The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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| Love Verses. |
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
36
Love Verses.
The Captive.
Long I had laught at the vain Name of Love,And thought it Fiction all; it ne'er cou'd move
My Eyes to wander, or enslave my Heart,
Freedom and that were one, and were too fond to part;
Freedom without whose Pastport Wealth were vain,
Pleasure a Clog, and Life it self a Pain.
But ah! too soon I found that Blessing gone,
Whose Loss, I fear, I must for ever moan.
I saw her, and no more; one pointed View
Softn'd my flinty Breast, and pierc'd it thro' and thro'.
O who can Love's resistless Darts controul,
That thro' our Eyes so soon can reach the Soul!
Yes Cælia, I'm your Captive from this Hour,
But do not govern with Tyrannick Pow'r;
Smile, and the Muse shall celebrate thy Name,
Make it her constant Theme, and give it lasting Fame.
To Cælia, desiring his Absence.
Now Cælia y'ave your Wish—but ah! be kindTo the poor Captive-Heart I leave behind;
37
Proud that 'tis Thine, and triumphs in its Chains.
For all the Beauties that are now unblown,
When in their gaudiest Prime they shall be shown,
And kneeling to be lov'd, I'd not my Flame disown;
Tho' by that Time, perhaps, thy Charms might wast,
And the gay Bloom of smiling Youth be past.
Yet you Inflexible, Obdurate prove,
And cry—'Tis false, 'tis feign'd, not real Love.
While I, on t'other Side, with Grief confess
Those Youths more happy that affect thee less.
My Passion yet has born no Fruit but Care;
And they that do not love thee don't despair.
The Request.
Hear me, O Pow'rful Charmer! e'er my BreathIs stopt by the ungentle Hand of Death;
E'er my quick Pulse has ever ceas'd to move,
And beats no more the Vital March to Love.
E'er my sad Tomb you visit (wan with Care)
And cry—The Youth had not lain silent here,
If I had been less rigid and severe:
'Twas my cold Usage wing'd his timeless Fate;
Too soon he lov'd, and I believe too late!
Hear me, I beg, (if Truth may beg for Grace)
Let not thy Heart bely thy Heav'nly Face:
Thy Face is with Compassion cloath'd around,
With Mildness and with smiling Mercy crown'd;
Comfort has all her Influence from your Eyes,
And you will smile when any Lover dies
Kill'd by Disdain: To such your Pity shown,
May make us hope you'll once regard your own:
38
And on their Birth, or Wealth, or Wit presume;
I, humbler, only beg you wou'd not hate
That Passion which your Beauty did create.
To give Life for the Pleasure to destroy,
Can be at best, methinks, but barbarous Joy.
What Nature makes she wou'd continue still,
She never quickens with Intent to Kill.
Since to my Love you did it's Being give,
Ah Smile! and let your own Creation live.
Love can't be hid.
Accurst and torn from the Records above,Be the sad Hour in which I own'd my Love:
Curst be the Wretch that did the Message bear,
That made her tender Nature grow severe,
And plung'd me, hopeless, deeper in Despair,
And curst my self (if there a Curse remain,
If yet there be a Plague beyond Disdain)
Who did the inauspicious Lines indite
That banish'd me for ever from her Sight!
O Slave! O Wretch! despis'd, forlorn, undone!
I grasp'd at Joy and pull'd my Ruin on.
She sung, and I was call'd her Voice to hear,
What a delicious Feast for Hope was there!
Then when she danc'd so gracefully she'd move,
At first 'twas Wonder, but at last 'twas Love!
Her Look, like Light'ning, did all Bars controul,
And let her all entire into my Soul!
Her ev'ry Action did Delight create,
And I was blest more than I can relate.
All this with Silence, all had still been mine,
I spoke, and streight that Sun forbore to shine;
39
And endless Woe presented in its stead.
O Slave! O Wretch!—Yet why shou'd I complain?
By Fate compell'd, I have reveal'd my Pain,
And so shou'd do were it to do again:
That Spirit Love what subtle Chain can bind?
What Strength, what Prudence keep it long confin'd?
Resistless, thro' all Lets 'twill force its Way,
And when once Master will no more obey.
Despair.
In vain I write, in vain I strive to move
Her, whose stern Nature is averse to Love:
Ah cruel Nymph! Ah most regardless Fair!
Or wert thou born to give me endless Care?
Her, whose stern Nature is averse to Love:
Ah cruel Nymph! Ah most regardless Fair!
Or wert thou born to give me endless Care?
'Tis said this Glorious Frame, and all above,
Those num'rous shining Lights that round us move,
Were rais'd from Chaos at one Word of Love.
Thro' the wide Wast blest Order swiftly flew,
And wild Confusion chang'd her grisly Hue;
By her own Offspring Discord was forsook,
And the glad Spheres their constant Motions took;
Wide as their Influence spreads, to either Pole,
In mystick Dance harmoniously they roll,
And with like sacred Union tune the Soul:
The Soul, for Beatifick Vision giv'n,
Breath'd from the Godhead, and its Centre Heav'n:
Both this and that on the same Axle move,
For Heav'n is Union, and the Soul is Love.
Love that does reach where ever Light extends,
And thither too a warmer Influence sends;
Nor when the Night arrives his happy Reign he ends.
From his Eternal Sway there's nothing free,
All the Creation own his Power—But Thee,
Thee Cupid flies, and Thou dost Cupid shun,
Thy Eyes, more Cruel, do the Work alone.
He wounds the Heart, but gives in Time Relief;
You to the very Soul transfuse the Grief:
No Help design, no Pity e'er intend,
Unless in poor Amyntor's speedy End.
Thy Eyes, those Beams of Heav'n if Love were there,
Are but to me a sad portentous Star,
Where in broad Characters I read—Despair!
Despair then, Wretch, nor longer strive to move
Her whose stern Nature is averse to Love.
Those num'rous shining Lights that round us move,
Were rais'd from Chaos at one Word of Love.
Thro' the wide Wast blest Order swiftly flew,
And wild Confusion chang'd her grisly Hue;
By her own Offspring Discord was forsook,
And the glad Spheres their constant Motions took;
Wide as their Influence spreads, to either Pole,
In mystick Dance harmoniously they roll,
And with like sacred Union tune the Soul:
The Soul, for Beatifick Vision giv'n,
Breath'd from the Godhead, and its Centre Heav'n:
Both this and that on the same Axle move,
For Heav'n is Union, and the Soul is Love.
Love that does reach where ever Light extends,
And thither too a warmer Influence sends;
Nor when the Night arrives his happy Reign he ends.
40
All the Creation own his Power—But Thee,
Thee Cupid flies, and Thou dost Cupid shun,
Thy Eyes, more Cruel, do the Work alone.
He wounds the Heart, but gives in Time Relief;
You to the very Soul transfuse the Grief:
No Help design, no Pity e'er intend,
Unless in poor Amyntor's speedy End.
Thy Eyes, those Beams of Heav'n if Love were there,
Are but to me a sad portentous Star,
Where in broad Characters I read—Despair!
Despair then, Wretch, nor longer strive to move
Her whose stern Nature is averse to Love.
The vain Pursuit.
To a Lady that desir'd him to write to her in Verse.
Cloe
, when you are pleas'd Commands to lay,
Tho' 'twere on Kings, they'd readily obey;
Much more may I, then—so much less than they.
Tho' 'twere on Kings, they'd readily obey;
Much more may I, then—so much less than they.
But ah! I fear my humble Verse will move
You rather to despise it, than approve;
For I can write of nothing else but Love.
You rather to despise it, than approve;
For I can write of nothing else but Love.
