The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison :: :: University of Virginia Library

OEnone to Paris.

The Argument.

When Hecuba was with Child of Paris, she had a Dream of her being delivered of a Firebrand: Priam, upon this, consulting the Oracle, was told, that, the Infant she went with, should cause the Destruction of Troy; Priam therefore resolved at its Birth, that it should be torn to pieces by wild Beasts. Hecuba privately conveys away the Boy to Mount Ida, leaving him to the Shepherds care. Here, in process of Time, he became enamoured with the Nymph OEnone. But at last, being found out, he went upon an Expedition to Greece, and carried Hellen to Troy; OEnone hearing thereof, writes him this Epistle.

These Lines my lovely faithless Swain peruse,
If yet your Bride such Liberty allows;
No Rage they threaten from resenting Greece,
No News relate obnoxious to your Peace,

For poor OEnone now, tho' once so dear,
Below your Grandeur, is below your Care!
Yet hear, tho' deaf to Love, yet hear her Moan;
And listen to those Joys, you deign'd to crown.

What cruel Gods thus emulous could prove,
Destroy our Happiness, and blast our Love!
What Guilt of mine could call their Vengeance down!
If Love can be the Crime, the Crime's their own:
Ills when deserv'd, in Patience find Relief;
But, when thus hardly borne, dissolve to Grief!

Yet, once there was a Time, when Ida's Plain
Confess'd no Title but the lovely Swain;
When I, the fairest of the rural Fair,
Warm'd your young Breast, and was your only Care;
When you, a Shepherd, with the Shepherds strove,
And innocently won me into Love:
Sooth'd with those harmless unaffected Charms,
Heedless, I caught the Passion from your Arms.

In my dear Paris center'd all my Joy,
And all OEnone fill'd my faithful Boy.
How happy then we languish'd out the Day!
Toy'd in soft Shades, and slept in new-made Hay.
How happy then we languish'd out the Night!
New Joys returning with returning Light!
Fresh as the Morn, I join'd the Sylvan Chace,
And tun'd the Chorus of the latrant Race;
With you the Groves I rang'd, the Fields beset,
And watch'd the Motions of the swelling Net:
With you retiring to the breezy Shade,
Cool Fruits, and slaking Streams our Thirst allay'd.
There, on each Tree you carv'd our mutual Names,
And with the living Letters grew our Flames:
While Love, recording with a keener Dart,
Engrav'd each Token deeper on my Heart!

Close by a Stream, and bord'ring on a Grove,
A Beech now bears this Token of our Love;

Long may it bear! long stand the Test of Years!
And flourish by the Sanction of this Verse!
“When Paris his OEnone falsly leaves,
“Xanthus! like him be false, reverse thy Waves.
Reverse thy Waves, O Stream! return again,
And murm'ring, mourn with me my faithless Swain!

Curst be that Day! my blooming Hope's Annoy!
Date of my Griefs, and Period of my Joy!
When the bright Powers descended from the Skies,
To learn the Judgment of your brighter Eyes.
This when you told, my dead'ning Heart was struck,
And all my Soul with sudden Horror shook:
Each Sage, consulted warn'd some Change too near,
Increas'd my Sorrows, and confirm'd my Fear!

But when prepar'd, your Fleet at Anchor lay,
To bear my fond, believing Heart away;
How spoke those parting Eyes! O ne'er reprove
The noble Tenders of a virtuous Love!

How lock'd in Folds these clasping Arms I cast!
Nor Vines, nor Ivy circle Elms so fast!
Nor Elms when shook with Winds o'ercharg'd with Dew,
Whispers such Sighs, or drop such Tears as you.
What Sighs! what Tears! what Tenderness express'd
Your Soul dissolving on my panting Breast!
What kind! what dear—enchanting Sorrows fell,
To sooth, and soften that harsh Sound, Farewel!
Still the harsh Sound sunk deeper in our Heart,
And still we met a thousand Times to part!
The Sailors wonder'd at your tedious Stay,
But Love still fram'd Excuses for Delay.

