Philomela :: :: University of Virginia Library

Still must we mourn thy Absence? still complain,
And court Thee from thy sad Retreat in vain?
When teeming Earth with fruitful Moisture fed,
Brings forth new Flow'rs, to deck the Paths You tread;
When each returning Morn shines doubly bright,
And each cool Ev'ning brings a charming Night,
The Country-Shades may yield a soft Delight.
But when o'er All the savage Winter reigns,
Makes bare the Groves, and desolates the Plains;

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When Nature's Face is chang'd, and ev'ry Day
Snatches some poor, decaying Charm away,
'Tis Madness, dear Clymene, then to stay.
What new, unheard-of Pleasures can'st Thou find;
What strange Delights, to entertain thy Mind?
Or do important Reasons force thy Will,
And to the gloomy Scene confine thee still?
I guess the mighty Cause: Thou fear'st to prove,
In this vile Town, the dreadful Thing call'd Love.
The little Tyrant reigns amidst the Sport,
The Smiles and Pleasures of the Town and Court.
Nor only there; Him ev'n the Wilds obey,
And Country-Desarts own his aweful Sway.
In vain to Woods and Solitudes we fly,
In vain the City change for purer Sky;
More dang'rous ev'n than Courts the Shades may prove,
And with more Ease admit th' Invader, Love.
Wild was the Place, and savage all around,
Where fair Angelica young Medor found.

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Severe the Dame, but grave, and sternly coy;
Am'rous, soft too, and tender was the Boy:
You know the rest—Then haste from your Abodes,
Leave the weak Shelter of the Fields and Woods:
O! come, and in a Thousand Breasts inspire
Successless Rage, and unavailing Fire.
Nor dread th' Effects of all their treach'rous Arts,
Their boasted Stratagems to conquer Hearts:
Unless the Fates assist, their moving Tale
Will never o'er your native Cold prevail.
To prove this true, believe the Tale I tell;
Not Oracles more Sacred Truths reveal.

As wand'ring pensive thro' the silent Groves,
I meditate my Sorrows and my Loves;
Daphnis, the Terror of our Woods, I view;
A mightier Name Love's Empire never knew:
None e'er so well an haughty Breast cou'd tame,
Or warms to Fires unknown the coldest Dame.
Prostrate before an heedless Fair he lies,
Sheds fruitful Tears, and wastes a Thousand Sighs;

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Then Love and Sorrow pleading in his Look,
Thus to the Cruel Nymph the Charmer spoke.

How long, my Fair, wilt Thou thy Fate delay?
Still wilt Thou idly waste the precious Day,
And in Indifference loiter Life away?
Hear always with Contempt my tender Theme,
Despise Love's Pleasures, and his Pow'r blaspheme?
Ah! no: The Joys my Passion courts in vain,
Another Shepherd with more Ease will gain;
His happier Flame will thy fierce Pride remove,
Subdue thy stubborn Heart, and melt it all to Love.
All Nature owns the God: In barb'rous Plains,
Where Half the Year is Night, and Cold eternal reigns,
The frozen Race is warm'd to soft Desires,
And feels in ev'ry Vein the Genial Fires.
However distant, the dread Hour must come,
Which all thy fading Beauties will resume:
Then in a just Revenge, th' offended Boy
May give his Suff'rings, and withhold his Joy;

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Send a fresh Warmth, as ev'ry Charm decays,
And wild Desires you want the Pow'r to raise.
Ah! Nymph, the Horror of this Fate prevent,
Appease the angry God, and yet in time repent.
Let tasteless Age th' Extatic Bliss despise,
Grow coldly grave, and stoically wise;
Do You, my Fair, while blooming Youth invites
To warmer Sentiments, and gay Delights,
Your Scorn and dull Indiff'rence dispossest,
Receive the gentle Tyrant to your Breast;
Reward a constant Flame, and yield to prove
The mighty Transports of a Mutual-Love.
No other solid Blessings Mortals know,
Nor Heav'n can on its Fav'rites more bestow,
To give a Taste of its own Joys below.

He ceas'd—The Neighb'ring Echoes caught the Sound,
The little Birds sung tender Notes around;
The list'ning Waves in gentle Murmurs move,
And ev'ry balmy Zephyr whisper'd Love;

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Yet her cold Heart in Silence heard his Pain;
When the Heart's silent, all Things speak in vain.