Of nothing else; 'tis my perpetual Theme,
That flows as 'twere an inexhausted Stream,
In all I say, or do, or think, or dream.
That flows as 'twere an inexhausted Stream,
In all I say, or do, or think, or dream.
41
Sometimes I take my Book and go to Prayer;
But Love, fond Love ev'n interrupts me there,
And turns my vain Devotions into Air.
But Love, fond Love ev'n interrupts me there,
And turns my vain Devotions into Air.
Long have I search'd but never yet cou'd find
The happy Balm that heals a wounded Mind:
There's not a Star in Heav'n but what's unkind.
The happy Balm that heals a wounded Mind:
There's not a Star in Heav'n but what's unkind.
For the hard She that I am doom'd t'obey,
From my Pursuit for ever flies away,
And Fate it self's too weak to bribe her Stay.
From my Pursuit for ever flies away,
And Fate it self's too weak to bribe her Stay.
Shadows that flit before us o'er the Plain,
As fast pursue when we return again;
But She ne'er turns, and ne'er can be o'ertane.
As fast pursue when we return again;
But She ne'er turns, and ne'er can be o'ertane.
This is the rigid Fate I'm forc'd to bear:
And tell me, Fair one, is it not severe
That so much Love shou'd meet so much Despair?
And tell me, Fair one, is it not severe
That so much Love shou'd meet so much Despair?
Despair, the bitter Bowl, as Authors tell,
That to the Brim does with such Poison swell,
As makes the Furies lash themselves in Hell.
That to the Brim does with such Poison swell,
As makes the Furies lash themselves in Hell.
Her Name I will conceal—My Reason why,
Because there's none shall blame me when I die,
That one so low shou'd have a Thought so high.
Because there's none shall blame me when I die,
That one so low shou'd have a Thought so high.
The Hopeless Lover.
In a Vision to Cælia.
'Twas now the Time when all Remains of Day
By the thick Shades of Night were chast away:
Silence and gentle Sleep fill'd ev'ry Breast,
And Nature's self seem'd to retire to rest.
Nothing but Fancy (for she ever wakes,
And, unconfin'd, her roving Journey takes
O'er Hills, o'er Dales, o'er Flow'ry Meads and Lakes:
Sometimes she mounts aloft where Angels dwell,
And in a Trice shoots down from thence to Hell,
There all the Tortures of the Damn'd does view,
And almost makes us think we feel 'em too.)
Nothing beside was free; and 'twas her Will
To shew the Pastimes of her Antick Skill.
Wrapt deep in Sleep I lay, the Scene she drew;
And this was that presented to my View.
By the thick Shades of Night were chast away:
42
And Nature's self seem'd to retire to rest.
Nothing but Fancy (for she ever wakes,
And, unconfin'd, her roving Journey takes
O'er Hills, o'er Dales, o'er Flow'ry Meads and Lakes:
Sometimes she mounts aloft where Angels dwell,
And in a Trice shoots down from thence to Hell,
There all the Tortures of the Damn'd does view,
And almost makes us think we feel 'em too.)
Nothing beside was free; and 'twas her Will
To shew the Pastimes of her Antick Skill.
Wrapt deep in Sleep I lay, the Scene she drew;
And this was that presented to my View.
I look'd, and Lo! I saw a Nymph as fair
As Guardian Angels in Idea are
Her Mien so graceful, and her Eyes so bright,
Their Lustre did supply the absent Light.
Musing, I on the dazling Object gaz'd,
At once delighted, and at once amaz'd.
But witness for me Heav'n, for you know best,
What a Confusion seiz'd my trembling Breast,
When drawing nearer for a stricter View
(Not thinking that beauteous Form I knew)
I found 'twas Cælia, causer of my Smart,
Cælia! the cruel Empress of my Heart.
Whose Eyes methought at my approach shot Flame,
Arm'd with that direful Weapon, sharp Disdain.
Backward I stept, grim Horror seiz'd my Heart,
And stab'd it round in every Vital Part;
Nor had I Strength to bear the painful Wound,
But fainted, and fell Speechless to the Ground,
Beyond the Reach of Human Pow'r to save,
Had not these Words recall'd me from the Grave.
As Guardian Angels in Idea are
Her Mien so graceful, and her Eyes so bright,
Their Lustre did supply the absent Light.
Musing, I on the dazling Object gaz'd,
At once delighted, and at once amaz'd.
But witness for me Heav'n, for you know best,
What a Confusion seiz'd my trembling Breast,
When drawing nearer for a stricter View
(Not thinking that beauteous Form I knew)
I found 'twas Cælia, causer of my Smart,
Cælia! the cruel Empress of my Heart.
Whose Eyes methought at my approach shot Flame,
Arm'd with that direful Weapon, sharp Disdain.
Backward I stept, grim Horror seiz'd my Heart,
And stab'd it round in every Vital Part;
Nor had I Strength to bear the painful Wound,
But fainted, and fell Speechless to the Ground,
Beyond the Reach of Human Pow'r to save,
Had not these Words recall'd me from the Grave.
43
Amyntor, Rise and hear your Cælia speak,
I bring the Cure, the only Cure you seek.
Despair no more (that Bane of all Delight)
Shall break your Peace by Day, or Rest by Night,
But chas'd by me, take everlasting Flight.
Rise, and to meet thy coming Joy prepare
This happy Hour for ever ends your Care.
I bring the Cure, the only Cure you seek.
Despair no more (that Bane of all Delight)
Shall break your Peace by Day, or Rest by Night,
But chas'd by me, take everlasting Flight.
Rise, and to meet thy coming Joy prepare
This happy Hour for ever ends your Care.
Reviv'd with this dear Language up I sprung;
But Fear had barr'd all Utt'rance from my Tongue:
A thousand Doubts roll'd in my troubl'd Breast
While I stood trembling to expect the rest:
Kind tho' she seem'd, her Eyes commanded Death,
And my pale Fate hung hov'ring o'er her Breath.
But Fear had barr'd all Utt'rance from my Tongue:
A thousand Doubts roll'd in my troubl'd Breast
While I stood trembling to expect the rest:
Kind tho' she seem'd, her Eyes commanded Death,
And my pale Fate hung hov'ring o'er her Breath.
Dear Youth (continued she) the Scorn I've shown
Was only to confirm you more my own:
For if your Passion were from Interest pure,
I knew 'twoud the severest Test endure.
'Twas this to be assured of made me feign
All the sharp Rigours of unjust Disdain.
And who alas! will blame me that reflects
How many of our frail believing Sex
Are lost (be they as vertuous as they can)
By the fair specious Arts of faithless Man?
How oft d'ye vow y'are our eternal Slaves?
Yet Tyrants grow and drive us to our Graves.
When once possest for what you feign'd to burn,
You treat us with Neglect, Disdain and Scorn,
And mighty Love to rude Contempt does turn.
Such Thoughts as these made me with Caution move,
And on a sure Foundation build my Love:
For who e'er gain'd it, I well knew wou'd find
'Twas not the Passion of a fickle Mind,
Changing as Tydes, and Wav'ring with the Wind;
But fix'd like Fate, from whence its Essence came,
Ever to last, and always be the same,
And so, Amyntor, so to you I give
A Heart which for you only wish'd to live.
Was only to confirm you more my own:
For if your Passion were from Interest pure,
I knew 'twoud the severest Test endure.
'Twas this to be assured of made me feign
All the sharp Rigours of unjust Disdain.
And who alas! will blame me that reflects
How many of our frail believing Sex
Are lost (be they as vertuous as they can)
By the fair specious Arts of faithless Man?
How oft d'ye vow y'are our eternal Slaves?
Yet Tyrants grow and drive us to our Graves.
