A Collection of Original Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Near to a fountain's side, whose gentle fall,
Join'd the sweet concert of the nightingale;
Young Damon lay; a faithful hapless Swain;
Who long for Doris sigh'd; but sigh'd in vain:
While she his griefs beheld with eye severe,
And heard his passion with relentless ear.

Stretch'd at his length he press'd his grassy bed,
Heaven's azure concave canopy'd his head;
Despair, like age, had furrow'd deep his face,
Sunk ev'ry charm, and rifled ev'ry grace.

Thus to love's potent god his plaints he pour'd;
While the attentive hills his plaints devour'd.

Haste, gentle parent of each fond desire,
My Doris' breast with softest love inspire;
By fraud or force her stubborn heart subdue,
To love and Damon make her ever true:
To quell her cold disdain exert thy pow'r,
Or on her slumbers steal in some soft hour;
(For well, I ween, soft slumbers often prove,
By treach'rous fancy's aid, a friend to love)
Display thy gaudy plumes and tempt her eye,
But let her not thy pointed arrow spy;
Hide from her piercing view thy subtle dart,
And take by sweet surprize her fickle heart;

Shed thy mild influence, that the charming she
May catch the amorous flame; and burn like me.

Queen of Cnidus, queen of love,
Goddess of the Paphian grove;
Quit thy lovely Cyprus isle;
On my passion deign to smile;
Be thy mighty pow'r confest;
With love and pity warm her breast:
Then hetacombs in sacrifice
Shall from your sacred altars rise.

Full-fraught with grief high-heav'd his bosom here,
Down his rough cheek fast-flow'd the silver tear,
Pale anguish trembled in his flooding eye;
He sigh'd—he spoke—and silence listen'd by.

Yet I, in vain, the Paphian queen entreat;
Sprung from the sea, she's like the sea deceit;

Cupid's soft pity vainly I implore,
Wretch that I am! ah luckless fatal hour,
When first I fell a victim to her pow'r.
Vain the big tear, the heart-sprung sigh in vain,
Love's laughing god but mocks th'inflicted pain.
Ah! why should I of bliss and Doris rave?
Heav'n hears me not, and she disdains her slave.—
Reason forbids; and I my frenzy see:
She is for ever lost—or lost to me!

Oh would the rich exchange but lasting prove,
I'd part with reason, Doris, for thy love.
What greater blessing could my heart pursue?
'Twere heav'n enough, to find that heav'n in you!
With you, my life;—alas! what have I said?
False gleams and phantoms have my sense betray'd.

Thus mourn'd the swain; with this the vallies rung;
His morning this, and this his evening song:

The vocal woods, the caves, the groves around,
In sad lament reverberate the sound;
While he, surcharg'd with woe, urg'd on his tale;
And wearied thus the echoes of the vale.

Had happier fortune crown'd my natal hour
With wealth, and blest poor Damon but with pow'r;
Had big-swoln titles flourish'd around my head,
And fruitful plains their grateful homage paid;
The nymph had ne'er despised her humble slave,
Nor mock'd th'inflicted wounds her rigour gave.
And yet—how small soe'er my little store,
Rich in our loves—we need not covet more.
Relent, my charmer, heav'n itself will hear;
And to the wretched lend a pitying ear.—
But, ah! I waste ill-fated words in vain;
She hears me not; I to to the winds complain.—
Again he sigh'd—again he heav'd for breath;
And faintly struggled in the arms of death.—

Again for her his monody renew'd;
With one last effort thus compassion su'd.

Hear, lovely Doris, and retard my fate,
Hear my fond plaints, and pity e're too late;
Ere time thy blooming beauties shall erase;
For time shall ev'ry beauty soon efface:
Death hastes with friendly hand to ease my care;
And soon my injur'd ghost shall wound thy ear;
Thro' night's dark gloom shall flit, nor cease t'upbraid,
And with my wrongs afflict the cruel maid.
In vain my pray'r, in vain is my complaint;
Death shades these eyes—alas!—I droop—I faint—
With Doris and with life at once I part;
'Tis cruel Doris breaks this honest heart.

This said, he sunk: his fleeting spirits fail'd;
Heart-rending anguish o'er his voice prevail'd;
Feebly his hand sustain'd his drooping head,
And o'er his cheeks a livid paleness spread.

Swift to his aid the nymphs and swains repair,
His pangs to soften, and his griefs to share;
Woe-fraught, their merry gambols they disclaim;
All moan poor Damon's ill-requited flame;
All brand with infamy a Doris' name.
The lowing herds, the flocks their food decline,
And in the melancholy chorus join:
The woodland race, affected with his woe,
Come from their dreary caves their griefs to show;
The feather'd songsters, too, in plaintive notes,
Stretch'd to the monody their little throats.
The savage herds in sympathy were mov'd,
Less savage than the maid he fondly lov'd.
Silent, and sad, all on his griefs attend,
Like near relations o'er some dying friend:
While death-portending, from a blasted oak,
Alone was heard the raven's luckless croak.

Once more he fault'ring spoke—“Vain friendship cease
“Your fruitless care, that voice denounces peace;
“No more by death set free my heart shall prove
“The pangs, the torments, of ill-fated love.
“Farewel, ye swains!—ye maids to friendship true!
“Life! love! vain world! I bid ye all adieu!”

With these last words, his tortur'd spirit fled,
And left the shepherd number'd with the dead.

Sighs heave each breast; all eyes with tears run o'er;
The hills and vales resound, He is no more;
The dimpling waters, touch'd with gen'rous woe,
Adown their channels, in sad concert flow;
The rural plains grief's gloomy liv'ry wear,
And ruthless rocks distill th'excited tear;
The false, the perjur'd Doris they upbraid,
And vengeance hovers o'er the cruel maid.

See Horat. lib. 1. ode 30.