'Till now, at last the long-expecting Gales,
Rais'd by our Sorrows, fill'd the swelling Sails,
With slow reluctant Feet our Way we bend,
And sadly-loving on each other lean'd;
With melancholy Steps approach'd the Shore,
Stop'd at each dear Recess; now dear no more!

Survey'd each solitary Scene of Love,
And bid adieu to ev'ry lonesome Grove;
The lonesome Groves, as if they sorrow'd too,
Wav'd by the Gales, submissive bow'd, Adieu!

And now the last, dear parting Kiss was given,
And now the last, dear Vow was breath'd to Heaven;
When to the Shore the hast'ning Vessel row'd,
And dancing off, seem'd lighter with its Load:
My streaming Eyes the floating Fleet pursue,
Their Griefs increasing at the less'ning View;
But when the pleasing Prospect sunk in Air,
My melting Heart I view'd, and view'd thee there;
Each Power I weary with imploring Cries,
Swell with my Tears the Floods, the Winds with Sighs:
In soft-beseeching, plaintive Murmurs mourn,
And court the Nereids for your quick Return.
The list'ning Nereids soon my Swain restore,
But ah! how chang'd from what he was before!

How chang'd his Manners, and how chang'd his Name!
Ev'n nothing but those Eyes remain the same;
Those dear-deluding Eyes, those blooming Charms
Are still the same to all—except these Arms!

Beat by the Tides, and crown'd with waving Woods,
A lofty Mountain rises o'er the Floods;
Here daily with expecting Looks I sat,
By turns dejected, and by turns elate;
From hence, at last, I saw your Streamers play,
Waft o'er the Floods, and drink the beamy Day;
So gay, so bright, the fierce Effulgence shone,
The Sails emerging seem'd a rising Sun:
Struck by the Splendour of the pompous Show,
My gazing Eyes could scarce believe 'twas you;
But more confounded, more amaz'd, I see
A Rival-Beauty sit, and sit by thee;
With those soft Locks her wanton Fingers play'd,
Her Head reclining on your Bosom laid.

Stung to the Soul, with Fury fir'd, I stood,
Now thought to quench it in the roaring Flood;
Now to the plaintive Groves my Griefs I pour,
And sigh my Sorrows in a silent Shower.

How shall I mourn those dear enchanting Charms!
How curse the cruel Rival of these Arms!
O! may those Charms to her as fatal prove!
O! may she mourn like me neglected Love!

Tho' now far-distant Nations learn your Fame,
Tho' foreign Ladies catch the flying Flame;
Yet when an humble Swain your Flocks you fed,
No Princess, but OEnone, knew your Bed;
No gaudy Title plum'd the golden Dart,
'Twas Love and Innocence surpriz'd my Heart;
When melting in the Circle of these Arms,
You swore you sought no Glory like such Charms;
No Pomps, no Dignities desir'd to prove,
Unless to raise your Merits to my Love:

Of all those Dignities I ask no part,
Desire to share in nothing but your Heart!
For that alone, I wish indulgent Fate,
High as my Love, would raise my humble State;
Then should no Rival the vain Triumph boast,
But Pomp regain the glorious Prize it lost!
Nor need your Royal Parents blush to own,
A Daughter much more virtuous than their Son.

Say, do your silken Sofa's gentle prove
Softer than these sweet sylvan Scenes of Love?
Say, can your Hellen, bright in guilty Charms,
Like innocent OEnone please your Arms?
Can study'd Sounds indulge a purer Dream,
Than the wild Musick of this purling Stream?
Here, no rude Fears the slumbring Soul annoy,
No fierce Alarms intrude but those of Joy!
Yet these, and more than these, must sure affright
The false Possessor of another's Right:

Tho' sweet her Charms, those Charms must be restor'd,
When Justice rouzes their avenging Lord.

But, does your Sire approve your loose Desires?
Does sage Antenor's Wisdom fan your Fires?
Should Troy assist, and second your Resolve,
Yet would a prudent Prince his Land involve?
Would any warlike Chief his Weapon draw
To brave the Gods, and violate the Law?