When once possest for what you feign'd to burn,
You treat us with Neglect, Disdain and Scorn,
And mighty Love to rude Contempt does turn.
Such Thoughts as these made me with Caution move,
And on a sure Foundation build my Love:
For who e'er gain'd it, I well knew wou'd find
'Twas not the Passion of a fickle Mind,
Changing as Tydes, and Wav'ring with the Wind;
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Ever to last, and always be the same,
And so, Amyntor, so to you I give
A Heart which for you only wish'd to live.
Charm'd with the tuneful Sound her Accents bore,
I was all Joy! as all Despair before.
Not the least Mark of Sorrow did remain,
This one blest Moment cancell'd all my Pain.
So a just Martyr'd Saint thro' Heaven does range,
And so does wonder at his happy Change!
At last the Transport giving Way I spoke,
And in these Words the pleasing Silence broke.
I was all Joy! as all Despair before.
Not the least Mark of Sorrow did remain,
This one blest Moment cancell'd all my Pain.
So a just Martyr'd Saint thro' Heaven does range,
And so does wonder at his happy Change!
At last the Transport giving Way I spoke,
And in these Words the pleasing Silence broke.
Thou truest Image of the Pow'rs above,
For They like You will frown on him they love,
But when thro' much Adversity h'has past,
Like You, they bounteously reward at last:
For Perseverance wins their Love divine,
And Perseverance too has gain'd me Thine.
Y'ave sav'd me from Despair! and rais'd me to
A Pitch of Joy where yet my Wishes never flew!
Surprising turn!—Oft have I sent my Cries
(With Care kept waking) echoing to the Skies.
How oft (the constant Mourner of the Grove)
Have I sat weeping my improsp'rous Love?
How oft did I to senseless Trees complain?
Whose whistling Leaves breath'd back my Woes again.
Hard Stones of Adamant e'en seem'd to hear,
And in Compassion oft wou'd drop a Tear;
You, harder yet, ne'er lent a pitying Ear.
So moving was each tender Sigh and Groan,
E'en Philomel has ceas'd her Midnight Moan,
And thought my Griefs more piercing than her own.
Unkind, relentless Cælia (wou'd I cry)
Must I thus scorn'd and thus unpity'd die?
What is it that my humble Love requires?
Only a Sigh just as your Slave expires:
Without Reluctance then to Death I'd go,
Meet him half way, and bless the coming Blow;
Her Frowns can't reach me when I lie so low.
Such were the Words my wild Despair let fall
Such were my Griefs—but this o'er pays 'em all.
For They like You will frown on him they love,
But when thro' much Adversity h'has past,
Like You, they bounteously reward at last:
For Perseverance wins their Love divine,
And Perseverance too has gain'd me Thine.
Y'ave sav'd me from Despair! and rais'd me to
A Pitch of Joy where yet my Wishes never flew!
Surprising turn!—Oft have I sent my Cries
(With Care kept waking) echoing to the Skies.
How oft (the constant Mourner of the Grove)
Have I sat weeping my improsp'rous Love?
How oft did I to senseless Trees complain?
Whose whistling Leaves breath'd back my Woes again.
Hard Stones of Adamant e'en seem'd to hear,
And in Compassion oft wou'd drop a Tear;
You, harder yet, ne'er lent a pitying Ear.
So moving was each tender Sigh and Groan,
E'en Philomel has ceas'd her Midnight Moan,
And thought my Griefs more piercing than her own.
Unkind, relentless Cælia (wou'd I cry)
Must I thus scorn'd and thus unpity'd die?
45
Only a Sigh just as your Slave expires:
Without Reluctance then to Death I'd go,
Meet him half way, and bless the coming Blow;
Her Frowns can't reach me when I lie so low.
Such were the Words my wild Despair let fall
Such were my Griefs—but this o'er pays 'em all.
Thus I, me thought, my Passion's Progress mourn'd,
When Cælia, weeping, this Reply return'd,
Amyntor! How shall I your Peace restore?
Or how reward the Pangs for me you bore?
My Love, I fear is a Return too small,
Take with it then, my Life! my Soul! my All!
Here she sunk speechless down into my Arms,
Melting! and melting me too with her Charms!
When Cælia, weeping, this Reply return'd,
Amyntor! How shall I your Peace restore?
Or how reward the Pangs for me you bore?
My Love, I fear is a Return too small,
Take with it then, my Life! my Soul! my All!
Here she sunk speechless down into my Arms,
Melting! and melting me too with her Charms!
What shou'd I do? All over Warmth I prest
Her close, and held her panting to my Breast
Ah! Fair, I cry'd, (while in that Union join'd)
Y'ave own'd I'm true, and now I own you're kind,
What then, at last, but the dear Joy remains?
That now we reap the Fruit of all our Pains?
You must not, can't, you shan't deny the Bliss—
O come!—I han't the Leisure for a Kiss.
Her close, and held her panting to my Breast
Ah! Fair, I cry'd, (while in that Union join'd)
Y'ave own'd I'm true, and now I own you're kind,
What then, at last, but the dear Joy remains?
That now we reap the Fruit of all our Pains?
You must not, can't, you shan't deny the Bliss—
O come!—I han't the Leisure for a Kiss.
See here the Fate that over Love does reign!
How short the Pleasure, and how long the Pain!
For O! no sooner had the accursed Sound
Of these last Words unwary Utt'rance found,
But the fair Vision took her unseen Flight,
And swiftly vanish'd thro' the Shades of Night.
Awak'd, I started up and gaz'd around,
But not one Glimpse of the lov'd Shadow found:
My Arms I clos'd and thought it yet was there,
But nothing now was to be clasp'd but Air:
'Twas gone! 'twas gone! and with it fled away
All the dear Hope I had of future Joy!
How short the Pleasure, and how long the Pain!
For O! no sooner had the accursed Sound
Of these last Words unwary Utt'rance found,
But the fair Vision took her unseen Flight,
And swiftly vanish'd thro' the Shades of Night.
Awak'd, I started up and gaz'd around,
But not one Glimpse of the lov'd Shadow found:
My Arms I clos'd and thought it yet was there,
But nothing now was to be clasp'd but Air:
46
All the dear Hope I had of future Joy!
Eternally relentless Pow'rs above!
Must all my constant Service fruitless prove?
And never, never pierce the Heart I love?
Must I for ever in these Pangs remain,
Doom'd to love on, and doom'd to love in vain?
But 'tis your Will—and I shou'd not complain.
Yet O (if hapless Love may dare contend)
Had you but let the Vision know no End,
That, wrapt with the imaginary Charms,
I might have slept whole Ages in her Arms;
In vain of more substantial Blessings free,
That dear Illusion had been Heav'n to me!
But the same Minute we expect Relief,
To find a sure and still encreasing Grief,
Is of all human Curses, sure the chief:
For know, O Cælia, O disdainful Fair!
I must still love thee, tho' I still Despair.
Must all my constant Service fruitless prove?
And never, never pierce the Heart I love?
Must I for ever in these Pangs remain,
Doom'd to love on, and doom'd to love in vain?
But 'tis your Will—and I shou'd not complain.
Yet O (if hapless Love may dare contend)
Had you but let the Vision know no End,
That, wrapt with the imaginary Charms,
I might have slept whole Ages in her Arms;
In vain of more substantial Blessings free,
That dear Illusion had been Heav'n to me!
But the same Minute we expect Relief,
To find a sure and still encreasing Grief,
Is of all human Curses, sure the chief:
For know, O Cælia, O disdainful Fair!
I must still love thee, tho' I still Despair.
The first Sight of Silvia.
Is it resolv'd that I must ever find
Cælia relentless, and no other Kind?
