Poems upon several occasions with a voyage to the Island of Love. By Mrs A. Behn |
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To the excellent Madam Behn, on her Poems.
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 | Poems upon several occasions |  |
To the excellent Madam Behn, on her Poems.
T'was vain for Man the Laurels to persue,
(E'en from the God of Wit bright Daphne flew)
Man, Whose course compound damps the Muses fire,
It does but touch our Earth and soon expire;
While in the softer kind th'Ætherial flame,
Spreads and rejoices as from Heaven it came:
This Greece in Sappho, in Orinda knew
Our Isle; though they were but low types to you;
But the faint dawn to your illustrious day,
To make us patient of your brighter Ray.
(E'en from the God of Wit bright Daphne flew)
Man, Whose course compound damps the Muses fire,
It does but touch our Earth and soon expire;
While in the softer kind th'Ætherial flame,
Spreads and rejoices as from Heaven it came:
This Greece in Sappho, in Orinda knew
Our Isle; though they were but low types to you;
But the faint dawn to your illustrious day,
To make us patient of your brighter Ray.
Oft may we see some wretched story told;
In ductile sense spread thin as leaves of Gold.
You have ingrost th'inestimable Mine;
Which in well polisht Numbers you refine,
While still the solid Mass shines thick in every Line.
In ductile sense spread thin as leaves of Gold.
You have ingrost th'inestimable Mine;
Which in well polisht Numbers you refine,
While still the solid Mass shines thick in every Line.
Yet neither sex do you surpass alone,
Both in your Verse are in their glory shown,
Both Phœbus and Minerva are your own.
While in the softest dress you Wit dispense,
With all the Nerves of Reason and of Sense.
In mingled Beauties we at once may trace
A Female Sweetness and a Manly Grace.
No wonder 'tis the Delphian God of old
Wou'd have his Oracles by Women told.
But oh! who e'er so sweetly could repeat
Soft lays of Love, and youths delightfull heat?
If Love's Misfortunes be your mournfull Theme,
No dying Swan on fair Cayster's stream,
Expires so sweet, though with his numerous Moan,
The fading Banks and suffering Mountains groan.
If you the gentle Passions wou'd inspire,
With what resistless Charms you breathe desire?
No Heart so savage, so relentless none,
As can the sweet Captivity disown:
Ah, needs must she th'unwary Soul surprise,
Whose Pen sheds Flames as dangerous as her Eyes.
Both in your Verse are in their glory shown,
Both Phœbus and Minerva are your own.
While in the softest dress you Wit dispense,
With all the Nerves of Reason and of Sense.
In mingled Beauties we at once may trace
A Female Sweetness and a Manly Grace.
No wonder 'tis the Delphian God of old
Wou'd have his Oracles by Women told.
But oh! who e'er so sweetly could repeat
Soft lays of Love, and youths delightfull heat?
If Love's Misfortunes be your mournfull Theme,
No dying Swan on fair Cayster's stream,
The fading Banks and suffering Mountains groan.
If you the gentle Passions wou'd inspire,
With what resistless Charms you breathe desire?
No Heart so savage, so relentless none,
As can the sweet Captivity disown:
Ah, needs must she th'unwary Soul surprise,
Whose Pen sheds Flames as dangerous as her Eyes.
J. ADAMS.
| Poems upon several occasions | |