The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison

The Athenians having basely killed Androgeos the Son of Minus King of Crete; that Prince, by a severe War, compelled them to send annually seven Batchelors and as many Virgins to be devoured by the Minotaure. This was a Monster engendered by a Bull upon Pasiphae, the Wife of Minus, while he was engaged in the Athenian Wars. Among others, the Lot fell upon Theseus to be one of these destined Youths, but he encountered and killed the Monster, and afterwards by the direction of Ariadne made his escape out of the Labyrinth, and fled with her, to the Isle of Naxos. Afterwards, upon a Summons from Bacchus, he left her one Morning when asleep: she finding her self thus deserted, sends him this Epistle.

From that inhuman Shore these Lines receive,
Where late you left a tender Nymph to grieve;
Tho' there expos'd to savage Beasts of Prey,
She lives to call thee savager than they:

Their Cruelties no more than Nature prove;
But Theseus hid his Cruelties in Love,
When Sleep, and his endearing Arms betray'd
A drowzy, easy, miserable Maid!

Scarce had the tuneful Birds awak'd the Day,
And the Dew glitter'd at each dawning Ray;
When melting in soft Dreams, my Arms I threw,
To clasp my Joys, and circle them in you;
But as I stretching turn'd me to your Place,
An empty Grasp receiv'd my warm Embrace;
Turning, again I reach'd, I search'd again;
I lookt, I felt; but lookt, or felt in vain:
Wak'd in a Fright, I started from the Bed,
And as I fear'd, I found my Swain was fled.
At this I beat my Breast, I tore my Hair,
And stood a-while the Image of Despair.

Led by the Lustre of the waning Moon,
From Place to Place distractedly I run;

By her pale Rays, not half so pale as I,
Dimly the solitary Land espy;
With widow'd Eyes survey the mournful View,
But all, like me, seem'd destitute of you:
Theseus! along the concave Shores I cry'd;
Theseus! the repercussive Shores reply'd:
The Shores, tho' deaf to Storms, more kind than you,
Heard ev'ry Call, and echoing call'd you too.

Rais'd on the Margin of the thirsty Sands,
A rough, a barren Promontory stands;
Advent'rous by Despair, the Top I climb,
For Passion gave a Pinion to each Limb:
Thence, the wide Seas, and subject Floods survey,
And o'er the blue Expansion roll my Eye;
When strait I saw thy distant Streamers blow,
Float on the Breeze, and o'er the Billows flow.
Amaz'd, at first I doubted my Surprize,
And Reason held a Conflict with my Eyes:

But soon (too soon!) I found the Terror true,
Nor did my wond'ring Eyes deceive, but you!
Then, in what Agony of Thought I stood!
How chill'd my Bosom! and how freez'd my Blood!
'Till o'er my speechless Rage, my Grief prevail'd,
Unloos'd my frigid Tongue, and loud I call'd!
O Theseus! Theseus! whither do you fly?
Return—'tis Ariadne calls! I die—
At ev'ry Call I beat my panting Breast,
And where my Accents fail'd, my Rage exprest:
From my cold Limbs my parting Vest I tore;
And high in Air the waving Signal bore.
In vain! my Breath but made you faster fly,
Nor would you see the Sign, nor hear the Cry.

But when my Sight no farther could pursue,
And intervening Oceans dimm'd my View:
Till then restrain'd, my Tears in Torrents flow'd,
Stream'd down my Eyes, and all the Woman show'd:

My Eyes! their only Office, let them weep;
And mourn the Theseus, that they could not keep.

Now like some frantic Bacchanal I fly,
Now bath'd in Grief, on some bleak Mountain lie,
From thence the solitary Seas explore,
See the Waves rise, and hear the Billows roar;
Cold as the Flinty-Rock, there sit alone,
And seem a Piece just growing from the Stone.

Oft to the conscious Grotto I return,
Sigh o'er my Grief, and o'er thy Absence mourn:
There, as some Transport to my Soul appears,
Kindles my Breast, and melts my Heart in Tears;
Falling I press thy dear, deserted Place,
And breathe my Sorrows on the briny Grass;
To the sad Shades in plaintive Accents cry,
O cruel! could you let my Theseus fly?
I brought my Theseus hither true, and kind,
Sure 'tis your baneful Influence chang'd his Mind!

Ye Shades, ye Shades, my gentle Swain restore,
True, as at first; and tender, as before.

What shall I do! or whither can I fly?
What Succour, what Inhabitant is nigh?
No human Race possess the savage Isle,
No rising Harvests on the Peasants smile;
No Trade the barren Wilderness supplies,
Girt with rough Seas, and bound with barren Skies.