Too long, alas! and too much Love I've shewn
To one that is but harden'd by my Moan:
That Grief which Tigers Pity she will mock,
Deaf to entreaty, and her Heart a Rock.
Let me at last, O Love! some Female see,
Mild as the op'ning Morn, but fair as she:
I wou'd not die methinks, before I'd prov'd
(As 'tis to Love) what 'tis to be belov'd.
Cælia relentless, and no other Kind?
Too long, alas! and too much Love I've shewn
To one that is but harden'd by my Moan:
That Grief which Tigers Pity she will mock,
Deaf to entreaty, and her Heart a Rock.
Let me at last, O Love! some Female see,
Mild as the op'ning Morn, but fair as she:
I wou'd not die methinks, before I'd prov'd
(As 'tis to Love) what 'tis to be belov'd.
47
I spoke; the God, propitious now, did hear,
And said—D'ye see that Charming Figure there?
Behold this Bow, drawn up with Strength and Art,
See! the Shaft flies and lodges in her Heart.
Now laugh at those that tell you Love is blind:
Away, nor doubt a quick Relief to find,
Your Cruel you shall change for one as Kind.
And said—D'ye see that Charming Figure there?
Behold this Bow, drawn up with Strength and Art,
See! the Shaft flies and lodges in her Heart.
Now laugh at those that tell you Love is blind:
Away, nor doubt a quick Relief to find,
Your Cruel you shall change for one as Kind.
I came, and to her Cheeks the Blushes flew,
The Lilies streight had lost their Native Hue,
And in their Room a Grove of Roses grew:
I found the Frailty climbing to her Eyes,
And in short Starts her Breasts wou'd fall and rise:
Yet with a Maiden Coyness still she strove,
And scarcely yet will own her Passion, Love.
The Lilies streight had lost their Native Hue,
And in their Room a Grove of Roses grew:
I found the Frailty climbing to her Eyes,
And in short Starts her Breasts wou'd fall and rise:
Yet with a Maiden Coyness still she strove,
And scarcely yet will own her Passion, Love.
O Silvia! (for of whom can all this be
Discours'd or meant, but only only Thee?
The God of Love himself your Love foretold;)
And what he gives 'twere Impious to with-hold.
Discours'd or meant, but only only Thee?
The God of Love himself your Love foretold;)
And what he gives 'twere Impious to with-hold.
Silvia Luke-warm.
Now while I languish on your gentle Breast,That Pillow where my Cares are hush'd to rest;
While our plump Veins are full of Youthful Fire,
And Nature able to make good Desire;
Why at this Season, in Love's choicest Prime,
Shou'd you conceive that I indulge a Crime
To urge Enjoyment? Which you rather ought
Believe th'Effect of Passion than a Fau't.
Think, Lovely Charmer, how the Minutes fly,
And the preventing Spite of Destiny:
48
And Age and Impotence come swiftly on.
Let us not then thus wast the precious Time,
'Tis that, O Silvia, that's the greatest Crime;
For as that's trifled and consum'd away,
Who knows too, but our Passions may decay?
Enjoyment will preserve the Flame entire,
No other Fuel can maintain the Fire,
That's Love indeed! the rest is but Desire;
That is the Oil that makes the Colours last,
While Paints in Fresco fret away, and wast.
For Pity then change your half yielding Mind,
To be but kind in Part is much unkind
Luke-warm Indifferency I cannot bear;
Such tedious Hopes are worse than quick Despair.
Silvia kind.
Yes! this is to be blest! there is beyond
No human Joy so lasting to be found:
Or this is Heav'n, or something else so near,
That Saints for less wou'd stay for ever here.
Cou'd such delight be but below our Fate,
Who'd run the Risk of any future State?
Thy Eyes now shoot, indeed, a Lover's Fire,
And the same Joy the Look in mine inspire.
You say your self you soon will ease my Care,
And to your Words your Blushes Witness bear;
Blushes whose Colour richlier does adorn
Thy Cheeks, than those that paint the op'ning Morn.
Thy very Soul into the very Face does rise!
The Woman can no more thy Love disguise,
And Truth, in spite of Art, sits Victor in thy Eyes!
No human Joy so lasting to be found:
Or this is Heav'n, or something else so near,
That Saints for less wou'd stay for ever here.
Cou'd such delight be but below our Fate,
Who'd run the Risk of any future State?
Thy Eyes now shoot, indeed, a Lover's Fire,
And the same Joy the Look in mine inspire.
You say your self you soon will ease my Care,
And to your Words your Blushes Witness bear;
Blushes whose Colour richlier does adorn
Thy Cheeks, than those that paint the op'ning Morn.
Thy very Soul into the very Face does rise!
The Woman can no more thy Love disguise,
And Truth, in spite of Art, sits Victor in thy Eyes!
49
Behold, O Lovers! how at last you gain
An ample Recompence for all your Pain.
One Promise that the Fair will give Relief,
Suspends our Care, and eases ev'ry Grief:
Such perfect Joy our very Hope exceeds,
Only outdone by that which it preceeds!
O pleasing Agony! O happy Hour!
That puts the yielding Angel in my Pow'r!
When on her Sweets I feast with panting Breath,
Pursuing Pleasure to the Verge of Death!
An ample Recompence for all your Pain.
One Promise that the Fair will give Relief,
Suspends our Care, and eases ev'ry Grief:
Such perfect Joy our very Hope exceeds,
Only outdone by that which it preceeds!
O pleasing Agony! O happy Hour!
That puts the yielding Angel in my Pow'r!
When on her Sweets I feast with panting Breath,
Pursuing Pleasure to the Verge of Death!
But Lo! just in the Mid'st of my Career,
As thus I drove to Bliss, and thought it near,
Reason o'ertakes, and Bids me have a Care.
In such vain Thoughts (said he) y'are misemploy'd;
Y'are yet not happy, yet she's unenjoy'd.
When Pleasure smiles oft adverse Fortune low'rs;
What may be lost is yet not wholly ours.
Think not in Woman certain Joys to find,
'Till in her soft and circling Arms entwin'd,
She gives the last dear Proof of being kind.
As thus I drove to Bliss, and thought it near,
Reason o'ertakes, and Bids me have a Care.
In such vain Thoughts (said he) y'are misemploy'd;
Y'are yet not happy, yet she's unenjoy'd.
When Pleasure smiles oft adverse Fortune low'rs;
What may be lost is yet not wholly ours.
Think not in Woman certain Joys to find,
'Till in her soft and circling Arms entwin'd,
She gives the last dear Proof of being kind.
Silvia in the Country.
As in that Region when the Glorious Sun
Does rise, that had for half a Year been gone,
All Nature smiles; and Joy in ev'ry Eye,
Welcoms his Re-ascension to the Sky!
But when he back to Southern Climes retires,
In vain their Furrs of Beasts and constant Fires;
The Beast himself for want of Warmth expires.
So, till you left us 'twas all Radiant Day,
But Night! perpetual Night now y'are away;
In vain we gaze, and fix our weary Eyes
Upon that Quarter where the Gleams shou'd rise,
No Sign of Light appears, no Glim'ring Dawn,
But all around the gloomy Curtain drawn.
But as the Sun, when from our Hemisphere
Declin'd, to distant Realms his Beams does bear;
So tho' remov'd from hence, you there are bright,
Lost to our Eyes, not lessen'd in your Light:
In ev'ry Breast you there like Ardor move,
Shine at full Blaze and give all Creatures Love!
Amaz'd and pleas'd with Joy your Voice they hear.
Thoughtless of us that mourn in Darkness here.
So smil'd the Chosen Seed when Egypt lay
In its long Night, and 'twas at Goshen Day.