But soon your Fair, your boasted Fair, may change,
Condemn her Choice, and chuse again to range,
Some fond Variety may long to prove,
And turn, like you, a Commoner in Love;
Like you, Atrides once enjoy'd her Charms;
You too, like him, may mourn deserted Arms.
And should your Force the ravish'd Bride regain,
Her Innocence can ne'er return again.

O bless'd Andromache! whose kinder Fate
Bestows a Spouse, as virtuous, as he's great;
From her firm Loyalty I copy'd mine,
O could her Hector's so in Paris shine!
But faithless Paris, wanton as the Wind,
Light as the Leaves, enjoys a fickle Mind;
Quick as the Winds his wand'ring Thoughts are past,
And, like the Leaves, are turn'd with ev'ry Blast!

Too well my fatal Fortunes now unfold
What once prophetical Cassandra told;
When swell'd, and lab'ring with Divinity,
Full of the God she cry'd, and cry'd to me.

Cease, Nymph, to plough these barren Lands, O cease,
These barren Lands shall yield no kind Increase,
The Grecian Heifer shall your Hopes destroy,
Despoil your Cares, and prove the Bane of Troy!

She comes! good Heaven divert her fatal Way—
Sink! sink the Ship! and plunge it in the Sea:
What Flames of Rage! what Deluges of Blood!
O! quench them! drown them in the whelming Flood.

She said: her Servants the mad Priestess caught,
And left my gloomy Soul involv'd in Thought;
Ah! now too plain the Fates the Heifer seize,
For Hellen reaps the Harvest of the Seas.

Fair tho' she be, would any, but a Whore,
With one unknown forsake her Native Shore,
Neglect her Honour, disregard her Life,
And stain the Duty of a virtuous Wife?
But lost to ev'ry Sense of honest Fame,
She nothing but reiterates her Shame:
Debauch'd by Theseus, blushes now no more,
And laughs at Scruples she might fear before.

When young, with him she stole a base Escape;
Tho' her Friends smooth the Story with a Rape;
Pretend the Ravisher restor'd her Charms
Untouch'd, untasted from his longing Arms:
Let those that will believe the specious Art—
Her Eyes had Power, he a Lover's Heart!
And she that once but yields to loose Desires,
For ever burns in those unlawful Fires.
But I, because a Stranger to those Thoughts,
Must mourn my Virtues, as I mourn my Faults.
Should I, like you, my plighted Faith betray,
Well might you spare the Crime, who lead the Way!

How sacred, how inviolate my Love!
How clear my Honour! witness every Grove!
Mov'd by their fruitless Hopes, the rural Train
Declare their Passion, but declare in vain:
For me, the Sylvan Powers forsake their Shades,
And kindly court me to their cooling Glades;

With ever-living Wreaths adorn their Hair,
And for my sake, the Lover's Garland wear.
Ev'n He, the God whose Rays the World inspire,
Despair'd to set my virtuous Breast on fire,
With ev'ry soothing Blandishment he try'd,
But Honour ev'ry Blandishment defy'd.
Despis'd his Proffers with disdainful Eyes,
And scorn'd the Lover in the sordid Price;
'Till Flame increasing, as his Flatt'ry fail'd,
The baffled Lover in the God prevail'd:
Nor could his Strength an easy Conquest boast,
I lost reluctant, what at last I lost.
With streaming Eyes atton'd the base Abuse,
And hope'd the Author could the Crime excuse:
Mov'd by my Wrongs, and influenc'd by my Grief;
The grateful God administred Relief;
Inspir'd each wise, medicinary Power,
To sooth my Sorrows, and my Soul restore;
Disclos'd each Secret, open'd ev'ry Art;
Taught to save Life—but not a Lover's Heart!

Here, all his Secrets, all his Arts must fail!
Nor could the God his own Distemper heal.

But charming Paris! lovely, faithless Swain!
'Tis you alone can give, and ease that Pain!
Your Arts alone beyond the Gods can prove,
And speak a greater God, at least in Love!
O haste my Paris! my Complaints regard,
My Sorrows pity, and my Truth reward!
In loose, unlawful Flames no longer burn,
But, where you left your Innocence return;
There let our early sacred Passions shine,
Rejoin their Lustre, and commence Divine.