But should some favourable Ship appear,
Moor on these Shores, and wait my Passage here,
To what far unknown Region should I roam?
Where seek a Shelter? and where find a Home?
No Cretan Cities will Protection give,
Nor can my Friends, my injur'd Friends! forgive.
To you, false Man, my Father I betray'd;
And Heaven has justly now the Crime repaid!
To gain your Love, your wand'ring Steps I sped,
And thro' the Labyrinth too kindly led;

But when I first the active Present bore,
What Words! what Vows! what Promises you swore!
By this dear Gift, you cry'd, this magic Clue,
Which thus for ever binds my Heart to you!
To your last Breath my faithful Love I swear,
Firm be my Oath, as Ariadne's dear.
False Man, I live, (if one like me can live)
To see your Love, your Promises, deceive!
O! had you me with my poor Brother slain,
Then had your Vows been void, and void my Pain.

But, whilst I these experienc'd Griefs relate,
Blind to my future Griefs, reserv'd by Fate;
What fictious Horrors all my Thoughts controul,
Rise on my Sight, and sink upon my Soul!
In ev'ry Breeze some ranging Beast I hear,
And start at Phantoms conjur'd by my fear:
Imagine Lions in the Oceans roar,
And fabled Monsters rising from the Shore:

See murd'ring Ruffians' bloody Daggers rise,
Gild the green Gloom, and glimmer in my Eyes;
Faint, scarce I move, pant with thick-beating Breath,
And my Soul suffers with ideal Death:
Fearful some servile Slavery to prove,
Below my Lineage, and below thy Love.

Where-e'er I turn my Sight, where-e'er I go,
Fresh Scenes of Horror multiply my Woe;
As o'er the desart Rocks my Eyes I roll,
There view the gloomy Image of my Soul:
On the wide Seas with black'ning Tempests fill'd,
Survey my troubled Breast with Sorrows swell'd.
Nor in my deepest Anguish scarcely dare
Breathe a sad Sigh to Heaven, or steal a Prayer;
For would the list'ning Gods relieve my Pain,
Those Gods that ev'n have chang'd my faithless Swain!
Those cruel Gods that leave me thus a Prey
To savage Beasts, or Man more fierce than they!

O that my Brother's Blood had ne'er been spilt,
Nor Athens paid so dearly for the Guilt!
O that by thee the Monster ne'er had dy'd!
Nor this fond Hand the ductive Clue supply'd!
Thro' the blind Maze I taught thy Steps to rove,
But lost myself in Labyrinths of Love!
Nor do I wonder that you conquer'd so,
Yourself the greater Monster of the two!
Steel'd with that Savageness you dar'd the War,
And fac'd a Danger that you could not fear:
Well might that Breast the horned Combate try,
Whose Powers the sharper Darts of Love defy.

Ye treach'rous Slumbers, that deceiv'd my Joys,
O close again, for ever! close these Eyes:
Robb'd of my Bliss, in vain you bring Relief,
Unless, as you begun, you end my Grief.

Ye faithless Gales, that bore my Love away,
No more in sportive Zephirs idly play;

But charg'd with Griefs in deeper Murmurs blow,
Sigh out my Sighs, and whisper out my Woe,

And thou, false Theseus, listless of my Cries,
Could not a Brother's Death thy Rage suffice!
By diff'rent Means you act an equal Wrong,
He felt your Sword, and I that flatt'ring Tongue;
That Tongue that first my easy Heart betray'd,
Till Sleep, and rising Gales conspir'd their Aid;
Conspir'd, like silly me, a Swain to please,
Like that, too soothing, faithless too like these!

Must then alas! these widow'd Eyes no more
Survey the Confines of my Native Shore!
But daily fading in a foreign Land
Expire, without a Parent's closing Hand!
Shall no dear heart-dissolving Friend be near,
To sooth my Sorrows with a tender Tear!
Shall no religious Rites be kindly paid!
No Comfort dying! and no Guard when dead!

But must my Body un-inhum'd decay,
Alike, when living, and when dead, a Prey.

While You at Athens seek a glorious name!
To reap the mighty Harvest of your Fame;
Describe the Monster-Man, the Conquest blaze;
And traverse o'er again the winding-Maze:
How great 'twill sound, to name a certain Maid,
That crown'd your Arms deserted! and betray'd!

But cruel as the Rocks that brought thee forth,
(For I can ne'er believe thy boasted Birth)
Would some kind Power my Spectre-Figure show,
'Twould touch thy Soul with sympathetic Woe!
But since the distance such a Sight denies,
O see my Sorrows by Idea rise.
Think then, you see a Mountain's batter'd Brow,
Beat by rough Winds, and stunn'd by Floods below;
On some deep-bellying Crag behold me there,
My Locks dishevel'd, and my Bosom bare.

Behold me on the clammy Stone reclin'd,
Like rainy Harvests bending with the Wind;
While o'er the dewy Sheets I breathe my Pain,
Drench'd in my Tears, and spatter'd by the Main.
“Theseus relent, and if at your Return,
“You find me dead—O Theseus close my Urn.

University of Virginia Library

Ariadne to Theseus.

The Argument.