Does rise, that had for half a Year been gone,
All Nature smiles; and Joy in ev'ry Eye,
Welcoms his Re-ascension to the Sky!
But when he back to Southern Climes retires,
In vain their Furrs of Beasts and constant Fires;
The Beast himself for want of Warmth expires.
So, till you left us 'twas all Radiant Day,
But Night! perpetual Night now y'are away;
50
Upon that Quarter where the Gleams shou'd rise,
No Sign of Light appears, no Glim'ring Dawn,
But all around the gloomy Curtain drawn.
But as the Sun, when from our Hemisphere
Declin'd, to distant Realms his Beams does bear;
So tho' remov'd from hence, you there are bright,
Lost to our Eyes, not lessen'd in your Light:
In ev'ry Breast you there like Ardor move,
Shine at full Blaze and give all Creatures Love!
Amaz'd and pleas'd with Joy your Voice they hear.
Thoughtless of us that mourn in Darkness here.
So smil'd the Chosen Seed when Egypt lay
In its long Night, and 'twas at Goshen Day.
Thus I her Absence mourn'd: When Love again
Appear'd, and wonder'd why I did complain.
Is she not there (he said) where best I know
To fix my Darts, and most my Pow'r can show?
In shady Groves, on Flow'ry Banks reclin'd,
With Garlands wreath'd, and fann'd with od'rous Wind,
The Lover oft a Blessing does receive,
Which Courts with all their Splendor ne'er cou'd give;
A Comfort that Remembrance can't destroy,
A Conscious Innocence, and Guiltless Joy!
Let it not grieve you that the Fair's retir'd,
'Tis only to be follow'd and admir'd:
Among the Rural Nymphs as there she lies,
She may be pleas'd, perhaps, to own her Prize,
To shew to them the Triumphs of her Eyes.
There she perhaps may Love's Reward dispence;
O Warmth of undissembl'd Innocence!
There Lips to Lips, with glowing Ardor join'd,
May introduce you to a Scene more kind;
When, Breathless, in your Arms the Fair expires,
And, Life returning, the same Death desires!
Wish her not then in this ill Town again,
The vast Exchange of all Things lewd and vain,
When she so much the happier Lot enjoys,
Free from those Ills which here my Power destroys,
Love's not conceiv'd, nor born, nor lives in Noise:
Eternal Jargon, Rattle, Storm and Fewd
Dwell here, and ev'ry Day the Din's renew'd.
There Innocence and Joy and Silence reign,
And spread their sacred Influence thro' the Plain:
There the Harmonious Quire in Copses sing
Their Airs Divine, and Prophesy of Spring:
Ev'n Nature smiles and yields 'em all that's rare,
At least she, sure must smile now Silvia's there.
Away then (Absence will not do the Thing)
Your Reason to the Swallow's Custom bring,
The Spring don't seek 'em but they seek the Spring.
Appear'd, and wonder'd why I did complain.
Is she not there (he said) where best I know
To fix my Darts, and most my Pow'r can show?
In shady Groves, on Flow'ry Banks reclin'd,
With Garlands wreath'd, and fann'd with od'rous Wind,
The Lover oft a Blessing does receive,
Which Courts with all their Splendor ne'er cou'd give;
A Comfort that Remembrance can't destroy,
A Conscious Innocence, and Guiltless Joy!
Let it not grieve you that the Fair's retir'd,
'Tis only to be follow'd and admir'd:
Among the Rural Nymphs as there she lies,
She may be pleas'd, perhaps, to own her Prize,
To shew to them the Triumphs of her Eyes.
There she perhaps may Love's Reward dispence;
O Warmth of undissembl'd Innocence!
There Lips to Lips, with glowing Ardor join'd,
May introduce you to a Scene more kind;
When, Breathless, in your Arms the Fair expires,
And, Life returning, the same Death desires!
51
The vast Exchange of all Things lewd and vain,
When she so much the happier Lot enjoys,
Free from those Ills which here my Power destroys,
Love's not conceiv'd, nor born, nor lives in Noise:
Eternal Jargon, Rattle, Storm and Fewd
Dwell here, and ev'ry Day the Din's renew'd.
There Innocence and Joy and Silence reign,
And spread their sacred Influence thro' the Plain:
There the Harmonious Quire in Copses sing
Their Airs Divine, and Prophesy of Spring:
Ev'n Nature smiles and yields 'em all that's rare,
At least she, sure must smile now Silvia's there.
Away then (Absence will not do the Thing)
Your Reason to the Swallow's Custom bring,
The Spring don't seek 'em but they seek the Spring.
He ceas'd; and strait the Heav'nly Form withdrew.
Ah Silvia! what must poor Amyntor do?
Impatiently he thy lov'd Sight affects,
And Counsel's sacred when a God directs.
Blame me not then if I presume on those
Retirements which your Solitude has chose;
I must be happy where you find Repose.
There I will trace your Steps thro' ev'ry Grove,
And sigh, and wish, and look perpetual Love!
There I perhaps the happy Hour may find:
No Female ever yet was all her Life unkind.
Ah Silvia! what must poor Amyntor do?
Impatiently he thy lov'd Sight affects,
And Counsel's sacred when a God directs.
Blame me not then if I presume on those
Retirements which your Solitude has chose;
I must be happy where you find Repose.
There I will trace your Steps thro' ev'ry Grove,
And sigh, and wish, and look perpetual Love!
There I perhaps the happy Hour may find:
No Female ever yet was all her Life unkind.
Misled by Hope, and flatter'd by my Theme,
How far I stray? How idly do I dream?
While I discourse of Joys imagin'd there,
She's absent still, and I unhappy here.
How far I stray? How idly do I dream?
While I discourse of Joys imagin'd there,
She's absent still, and I unhappy here.
52
A Letter from Silvia.
However Fate may have dispos'd of mine,
This happy Moment I was blest with thine.
Ah cou'd but mine to thee like Pleasure give!—
But let that Perish, so thy Lines may live.
The Superscription shew'd from whence it came,
To dear Amyntor!—That disclos'd thy Name;
Without 'twas Warmth, but it within was Flame!
Swift from my Heart it did all Anguish drive,
Not richest Cordials cou'd so soon revive.
So soft the Stile, it more than Wonder moves!
As if the Quills dropt from the Paphian Doves,
To sign the Contract, and record our Loves.
Thy Vows in thy own Characters are wrote;
And thy fair Hand has vouch'd thy generous Thought:
Here's Witness now that will to Ages last,
Your Faith is plighted, and your Promise past.
With so much Sweetness is your Passion drest,
That Sweetness with such Innocence exprest,
I read, I see, and think I'm with the Blest!
Nor are thy Lines but active in my Eyes,
To ev'ry other Part the Influence flies;
To ev'ry Sense it equal Joy procures;
But the Conclusion most my Bliss assures,
To see you thus subscrib'd—For ever yours!
For ever! happy Accents! sacred sound!
For ever! let it reach the Starry Round!
For ever! let the Hills and Vales rebound!
Away all anxious Fears, all Reason hence,
And ev'ry Thought that doubts her Innocence;
No more I'll to your Cautions credit give;
Who least suspects does least in Trouble live.
The must be true!—as Flames to Heav'n ascend,
As heavy Bodies to their Centre tend;
So she to Vertue wings her steady Flight,
Rising, and yet encreasing to our Sight:
For Bodies as they mount are less'ning still,
But Vertue as it climbs the Airy Hill,
Enlarges, and like Light do's all th'Horizon fill.
But while her Worth thus entertains my Mind,
I have forgot her Vows of being kind.
Fly swift, ye Moments, bring her to my Eyes
That strain with longing for that Light to rise.
