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 |  |
169
IV.
I am my Beloved's, and his Desire is towards me,
Cant. vii. 10.
Thro' the thick shades of a cool Cypress Grove,
Weeping I wander'd to bewail my Love;
A briny Torrent rowl'd adown my Breast,
And weighty Grief my sinking Soul Opprest.
In my sad Arms an Ivory Lute I bore,
My Sorrows sure Physician heretofore.
Tir'd with my Grief, on a soft Turf I Rest,
And thus unload my over-burthen'd Breast.
Weeping I wander'd to bewail my Love;
A briny Torrent rowl'd adown my Breast,
And weighty Grief my sinking Soul Opprest.
In my sad Arms an Ivory Lute I bore,
My Sorrows sure Physician heretofore.
Tir'd with my Grief, on a soft Turf I Rest,
And thus unload my over-burthen'd Breast.
Must I my Days consume in lonesom Grief,
And cruel Love deny me all Relief?
O let that Curse attend my Enemies,
Be they still Strangers to Love's envy'd Bliss!
“For not to Love, is surely not to Live,
“Since Life's chief Blessings we in Love receive:
“The whole design of Living is to Love,
“And who Loves most, does best his Life improve.
Bodies of Earth down to their Centre tend
And Seeds of Fire to theirs above ascend.
So our soft Hearts to Love are still inclin'd,
Urg'd by a vi'lent impulse of the Mind.
Ev'n mine too, kindled by an innate Flame,
Is eager to deserve a Lover's Name.
But where shall I my kindling Flames impart,
Where yield the Virgin-fortress of my Heart?
Shall I descend to a low mortal Love,
I, the Companion of blest Minds above?
Or shall I with inferiour Creatures Sport,
Whom their Creator not disdains to Court?
No, no my Soul, fix thou thy Thoughts on high?
Thou hast no equal Match beneath the Sky.
My Hymen shall no other Torches bear,
Than what have each been lighted at a Star.
Angels shall my Epithalamium Sing,
Conducting me in Triumph to their King.
Him, Him alone of all I can approve
The noblest Object of the purest Love.
His dear-lov'd Image still salutes my Eye,
Nor can his Absence this Delight deny.
No envious Distance can prevail to part
His dear resembling Impress from my Heart.
With him, methinks, in sweet Discourse I walk,
Pleas'd with the Sound of his imagin'd Talk.
So, by strange sympathy, the faithful Steel
Does the lov'd Pole's magnetick infl'ence feel,
By whose kind Conduct the safe Pilot steers
A steddy Course, till the wish'd Port appears.
So the fond Hyacinth pursues the Sun,
Pleas'd at his Rise, griev'd when his Race is done:
So is He waited on by the pale Moon,
Who from his Beams Reflections guilds her own.
Like these, Almighty Love to Thee I flie;
If thou withdraw'st thy Face, I Pine, I Die.
O then, since all my Joys on that depend,
Let the blest Vision never never end!
And cruel Love deny me all Relief?
O let that Curse attend my Enemies,
Be they still Strangers to Love's envy'd Bliss!
“For not to Love, is surely not to Live,
“Since Life's chief Blessings we in Love receive:
“The whole design of Living is to Love,
“And who Loves most, does best his Life improve.
170
And Seeds of Fire to theirs above ascend.
So our soft Hearts to Love are still inclin'd,
Urg'd by a vi'lent impulse of the Mind.
Ev'n mine too, kindled by an innate Flame,
Is eager to deserve a Lover's Name.
But where shall I my kindling Flames impart,
Where yield the Virgin-fortress of my Heart?
Shall I descend to a low mortal Love,
I, the Companion of blest Minds above?
Or shall I with inferiour Creatures Sport,
Whom their Creator not disdains to Court?
No, no my Soul, fix thou thy Thoughts on high?
Thou hast no equal Match beneath the Sky.
My Hymen shall no other Torches bear,
Than what have each been lighted at a Star.
Angels shall my Epithalamium Sing,
Conducting me in Triumph to their King.
Him, Him alone of all I can approve
The noblest Object of the purest Love.
