THE SEVENTH ELEGY.
[To you my Tongue eternal Fealty swore]
I
To you my Tongue eternal Fealty swore,
My Lips the Deed with conscious Rapture own;
A fickle Libertine I rove no more,
You only please, and lovely seem alone.
II
The numerous Beauties that gay Rome can boast,
With you compar'd, are Ugliness at best;
On me their Bloom and practis'd Smiles are lost,
Drive then, my Fair! Suspicion from your Breast.
III
Ah no! Suspicion is the Test of Love:
I too dread Rivals, I'm suspicious grown;
Your Charms the most insensate Heart must move;
Would you were beauteous in my Eyes alone!
IV
I want not Man to envy my sweet Fate,
I little care that others think me blest;
Of happy Conquests let the Coxcomb prate;
Vainglorious Vaunts the silent Wise detest.
V
Supremely pleas'd with you, my heavenly Fair!
In any trackless Desert I could dwell;
From our Recess your Smiles would banish Care,
Your Eyes give Lustre to the Midnight Cell.
VI
For various Converse I should long no more,
The blythe, the moral, witty, and severe;
Its various Arts are her's, whom I adore;
She can depress, exalt, instruct, and cheer.
VII
Should mighty Jove send down from Heaven a Maid,
With Venus' Cestus zon'd, my Faith to try,
(So, as I Truth declare, me Juno aid!)
For you I'd scorn the Charmer of the Sky.
VIII
But hold! you're mad to vow, unthinking Fool!
Her boundless Sway you're mad to let her know:
Safe from Alarms, she'll treat you as a Tool—
Ah, babbling Tongue! from thee what Mischiefs flow!
IX
Yet let her use me with Neglect, Disdain;
In all, subservient to her Will I'll prove;
Whate'er I feel, her Slave I'll still remain,
Who shrinks from Sorrow, cannot be in Love!
X
Imperial Queen of Bliss! with Fetters bound,
I'll sit me down before your holy Fane;
You kindly heal the constant Lover's Wound,
Th'inconstant torture with Increase of Pain.