Bring her resolv'd and warm to my Embrace,
With Love's last Ardour flashing in her Face—
She's here! I see! I feel her!—to my Breast
I press her, twining round me!—but the rest,
Like Heav'n, is Pleasure not to be exprest!
This happy Moment I was blest with thine.
Ah cou'd but mine to thee like Pleasure give!—
But let that Perish, so thy Lines may live.
The Superscription shew'd from whence it came,
To dear Amyntor!—That disclos'd thy Name;
Without 'twas Warmth, but it within was Flame!
Swift from my Heart it did all Anguish drive,
Not richest Cordials cou'd so soon revive.
So soft the Stile, it more than Wonder moves!
As if the Quills dropt from the Paphian Doves,
To sign the Contract, and record our Loves.
Thy Vows in thy own Characters are wrote;
And thy fair Hand has vouch'd thy generous Thought:
Here's Witness now that will to Ages last,
Your Faith is plighted, and your Promise past.
With so much Sweetness is your Passion drest,
That Sweetness with such Innocence exprest,
I read, I see, and think I'm with the Blest!
Nor are thy Lines but active in my Eyes,
To ev'ry other Part the Influence flies;
To ev'ry Sense it equal Joy procures;
But the Conclusion most my Bliss assures,
To see you thus subscrib'd—For ever yours!
For ever! happy Accents! sacred sound!
For ever! let it reach the Starry Round!
For ever! let the Hills and Vales rebound!
Away all anxious Fears, all Reason hence,
And ev'ry Thought that doubts her Innocence;
No more I'll to your Cautions credit give;
Who least suspects does least in Trouble live.
53
As heavy Bodies to their Centre tend;
So she to Vertue wings her steady Flight,
Rising, and yet encreasing to our Sight:
For Bodies as they mount are less'ning still,
But Vertue as it climbs the Airy Hill,
Enlarges, and like Light do's all th'Horizon fill.
But while her Worth thus entertains my Mind,
I have forgot her Vows of being kind.
Fly swift, ye Moments, bring her to my Eyes
That strain with longing for that Light to rise.
Bring her resolv'd and warm to my Embrace,
With Love's last Ardour flashing in her Face—
She's here! I see! I feel her!—to my Breast
I press her, twining round me!—but the rest,
Like Heav'n, is Pleasure not to be exprest!
Strange Force of Love! if barely with the Thought
I'm to so high a Pitch of Rapture wrought,
What must Enjoyment be? and what her Charms
When she (indeed) is melting in my Arms?
I'm to so high a Pitch of Rapture wrought,
What must Enjoyment be? and what her Charms
When she (indeed) is melting in my Arms?
Silvia yet in the Country.
Tho' Misbelievers to our Faith are blind,
O Silvia! we may say our Souls are join'd,
For what's true Love but ming'ling Mind with Mind.
Not thro' past Ages can a Pair be found
Whose Truth deserves more nobly to be crown'd,
Or will in after Days be more renown'd.
Ev'n Friendship burns but dim, not worth a Name,
When 'tis compar'd with our more mutual Flame,
And not so well deserves Immortal Fame,
In thy dear Arms my Cares were always eas'd,
Nor cou'd I ever grieve when you were pleas'd:
Still so concern'd, so studious of your Good,
For ev'ry Tear you shed my Heart wept Blood.
Nor was your Passion charming Silvia less,
Too strong to warp, too copious to express;
A languishing, a lasting, Lambent Flame,
Bright as thy Eyes, untainted as thy Fame;
Fresh as the Dawn when first Aurora springs,
And soft as Down upon an Angel's Wings!
Such was our Love, so we entranc'd did live,
Contented, and what more had Heav'n to give?
What but Enjoyment? Whence all Hopes deriv'd,
That last dear Point where yet w'are not arriv'd!
O Silvia! we may say our Souls are join'd,
For what's true Love but ming'ling Mind with Mind.
Not thro' past Ages can a Pair be found
Whose Truth deserves more nobly to be crown'd,
Or will in after Days be more renown'd.
Ev'n Friendship burns but dim, not worth a Name,
When 'tis compar'd with our more mutual Flame,
And not so well deserves Immortal Fame,
54
Nor cou'd I ever grieve when you were pleas'd:
Still so concern'd, so studious of your Good,
For ev'ry Tear you shed my Heart wept Blood.
Nor was your Passion charming Silvia less,
Too strong to warp, too copious to express;
A languishing, a lasting, Lambent Flame,
Bright as thy Eyes, untainted as thy Fame;
Fresh as the Dawn when first Aurora springs,
And soft as Down upon an Angel's Wings!
Such was our Love, so we entranc'd did live,
Contented, and what more had Heav'n to give?
What but Enjoyment? Whence all Hopes deriv'd,
That last dear Point where yet w'are not arriv'd!
Blest were these Hours, and ah! they swiftly flew!
But who e'er kept soft Pleasure long in View?
Like Birds she sits and prunes her in our Eyes,
And if we stir away the Wanton flies;
Brooks no Confinement, but thro' Rural Groves
And shining Courts with equal Freedom roves;
Fixt only there where Love with Vertue meets,
Yet then not always Liberal of her Sweets:
Ev'n present Lovers of her Grudgings find,
In vain the Absent then expect her kind.
What ever Am'rous Lectures she has read,
Departing, she unsays what she has said,
And leaves Despair to govern in her stead.
In the soft lonely Hours of silent Night,
When Nature does to general Rest invite,
Ev'n then the absent Lover's Eyes are wide,
When ev'ry Human Care is fast beside.
Or if he sleep (expos'd to all Extremes)
His Doubts preside, and hag him in his Dreams.
Waking, he in disorder'd Looks appears,
Pale with his Sorrows, and all drown'd in Tears:
At last not able to contain his Grief,
He thus complains, but hopeless of Relief.
But who e'er kept soft Pleasure long in View?
Like Birds she sits and prunes her in our Eyes,
And if we stir away the Wanton flies;
Brooks no Confinement, but thro' Rural Groves
And shining Courts with equal Freedom roves;
Fixt only there where Love with Vertue meets,
Yet then not always Liberal of her Sweets:
Ev'n present Lovers of her Grudgings find,
In vain the Absent then expect her kind.
What ever Am'rous Lectures she has read,
Departing, she unsays what she has said,
And leaves Despair to govern in her stead.
In the soft lonely Hours of silent Night,
When Nature does to general Rest invite,
Ev'n then the absent Lover's Eyes are wide,
When ev'ry Human Care is fast beside.
Or if he sleep (expos'd to all Extremes)
His Doubts preside, and hag him in his Dreams.
Waking, he in disorder'd Looks appears,
Pale with his Sorrows, and all drown'd in Tears:
55
He thus complains, but hopeless of Relief.
Ah Wretch! what am I born to undergo?
Successive Days but bring successive Wo!
There never was a Beauteous Creature yet
But might be won with Riches, Worth, or Wit:
Curst Fate! that dooms me to continue here!
I've many Rivals so accomplish'd there.
As she is Lovely she must Lovers gain,
And Youth to Youth solicits not in vain;
The Kindler's kindled with like Am'rous Fires,
Desires incestuously beget Desires.
Ah! see! she melts and can no longer hear
The Voice of Vertue—Faithless! perjur'd Fair!
The Conq'rour sees her faint, and presses on—
Confusion! she is lost, and I'm undone!
Successive Days but bring successive Wo!
There never was a Beauteous Creature yet
But might be won with Riches, Worth, or Wit:
Curst Fate! that dooms me to continue here!
I've many Rivals so accomplish'd there.
As she is Lovely she must Lovers gain,
And Youth to Youth solicits not in vain;
The Kindler's kindled with like Am'rous Fires,
Desires incestuously beget Desires.
