Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
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Lover Desperate. |
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Lover Desperate.
Fair
Anaxaretè, of Form divine,
High-born, from ancient Teucer's Royal Line,
Poor Iphis saw, a mean-descended Swain,
And, seeing, felt Love glow in every Vein.
High-born, from ancient Teucer's Royal Line,
Poor Iphis saw, a mean-descended Swain,
And, seeing, felt Love glow in every Vein.
Reason long struggled to destroy his Flame,
But when no Reason could his Madness tame,
An humble Suitor to her House he came:
There to her Nurse his wretched Case display'd,
And, for her Mistress' Sake, implor'd her Aid:
Each fav'rite Servant too, with earnest Pray'r,
He begg'd to speed his Passion to the Fair.
Letters indited in the softest Strain,
Frequent he sends, expressive of his Pain.
Oft to the Columns flow'ry Wreaths he ties,
Bedew'd with Tears that trickle from his Eyes:
Oft, at his Length, on the hard Threshold laid,
His Groans th' inexorable Gates upbraid.
But when no Reason could his Madness tame,
An humble Suitor to her House he came:
There to her Nurse his wretched Case display'd,
And, for her Mistress' Sake, implor'd her Aid:
Each fav'rite Servant too, with earnest Pray'r,
He begg'd to speed his Passion to the Fair.
Letters indited in the softest Strain,
Frequent he sends, expressive of his Pain.
Oft to the Columns flow'ry Wreaths he ties,
Bedew'd with Tears that trickle from his Eyes:
Oft, at his Length, on the hard Threshold laid,
His Groans th' inexorable Gates upbraid.
The Nymph more deaf than Seas, when Tempests roar,
And foaming Surges dash the sounding Shore:
Harder than burnish'd Steel, or rooted Rocks,
Disdains the Lover, and his Passion mocks:
Of Insolence arraigns th' aspiring Swain,
And proudly tells him, all his Hopes are vain.
And foaming Surges dash the sounding Shore:
Harder than burnish'd Steel, or rooted Rocks,
Disdains the Lover, and his Passion mocks:
Of Insolence arraigns th' aspiring Swain,
And proudly tells him, all his Hopes are vain.
Despairing Iphis could endure no more
The Torments of his Grief:—
But utter'd these last Words before her Door.
The Torments of his Grief:—
But utter'd these last Words before her Door.
Thy Conquest is compleat, relentless Maid!
Of my bold Love be never more afraid:
Triumph, O Anaxaretè! unkind!
Sing Pœans, and thy Brows with Lawrel bind:
Thou hast o'ercome, and willingly I die:
Hard-hearted Fair, enjoy thy Cruelty!
Yet even Thou shalt publish my Desert,
And feel soft Pity working in thy Heart:
To think thy Charms have kindled such a Fire,
As could not, but with Life itself, expire.
Nor will I trust Report my Death to spread,
Thyself shall see it, and behold me dead:
My wretched Life I'll end before thy Gate,
To please thy cruel Pride, and glut thy Hate.
But, Oh, You Gods! if Mortals Fates you know,
Remember me, and this one Boon bestow;
Let After-Ages celebrate my Name,
And what You take from Life, make up in Fame.
Of my bold Love be never more afraid:
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Sing Pœans, and thy Brows with Lawrel bind:
Thou hast o'ercome, and willingly I die:
Hard-hearted Fair, enjoy thy Cruelty!
Yet even Thou shalt publish my Desert,
And feel soft Pity working in thy Heart:
To think thy Charms have kindled such a Fire,
As could not, but with Life itself, expire.
Nor will I trust Report my Death to spread,
Thyself shall see it, and behold me dead:
My wretched Life I'll end before thy Gate,
To please thy cruel Pride, and glut thy Hate.
But, Oh, You Gods! if Mortals Fates you know,
Remember me, and this one Boon bestow;
Let After-Ages celebrate my Name,
And what You take from Life, make up in Fame.
This said, he upwards to the Door-posts bends
His watry Eyes, and his pale Arms extends:
Then to the Top, so oft with Garlands crown'd,
A fatal Halter, with a Noose, he bound.
