on his Comedy called The New Utopia

To Lysander at the Musick-Meeting.

An Ode to Love.

Love Reveng'd A Song.

SONG. To a New Scotch Tune.

The Cabal at Nickey Nackeys.

A Paraphrase on the Eleventh. Ode Out of the first Book of Horace.

A PARAPHRASE On Ovid's Epistle of OENONE to PARIS.

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The Reflection: A Song.

I

Poor Lost Serena, to Bemoan
The Rigor of her Fate,
High'd to a Rivers-side alone,
Upon whose Brinks she sat.
Her Eyes, as if they would have spar'd,
The Language of her Tongue,
In Silent Tears a while declar'd
The Sense of all her wrong.

II

But they alas too feeble were,
Her Grief was swoln too high
To be Exprest in Sighs and Tears;
She must or speak or dye.
And thus at last she did complain,
Is this the Faith, said she,
Which thou allowest me, Cruel Swain,
For that I gave to thee?

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III

Heaven knows with how much Innocence
I did my Soul Incline
To thy Soft Charmes of Eloquence,
And gave thee what was mine.
I had not one Reserve in Store,
But at thy Feet I lay'd
Those Arms that Conquer'd heretofore,
Tho' now thy Trophies made.

IV

Thy Eyes in Silence told their Tale
Of Love in such a way,
That 'twas as easie to Prevail,
As after to Betray.
And when you spoke my Listning Soul,
Was on the Flattery Hung:
And I was lost without Controul,
Such Musick grac'd thy Tongue.

V

Alas how long in vain you strove
My coldness to divert!

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How long besieg'd it round with Love,
Before you won the Heart.
What Arts you us'd, what Presents made,
What Songs, what Letters writ:
And left no Charm that cou'd invade,
Or with your Eyes or Wit.

VI

Till by such Obligations Prest,
By such dear Perjuries won:
I heedlesly Resign'd the rest,
And quickly was undone.
For as my Kindling Flames increase,
Yours glimeringly decay:
The Rifled Joys no more can Please,
That once oblig'd your Stay.

VII

Witness ye Springs, ye Meads and Groves,
Who oft were conscious made
To all our Hours and Vows of Love;
Witness how I'm Betray'd.
Trees drop your Leaves, be Gay no more,
Ye Rivers waste and drye:
Whilst on your Melancholy Shore,
I lay me down and dye.