Ah! see! she melts and can no longer hear
The Voice of Vertue—Faithless! perjur'd Fair!
The Conq'rour sees her faint, and presses on—
Confusion! she is lost, and I'm undone!
Ah! think thou lovely Partner of my Heart,
(And lovlier as thou hast no Helps from Art;
Less bright are they that lie in Princes Arms,
For she that's Vertuous has ten thousand Charms)
Ah! think if Absence can so painful be
To others, that (tho' in a less Degree)
It will, it is, it must be felt by me.
But I'll not now afflict thee, nor dilate
On what I suffer from so hard a Fate,
Since the Time's nigh that will disperse our Harms,
And bring us blest to one anothers Arms.
This tho' believe; what e'er my Griefs may be,
There's none arises from my Doubts of thee.
(And lovlier as thou hast no Helps from Art;
Less bright are they that lie in Princes Arms,
For she that's Vertuous has ten thousand Charms)
Ah! think if Absence can so painful be
To others, that (tho' in a less Degree)
It will, it is, it must be felt by me.
But I'll not now afflict thee, nor dilate
On what I suffer from so hard a Fate,
Since the Time's nigh that will disperse our Harms,
And bring us blest to one anothers Arms.
This tho' believe; what e'er my Griefs may be,
There's none arises from my Doubts of thee.
56
Silvia Return'd.
She comes! and with her does all Sweetness bring:Tho' Summer's o'er and Birds have left to sing
She in the very Fall revives the Spring!
At least Her Aspect so our Care beguiles,
We see no change of Seasons while She smile.
Both Love and Joy at once enflame her Eyes,
And in my own I feel like Rapture rise.
I see! I have her now! with all her Charms,
So long with-held from my Impatient Arms!
But O! such Perfect Bliss she does dispence,
The very Sweets opress my aking Sense!
If from your Presence such Delight can flow,
Ah Silvia! what was, late, my Absent Woe?
But all my Pains you in your own might know:
For faithful Love (as Thine was so to Me)
Must have in Absence like effects on Thee.
But thou'rt Return'd? and I no more will grieve!
This happy Moment I begin to Live.
The Æra of my Joys I'll date from hence,
Nor with it shall one guilty Thought commence;
For there's no Peace where there's no Innocence
And that, in Love, the God to none allows,
But those to death persisting in their Vows.
O Silvia! do not then the Bliss delay,
Be just to Love, and fix the happy Day.
Let me not, Moses-like, on Pisgah stand,
At Distance to survey the promis'd Land,
But since so much y'ave giv'n give the rest—
Ah! what is Heav'n if seen and not possest?
57
To Silvia, On deferring our Nuptials.
See how the Morning, Radiant in it's Beams,
Does suit th'Occasion; flush't with kindling Gleams,
Like Brides in their Preliminary Dreams.
Never before with a more Lovely Ray
Did glad Aurora paint the rising Day.
Look out, my Silvia, on this glorious Sight,
And add thy Lustre to this Scene of Light!
Thy Ruddier Blushes will ev'n Hers adorn,
And gild her Brightness, as that gilds the Morn.
She wakes! she rises! and all Hands employs
To make her dress an Emblem of her Joys:
And see! at last all sparkling she appears!
But why, my Silvia, why these wayward Tears?
Why with such boding Drops dost thou destroy
My Hopes, and hang a Clog upon my Joy?
O dry thy Eyes! the promis'd Hour's in sight,
And the Scene opens to immense Delight!
The Priest attends, the Guests impatient stay,
And Phœbus Labours to make short the Day.
O come! Our happy Hours on Earth are few,
And e'er the rising Sun w'ave much to do.
Does suit th'Occasion; flush't with kindling Gleams,
Like Brides in their Preliminary Dreams.
Never before with a more Lovely Ray
Did glad Aurora paint the rising Day.
Look out, my Silvia, on this glorious Sight,
And add thy Lustre to this Scene of Light!
Thy Ruddier Blushes will ev'n Hers adorn,
And gild her Brightness, as that gilds the Morn.
She wakes! she rises! and all Hands employs
To make her dress an Emblem of her Joys:
And see! at last all sparkling she appears!
But why, my Silvia, why these wayward Tears?
Why with such boding Drops dost thou destroy
My Hopes, and hang a Clog upon my Joy?
O dry thy Eyes! the promis'd Hour's in sight,
And the Scene opens to immense Delight!
The Priest attends, the Guests impatient stay,
And Phœbus Labours to make short the Day.
O come! Our happy Hours on Earth are few,
And e'er the rising Sun w'ave much to do.
Ha! say'st thou!—must our Nuptials be delay'd?
Am I unkind? Or is thy Flame decay'd?
That thus I'm on the Brink of Pleasure staid,
Ev'n now when Cupid wou'd with Hymen meet,
To make our Comforts lasting as they're great?
Or is't thy Fear that causes this Delay?—
But that I'll soon remove—thy Hand, away:
See all the Virgins wonder at thy Stay!
You blush! alas! what e'er those Blushes mean,
Consider by and by they'll not be seen;
Veil'd from their Eyes, the Curtains then shall close,
And give us Sweets much softer than Repose.
Ha! why that rising Coldness on your Brow?
It chills me too that was so warm but now!
In vain, you say, I urge you to comply,
In vain the Transport of my Voice and Eye,
You will have longer time:—and let it be,
You never shall be disobey'd by me.
But think! ah think the Future Fate assures
To none! the present Moment's only ours;
It courts us now, and bids us Pleasure chuse,
For ever lost if unenjoy'd it goes!
Still you persist—yet faithful to your Vow;
I shall be blest, tho' disappointed now.
Alas! an Hour will be an Age to me—
But then, by Love, I'll be reveng'd on thee.
I'll revel then thro' all the Sweets thou hast,
Profuse of Joy, and lay whole Regions wast!
O'er all thy rich Sabæan Coasts I'll rove,
And stifle in the Fragrances of Love!
With mutual Ardor, Bliss and Warmth we'll strive,
Die, but to live! and faint but to revive!
E'en thou thy self (tho' now so nicely coy)
Shalt all thy Strength, thy Sense thy Soul employ!
And wish y'had sooner known the Racking Joy!
Am I unkind? Or is thy Flame decay'd?
That thus I'm on the Brink of Pleasure staid,
Ev'n now when Cupid wou'd with Hymen meet,
To make our Comforts lasting as they're great?
Or is't thy Fear that causes this Delay?—
But that I'll soon remove—thy Hand, away:
See all the Virgins wonder at thy Stay!
58
Consider by and by they'll not be seen;
Veil'd from their Eyes, the Curtains then shall close,
And give us Sweets much softer than Repose.
Ha! why that rising Coldness on your Brow?
It chills me too that was so warm but now!
In vain, you say, I urge you to comply,
In vain the Transport of my Voice and Eye,
You will have longer time:—and let it be,
You never shall be disobey'd by me.
But think! ah think the Future Fate assures
To none! the present Moment's only ours;
It courts us now, and bids us Pleasure chuse,
For ever lost if unenjoy'd it goes!
Still you persist—yet faithful to your Vow;
I shall be blest, tho' disappointed now.
Alas! an Hour will be an Age to me—
But then, by Love, I'll be reveng'd on thee.
I'll revel then thro' all the Sweets thou hast,
Profuse of Joy, and lay whole Regions wast!
O'er all thy rich Sabæan Coasts I'll rove,
And stifle in the Fragrances of Love!
With mutual Ardor, Bliss and Warmth we'll strive,
Die, but to live! and faint but to revive!
E'en thou thy self (tho' now so nicely coy)
Shalt all thy Strength, thy Sense thy Soul employ!
