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 |  |
177
V.
My Soul melted as my Beloved spoke,
Cant. v. 6.
What Hills, what Rocks, what Deserts have I trod,
Only for one short view of Thee, my God?
How for one Word from those dear Lips of Thine,
My Feet a tiresom Pilgrimage injoin!
O'er craggy Rocks of such stupendious height,
Th'ascent does ev'n the climbing Deer afright:
Yet cannot my unwearied Haste delay,
For mighty Love conducts me all the way.
Tho' from these heights I all Things else descry.
The dear-lov'd Object shuns my longing Eye.
Distracted then, thro' ev'ry Den I rave,
Search each Recess, and visit ev'ry Cave.
In vain those unfrequented Paths I wear,
I only find thou art a Stranger there.
Sometimes into the open Plain I rove,
But there am lost in Error as in Love.
To Heav'n I look, and thro' the Fields complain,
But both unkindly answer not again.
178
There on my Love (but still in vain) I call.
Not far from hence a close thick Covert grows,
Where panting Beasts fly for a cool Repose:
Here, here, said I, perhaps He's laid to rest;
But, oh! no sign of Thee was here imprest.
Then, stung with Passion and o'erwhelm'd with Grief,
I coast the Shoar, and thence expect Relief.
Here a high Tow'r exalts its lofty Head,
By whose kind Light the wandring Sailor's led:
Here I ascend, and view the Ocean round,
While my Complaints o'er all the Shoar resound:
Tell me, you Shoars, you Seas, and tell me true,
Is not my Love conceal'd in some of You?
As to each other you wou'd constant be,
Discover, and be just to Love and Me!
Scarce had the Shoar receiv'd the mournful Noise
When it return'd a loud redoubled Voice:
But that some sporting Eccho I believe,
That fools the Wretch'd, and dallies with their Grief.
Again the Shoar I rend; the Shoar does hear,
And the kind Voice again salutes my Ear;
A Voice, a well-known Voice! 'twas Thine, my Life,
Whose pleasing Accents soon dispell'd my Grief.
Now I reviv'd: One such immortal Breath
Had pow'r enough to rescue me from Death.
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By a strange infl'ence thro' the Soul can melt.
So thy Disciples Hearts were fir'd within,
When on the way thou didst Discourse begin;
The secret Charms of Thy prevailing Voice
Caus'd unaccountable, yet mighty Joys.
'Twas the same Heav'nly Sound that answer'd me,
And all dissolv'd me into Exstacy,
That kindled such a Fire within my Soul,
Whose ardent Heat an Ocean cannot cool.
See how my melting Passions hast and run,
Like Virgin-wax before the scorching Sun!
O might I be so Blest to mix with Thee,
Our Life the same, the same our Love shou'd be.
What is this that I feel? What Fire is it that warms my Heart? What Light is it that enlightens it? O thou Fire which always burnest, and art never extinguished! do thou inflame me!
Aug. Soliloq. cap. 34.
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