His dear-lov'd Image still salutes my Eye,
Nor can his Absence this Delight deny.
No envious Distance can prevail to part
His dear resembling Impress from my Heart.
With him, methinks, in sweet Discourse I walk,
Pleas'd with the Sound of his imagin'd Talk.
171
Does the lov'd Pole's magnetick infl'ence feel,
By whose kind Conduct the safe Pilot steers
A steddy Course, till the wish'd Port appears.
So the fond Hyacinth pursues the Sun,
Pleas'd at his Rise, griev'd when his Race is done:
So is He waited on by the pale Moon,
Who from his Beams Reflections guilds her own.
Like these, Almighty Love to Thee I flie;
If thou withdraw'st thy Face, I Pine, I Die.
O then, since all my Joys on that depend,
Let the blest Vision never never end!
172
The same, by another Hand.
A Cypress Grove (whose melancholy shadeTo sute the Temper of the sad was made.)
I chose for my Retreat, there laid me down,
Hoping my Sorrows in my Tears to drown:
They vainly flow'd; and now o'rewhelm'd with Grief,
From Musicks charming Sounds I sought Relief.
This Song Compos'd, I strike my Lyre, and Sing,
Soft Notes rebounding from each Silver String.
Ah! shall my wasted days no Passion Crown;
And must my empty years roul useless on!
So hard a fate I'd wish my greatest Foes!
He lives not, who the flames of Love ne'er knows:
Stupid his Soul lies hid in darkest Night,
Who is not chear'd with Love's transpiercing Light:
He bears no Image of the God above,
Whose icy Breast's insensible to Love.
The pond'rous Earth, by'ts proper weight deprest,
Beneath all other Elements doth rest;
While pointed Flames do thro' the solid Mass
Force their bright way, and unresisted pass:
So thro' the solid lump of Man, the Soul
Sends forth those Fires that all the Frame controul;
173
Where-e're those Flames direct th'obedient Clay.
And now I feel an unknown warmth all o'er;
I burn, I melt, but know not from what Pow'r:
These sharp quick Fires are urg'd thro' ev'ry Vein,
Mingling at once such Pleasure and such Pain.
Ah! whither will this furious Passion drive?
(In vain against Love's raging force we strive.)
Shall my aspiring Soul, like vulgar Hearts,
Complain of shameful Wounds from Cupid's Darts?
If I shou'd be embrac'd by mortal Arms,
They'd fade my Beauties, fully all my Charms:
My rising Mind soars vast Degrees above
Terrestrial Charms, they're much beneath my Love:
These gross Desires my purer Soul disdains;
She'll be His Spouse who ev'ry Being frames.
Agnes, of Rome the Wonder and the Pride,
Her Charms to an Ausonian Youth deny'd,
And in these Terms refus'd to be his Bride:
“If I have kindled Fires within your Breast,
“I cannot Grant, but Pity your Request:
“Nor can you justly my Refusal blame,
“Since I burn with a much Diviner Flame;
“For my Creator hath engag'd my Heart,
“My Soul from such a Spouse can ne'er depart:
174
“And at this Distance He's my sole Delight:
“In Absence we Converse; I speak in Pray'rs,
“And he in Absence Charms my listning Ears.
So by the Loadstones unseen wondrous force
The faithful Needle steers the Seaman's Course:
Tow'rds its lov'd North it constantly doth rise,
Guiding their secret Course where-e'er it lies.
So does the Flow'r of Phœbus twice a Day
Turn tow'rds her Sun, and her glad Leaves Display.
Fair Cynthia thus regards her Brother's Beams,
Renews her Beauty from his borrow'd Flames.
I am thy Clytie (Spouse) thou art my Sun,
I Cynthia, always tow'rds thy Light must run.
My Spouse, my Helice, with longing I
(Where-e're thou draw'st) tow'rds thee in Raptures flie.
What wonder if in mutual Love We burn,
Since Steel can tow'rds the senseless Loadstone turn?
175
My Heart passes through many Things, seeking about where it may take its Rest; but finds nothing that pleases it, till it returns to God.
Bernard. Medit. cap. 9.
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