Pia Desideria or, Divine Addresses, In Three Books. Illustrated with XLVII. Copper-Plates. Written in Latin by Herm. Hugo. Englished by Edm. Arwaker ... The Fourth Edition, Corrected |
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 | Pia Desideria |  |
123
X.
By Night on my Bed, I sought him whom my Soul loveth, I sought him, but I found him not,
Cant. iii. 1.
I treat not of inferior mortal Fires,
But chastest Sighs, and more sublime Desires;
As Bodies, so the Minds their Flames receive,
But still the grosser for the Bodies leave.
The generous Fire that warms the Soul, does prove
And that alone, the pleasing Charms of Love.
What nobler Flames the lofty Minds inspire!
How are they rais'd to more refin'd Desire!
In what Divine Embraces do they join!
What holy Hands their mutual Contracts sign!
How dear the Joys of that chast Genial Bed!
With what unspeakable Delights 'tis spread!
Where the pleas'd Soul in her Beloved's Arms,
And he in hers, gaze on each others Charms.
The Bed on which such happy Lovers rest,
Is downy Peace in its own quiet Blest.
But chastest Sighs, and more sublime Desires;
As Bodies, so the Minds their Flames receive,
But still the grosser for the Bodies leave.
The generous Fire that warms the Soul, does prove
And that alone, the pleasing Charms of Love.
What nobler Flames the lofty Minds inspire!
How are they rais'd to more refin'd Desire!
In what Divine Embraces do they join!
What holy Hands their mutual Contracts sign!
How dear the Joys of that chast Genial Bed!
With what unspeakable Delights 'tis spread!
Where the pleas'd Soul in her Beloved's Arms,
And he in hers, gaze on each others Charms.
The Bed on which such happy Lovers rest,
Is downy Peace in its own quiet Blest.
124
Here I was wont, when Care drove Sleep away,
Pregnant with Thought, to watch the Dawning Day;
Here the dear He that stole my Virgin-heart
Did oft to me his Bosom-cares impart.
Then, then a Sacred Flame my Soul possest,
And no less Heat reign'd in his amorous Breast:
Then silent Love did all our Thoughts imploy
Tho' Dumb, our Eyes discours'd in Tears of Joy.
But now, nor know I why, my Love's estrang'd,
I fear some Fault of mine his Mind has chang'd:
For, a whole Day he has not Blest my Sight,
Nor (which he ever us'd) return'd at Night.
Or has the Faithless fickle Charmer fled,
Or for another left my Widow'd Bed?
How sadly I in Tears and Discontent
The tedious Night of his griev'd Absence spent?
'Twas now the dead low Ebb of deepest Night,
And gentle Sleep had lock'd my Drowsy Sight.
When a loud Voice surpriz'd my trembling Ear,
And call'd, Rise, Sluggard, see your Love's not here.
Straight I awake, and rub my sleepy Eyes,
Then the forsaken House I fill with Cries:
Sleep'st thou, my Love? But Answer I had none,
For He, (alas!) to whom I spoke, was gone.
Soon with a lighted Torch his Steps I Trace,
And wish I ne'er had seen them nor his Face.
Then on the guiltless Bed begin t'exclaim,
Ask where my Love is, and it's Silence blame.
Distracted then I search the Chamber round,
But what I sought was no where to be found.
What Tumults then were rais'd within my Breast,
Who once on Peace's downy Bed did rest?
What raging Storms then tost my troubled Mind,
Unus'd to Tempests of so fierce a Kind!
With Pain my heavy Eyes to Heav'n I raise,
And scarce my Lips can open in its Praise;
My former Strength in sacred Conflicts fails,
And what was once my Sport, my Soul bewails:
For while Success Crown'd my troubled Head,
On Golden Peace I made my easie Bed:
Then, like a Boasting Soldier, Raw and Young,
Who always is Victorious with his Tongue,
I wish'd to Exercise some Tyrant's Rage,
Or in some glorious Hazard I'd engage.
So warm a Heat within my Blood did play,
While on the easie Bed of Peace I lay:
But when this Heat forsook me with my Love,
Colder than Scythian Frosts my Blood did prove,
So Flow'rs, which gentle Zephyrs kindly rear,
Nipt by Cold Frosts, decay and disappear:
So Lamps burn bright, while Oyl maintains their Fire,
But as that ceases, Languish and Expire,
Pregnant with Thought, to watch the Dawning Day;
Here the dear He that stole my Virgin-heart
Did oft to me his Bosom-cares impart.
Then, then a Sacred Flame my Soul possest,
And no less Heat reign'd in his amorous Breast:
Then silent Love did all our Thoughts imploy
Tho' Dumb, our Eyes discours'd in Tears of Joy.
But now, nor know I why, my Love's estrang'd,
I fear some Fault of mine his Mind has chang'd:
For, a whole Day he has not Blest my Sight,
Nor (which he ever us'd) return'd at Night.
Or has the Faithless fickle Charmer fled,
Or for another left my Widow'd Bed?
How sadly I in Tears and Discontent
The tedious Night of his griev'd Absence spent?
'Twas now the dead low Ebb of deepest Night,
And gentle Sleep had lock'd my Drowsy Sight.
When a loud Voice surpriz'd my trembling Ear,
And call'd, Rise, Sluggard, see your Love's not here.
Straight I awake, and rub my sleepy Eyes,
Then the forsaken House I fill with Cries:
Sleep'st thou, my Love? But Answer I had none,
For He, (alas!) to whom I spoke, was gone.
Soon with a lighted Torch his Steps I Trace,
And wish I ne'er had seen them nor his Face.
125
Ask where my Love is, and it's Silence blame.
Distracted then I search the Chamber round,
But what I sought was no where to be found.
What Tumults then were rais'd within my Breast,
Who once on Peace's downy Bed did rest?
What raging Storms then tost my troubled Mind,
Unus'd to Tempests of so fierce a Kind!
With Pain my heavy Eyes to Heav'n I raise,
And scarce my Lips can open in its Praise;
My former Strength in sacred Conflicts fails,
And what was once my Sport, my Soul bewails:
For while Success Crown'd my troubled Head,
On Golden Peace I made my easie Bed:
Then, like a Boasting Soldier, Raw and Young,
Who always is Victorious with his Tongue,
I wish'd to Exercise some Tyrant's Rage,
Or in some glorious Hazard I'd engage.
So warm a Heat within my Blood did play,
While on the easie Bed of Peace I lay:
But when this Heat forsook me with my Love,
Colder than Scythian Frosts my Blood did prove,
So Flow'rs, which gentle Zephyrs kindly rear,
Nipt by Cold Frosts, decay and disappear:
So Lamps burn bright, while Oyl maintains their Fire,
But as that ceases, Languish and Expire,
126
Alas! my Love, I sought thee in my Bed,
Who on the Cross had'st laid thy weary Head:
Peace was my Bed, while the curst Cross was Thine,
I shou'd have sought Thee by that fatal Sign,
Much Time I lost in seeking thee around,
But sought thee where thou wert not to be found.
Who on the Cross had'st laid thy weary Head:
Peace was my Bed, while the curst Cross was Thine,
I shou'd have sought Thee by that fatal Sign,
Much Time I lost in seeking thee around,
But sought thee where thou wert not to be found.
127
Then we may be said to seek our Beloved in Bed, when being amused with any little sort of a Rest in this present Life, we yet sigh after our Redeemer, We seek him in the Night, because tho' then the Soul is waking, yet the Eye is still in Darkness.
Greg. in Ezek. Hom. 19.
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