And wish y'had sooner known the Racking Joy!
Silvia's Indifference.
Ah! 'tis too sure! the Change appears at last,
And all my Hopes are, like a Vision past!
Instead of Love, dislike in Frowns does rise,
And the kind Fervour's vanish'd from her Eyes.
As in a backward Autumn, when the bright
Hyperion gives a raw and sickly Light,
The unrip'ning Fruit upon the Branches dies,
The with'ring Leaf around in Ruin lies,
And only Winter Scenes salute our Eyes,
So does her Coldness all Love's Product blight,
To Hope infectious, fatal to Delight.
The soft'ning Influence of her Eyes she veils;
No more her Breath is spent in am'rous Gales:
Hymen himself at Distance feebly shines,
And wonders why so swiftly He declines.
She now surveys me with no more Concern
Than Vice that Vertue which it scorns to learn.
If she does write, such Frost is in her Stile,
I read—but am in Greenland all the while.
My Voice (once prais'd) no more affects her Ears
Than Sermons which an Atheist yawning hears.
Or if I dance with like regard she sees
As fearful Beauties wou'd a loath'd Disease.
When e'er I gaze upon her Eyes, their View
She turns to find out Objects vain and new.
The Oaths of perjur'd Men affect her more
Than all the sacred Oaths I ever swore.
Musick she finds when others Love relate,
From me it sounds like the last Call of Fate.
Nothing I say, or do, or look can move,
Tho' e'ery Word's breath'd from the Soul of Love.
I sigh! I weep! I bleed! I burn! I die
Nor this affects her Heart, nor that her Eye,
She hears, she sees, and walks regardless by.
E'en Hope, that last Reserve, to Scorn does yield,
And wild Despair rides Victor o'er the Field;
Upon her Cruelty he rears his Throne,
With barbarous Joy beholds the Day his own,
And smiles, like her, to hear the dying Groan.
And all my Hopes are, like a Vision past!
Instead of Love, dislike in Frowns does rise,
And the kind Fervour's vanish'd from her Eyes.
59
Hyperion gives a raw and sickly Light,
The unrip'ning Fruit upon the Branches dies,
The with'ring Leaf around in Ruin lies,
And only Winter Scenes salute our Eyes,
So does her Coldness all Love's Product blight,
To Hope infectious, fatal to Delight.
The soft'ning Influence of her Eyes she veils;
No more her Breath is spent in am'rous Gales:
Hymen himself at Distance feebly shines,
And wonders why so swiftly He declines.
She now surveys me with no more Concern
Than Vice that Vertue which it scorns to learn.
If she does write, such Frost is in her Stile,
I read—but am in Greenland all the while.
My Voice (once prais'd) no more affects her Ears
Than Sermons which an Atheist yawning hears.
Or if I dance with like regard she sees
As fearful Beauties wou'd a loath'd Disease.
When e'er I gaze upon her Eyes, their View
She turns to find out Objects vain and new.
The Oaths of perjur'd Men affect her more
Than all the sacred Oaths I ever swore.
Musick she finds when others Love relate,
From me it sounds like the last Call of Fate.
Nothing I say, or do, or look can move,
Tho' e'ery Word's breath'd from the Soul of Love.
I sigh! I weep! I bleed! I burn! I die
Nor this affects her Heart, nor that her Eye,
She hears, she sees, and walks regardless by.
E'en Hope, that last Reserve, to Scorn does yield,
And wild Despair rides Victor o'er the Field;
Upon her Cruelty he rears his Throne,
With barbarous Joy beholds the Day his own,
And smiles, like her, to hear the dying Groan.
60
Thus, Silvia, were (by your Neglect constrain'd)
My Thoughts last Night in Vision entertain'd:
Thus 'twas I talkt, these very Words I write
Did anxious Fancy to the Muse indite.
I never, waking, said you were untrue,
Nor can I close the intellectual View.
Let it at least, preserve me thy Esteem,
That all my Doubts of thee are but a Dream.
Whatever Sleep suggests, what e'er my Fears,
And all that in thy alter'd Look appears,
You are, you shall, you will, you must be just
And I abuse thee by a mean Distrust.
Thou dost but for a while eclipse the Light
Of Love, to make it dearer to our Sight:
The Mask took off, but more commends the Fair,
And Hope arises brightest from Despair.
My Thoughts last Night in Vision entertain'd:
Thus 'twas I talkt, these very Words I write
Did anxious Fancy to the Muse indite.
I never, waking, said you were untrue,
Nor can I close the intellectual View.
Let it at least, preserve me thy Esteem,
That all my Doubts of thee are but a Dream.
Whatever Sleep suggests, what e'er my Fears,
And all that in thy alter'd Look appears,
You are, you shall, you will, you must be just
And I abuse thee by a mean Distrust.
Thou dost but for a while eclipse the Light
Of Love, to make it dearer to our Sight:
The Mask took off, but more commends the Fair,
And Hope arises brightest from Despair.
Silvia Perjur'd.
She has (ye Gods) forgot the Vows she made,And, conscious flies the Wretch she has betray'd.
But if she's yet not past the Pow'r of Love,
If Constancy has Charms, or Verse can move,
I'll bring thy Vertues back forgetful Fair,
And prove that plighted Oaths are something more than Air.
In such sad Strains I'll my Distress impart,
So lively will I paint my bleeding Heart,
E'en thou thy self shalt be amaz'd to see
So swift a Change from Joy to Misery!
I had no Respite between best and worst,
Fed but to starve, and happy to be curst;
Precipitated by a sudden Blow,
From the Extreme of Bliss to that of Woe!
61
I was too humble, and I lov'd too well.
Did Angels know my Truth as well as you,
Ev'n they wou'd wonder Man shou'd be so true:
But wonder more to see thee faithless prove
When there is scarce a purer Flame above:
What can there There from Each to Each be paid
But endless Love, and Fervor undecay'd?
You know, and I shall ne'er forget the Time
(Lock'd in my Arms, nor Kisses then a Crime)
When on your Bosom I expiring lay
(How short is Pleasure! and how soon 'twas Day!)
While with our Breath our very Minds we mixt
(The Marriage promis'd, and the Day prefixt)
'Twas then by the Immortal Pow'rs you swore,
Nay by your Mut'ual Love, and that was more,
That 'twas to me your Life, your Soul you'd give,
And for me only that you wish'd to Live!
Did I not there affirm the same to you!
You heard, you saw (with Eyes erected too)
How Zealously I look'd on Heav'n above,
Wish'd it unkind to me if I prov'd false to Love.
Have we not since, too, often sworn the same?
With fresh Endearments fed th'Eternal Flame?
Eternal! no, 'twas Momentary, slight,
A short-liv'd Met'eor, a delusive Light,
A Glare, an Ignis Fatuus of the Night;
By which y'ave led me over Bush and Thorn,
Drill'd on by Hope, and driven back by Scorn.
Sure thou dost think thou at Loves Auction art,
And dost by Inch of Candle parcel out thy Heart:
Thy Flame so far from lasting, I ev'n doubt
Thou dost but light it up to put it out,
Or singe as purblind Moths that fly about.
Destructive Sex! for as thou usest Me,
So each Man's serv'd by some Perfidious She.
62
He only, that excludes you from his Breast,
Nor lets your Terrier LOVE, dislodge his Rest.
Love! that where e'er it comes makes Concord cease,
The Dearth of Pleasure, and the Bane of Peace:
The Toil with which w'are hatter'd out by Day,
At Night, the Hag that rides our Sleep away.
Debate, Deceit, Distrust, have hence their Birth,
And all beside that makes a Hell on Earth.
If Courtship opens such a Scene to Strife,
What Curses must there follow with a Wife?
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |