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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| XIV. |
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 | Pia Desideria |  |
129
XI.
I will rise, and go about the City in the Streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom
my Soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not,
Cant. iii. 2.
At last, tho' late, my Error does appear,
Had I search'd well I sure had found my Dear.
I thought him wrapt in soft Repose, in Bed
Easing his troubled Breast, and weary Head;
But there (alas!) my Love I cou'd not find,
A harder Lodging was for him design'd.
Had I search'd well I sure had found my Dear.
I thought him wrapt in soft Repose, in Bed
Easing his troubled Breast, and weary Head;
But there (alas!) my Love I cou'd not find,
A harder Lodging was for him design'd.
Alas! my Life, alas! what shall I do?
How can I Rest or Sleep depriv'd of You?
No, tho' a thousand Rivers murm'ring Noise
Shou'd court me to it with one lulling Voice;
Nor tho' as many whisp'ring Groves conspire,
And join the Musick of their feather'd Quire.
Scarce close my weary Eyes, with Cares opprest,
When Sorrow rushes in, and breaks my Rest.
My Eyes, my Thoughts no Night admit, but when
I tossing lie, each tedious Hour seems Ten.
If ever Sleep indulge my Misery,
My Sleeping Thoughts are all imploy'd on Thee:
Why then shou'd wretched I seek Rest in vain,
Since Sleep so oft denies to ease my Pain?
How can I Rest or Sleep depriv'd of You?
No, tho' a thousand Rivers murm'ring Noise
Shou'd court me to it with one lulling Voice;
Nor tho' as many whisp'ring Groves conspire,
And join the Musick of their feather'd Quire.
Scarce close my weary Eyes, with Cares opprest,
When Sorrow rushes in, and breaks my Rest.
My Eyes, my Thoughts no Night admit, but when
I tossing lie, each tedious Hour seems Ten.
130
My Sleeping Thoughts are all imploy'd on Thee:
Why then shou'd wretched I seek Rest in vain,
Since Sleep so oft denies to ease my Pain?
My Bed I quit, and ranging all the Town,
Remove as Chance or Reason leads me on:
Each Corner search, and hope in each to find
The dearest Object of my Eyes and Mind:
No Place escapes me, none so private lies,
To cheat th'Enquiry of my curious Eyes.
The eager Hound thus close his Game pursues,
While the warm Scent directs his reddy Nose:
Thro' Woods and Thickets, Bri'rs, and Thorns he runs,
No Danger dreads, or Inconvenience shuns.
Thus once the weeping Magdalen did Roam
To find her Lord, when missing in his Tomb.
What that denies, she hopes the City yields;
But there not found, she seeks him in the Fields;
No Man unask'd, no Place unsearch'd, remain'd,
Till the dear Treasure which she sought was gain'd:
Thus the griev'd Dam for her robb'd Nest complains,
And fills the Forrest with her mournful Strains;
About the Tree enrag'd she flies, and now
Lights on the top, then on some under-Bough.
And to her Fellows sadly does relate
Th'injurious stealth, and her lost Off-Springs Fate.
Thus have I search'd thro' ev'ry Walk and Street,
But what I sought (alas!) I cou'd not meet.
Base Walks! and hateful Streets! whose ev'ry Road
My weary Feet so oft in vain have trod!
I mist my Love in Bed, and sought him here;
But sought amiss, and still must want my Dear.
Remove as Chance or Reason leads me on:
Each Corner search, and hope in each to find
The dearest Object of my Eyes and Mind:
No Place escapes me, none so private lies,
To cheat th'Enquiry of my curious Eyes.
The eager Hound thus close his Game pursues,
While the warm Scent directs his reddy Nose:
Thro' Woods and Thickets, Bri'rs, and Thorns he runs,
No Danger dreads, or Inconvenience shuns.
Thus once the weeping Magdalen did Roam
To find her Lord, when missing in his Tomb.
What that denies, she hopes the City yields;
But there not found, she seeks him in the Fields;
No Man unask'd, no Place unsearch'd, remain'd,
Till the dear Treasure which she sought was gain'd:
Thus the griev'd Dam for her robb'd Nest complains,
And fills the Forrest with her mournful Strains;
About the Tree enrag'd she flies, and now
Lights on the top, then on some under-Bough.
131
Th'injurious stealth, and her lost Off-Springs Fate.
Thus have I search'd thro' ev'ry Walk and Street,
But what I sought (alas!) I cou'd not meet.
Base Walks! and hateful Streets! whose ev'ry Road
My weary Feet so oft in vain have trod!
I mist my Love in Bed, and sought him here;
But sought amiss, and still must want my Dear.
Christ is not found in the Courts nor in the Streets; Christ is no frequenter of the Courts. Christ is Peace, in the Courts are Contentions: Christ is Justice, in the Courts is Iniquity, &c. Let us shun the Courts, let us avoid the Streets.
Amb. de Virg. lib. 3.
| Pia Desideria | |