Such Wreaths best please thy savage Soul, he said,
Inhuman, cruel, unrelenting Maid!
Fitting the Rope, towards her he turning sprung,
And, by the Neck, th' unhappy Lover hung:
In Death's strong Pangs his Feet kick'd ope the Door,
Which seem'd with groan-like Sounds his Rashness to deplore.
With Shrieks the Servants view the dying Swain,
And lend their Help, but all their Help is vain.
Breathless and pale they to his Mother bore
Her strangled Son, his Father dead before:
The lifeless Corpse she in her Bosom plac'd,
And in her Arms his cold dead Limbs embrac'd:
Lamenting long, as woeful Parents use,
And paying all a woeful Mother's Dues,
The Fun'ral Pomp she thro' the City led,
And to his Pile bore the lamented Dead.
His watry Eyes, and his pale Arms extends:
Then to the Top, so oft with Garlands crown'd,
A fatal Halter, with a Noose, he bound.
Such Wreaths best please thy savage Soul, he said,
Inhuman, cruel, unrelenting Maid!
Fitting the Rope, towards her he turning sprung,
And, by the Neck, th' unhappy Lover hung:
In Death's strong Pangs his Feet kick'd ope the Door,
Which seem'd with groan-like Sounds his Rashness to deplore.
With Shrieks the Servants view the dying Swain,
And lend their Help, but all their Help is vain.
Breathless and pale they to his Mother bore
Her strangled Son, his Father dead before:
The lifeless Corpse she in her Bosom plac'd,
And in her Arms his cold dead Limbs embrac'd:
Lamenting long, as woeful Parents use,
And paying all a woeful Mother's Dues,
The Fun'ral Pomp she thro' the City led,
And to his Pile bore the lamented Dead.
It chanc'd the cruel Virgin's Dwelling lay,
Just where the Mourners took their solemn Way:
Their Lamentations loud her Ears invade,
And Heav'ns just Vengeance close pursues the Maid.
Let's view this mournful Pomp, surpriz'd, she cries;
And instant to the open Window flies:
Whence seeing Iphis on his burial Bed,
Her Eye-Balls stiffen'd, and her Colour fled.
Retire she would, but fixt was forc'd to stay,
And strove in vain to turn her Eyes away:
Life left her by Degrees, and every Part
To Stone was harden'd, like her stony Heart.—
Just where the Mourners took their solemn Way:
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And Heav'ns just Vengeance close pursues the Maid.
Let's view this mournful Pomp, surpriz'd, she cries;
And instant to the open Window flies:
Whence seeing Iphis on his burial Bed,
Her Eye-Balls stiffen'd, and her Colour fled.
Retire she would, but fixt was forc'd to stay,
And strove in vain to turn her Eyes away:
Life left her by Degrees, and every Part
To Stone was harden'd, like her stony Heart.—
No Mean, no Cure for Love was left, but Death:
Death pleas'd: She rose, resolv'd to stop her Breath.
And while her Girdle round the Beam she ty'd,
Farewell, Dear Cinyras! she softly cry'd:
Of my untimely End know you're the Cause:
Then round her Neck the fatal Noose she draws.
Death pleas'd: She rose, resolv'd to stop her Breath.
And while her Girdle round the Beam she ty'd,
Farewell, Dear Cinyras! she softly cry'd:
Of my untimely End know you're the Cause:
Then round her Neck the fatal Noose she draws.
The Nurse, who lay without, her faithful Guard,
Tho' not the Words, the Murmurs over-heard:
Startled she rises, opes the Door, and straight
Beholds the ready Instrument of Fate.
Screaming she beats her Breast, and rends her Hairs,
And from the Virgin's Neck the Halter tares.—
Tho' not the Words, the Murmurs over-heard:
Startled she rises, opes the Door, and straight
Beholds the ready Instrument of Fate.
Screaming she beats her Breast, and rends her Hairs,
And from the Virgin's Neck the Halter tares.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |