University of Virginia Library

previous section Love Elegies
no next section
5

On his falling in Love with Neæra.

ELEGY I.

Farewel that Liberty our Fathers gave,
In vain they gave, their Sons receiv'd in vain:
I saw Neæra, and her instant Slave,
Tho' born a Briton, hug'd the servile Chain.
Her Usage well repays my coward Heart,
Meanly she triumphs in her Lover's Shame,
No healing Joy relieves his constant Smart,
No Smile of Love rewards the Loss of Fame.
Oh that to feel these killing Pangs no more,
On Scythian Hills I lay a senseless Stone,
Was fix'd a Rock amidst the watry Roar,
And in the vast Atlantic stood alone.
Adieu, ye Muses, or my Passion aid,
Why shou'd I loiter by your idle Spring?
My humble Voice wou'd move one only Maid,
And she contemns the Trifles which I sing.
6

I do not ask the lofty Epick Strain,
Nor strive to paint the Wonders of the Sphere;
I only sing one cruel Maid to gain,
Adieu, ye Muses, if she will not hear.
No more in useless Innocence I'll pine
Since guilty Presents win the greedy Fair,
I'll tear it's Honours from the broken Shrine,
But chiefly thine, O Venus, will I tear.
Deceiv'd by thee, I lov'd a beauteous Maid,
Who bends on sordid Gold her low Desires:
Nor Worth nor Passion can her Heart persuade,
But Love must act what Avarice requires.
Unwise who first, the Charm of Nature lost,
With Tyrian Purple soil'd the snowy Sheep;
Unwiser still who Seas and Mountains crost,
To dig the Rock, and search the pearly Deep:
These costly Toys our silly Fair surprise,
The shining Follies cheat their feeble Sight,
Their Hearts, secure in Trifles, Love despise,
'Tis vain to court them, but more vain to write.
Why did the Gods conceal the little Mind
And earthly Thought beneath a heav'nly Face?
Forget the Worth that dignifies Mankind,
Yet smooth and polish so each outward Grace?
7

Hence all the Blame that Love and Venus bear,
Hence Pleasure short, and Anguish ever long,
Hence Tears and Sighs, and hence the peevish Fair,
The froward Lover,—Hence this angry Song.

Unable to satisfy the covetous Temper of Neæra, he intends to make a Campaign, and try, if possible, to forget her.

ELEGY II.

Adieu, ye Walls, that guard my cruel Fair,
No more I'll sit in rosy Fetters bound,
My Limbs have learnt the Weight of Arms to bear,
My rousing Spirits feel the Trumpet's Sound.
Few are the Maids that now on Merit smile,
On Spoil and War is bent this iron Age;
Yet Pain and Death attend on War and Spoil,
Unsated Vengeance and remorseless Rage:
To purchase Spoil ev'n Love itself is sold,
Her Lover's Heart is least Neæra's Care,
And I through War must seek detested Gold,
Not for my self, but for my venal Fair:
That while she bends beneath the Weight of Dress,
The stiffen'd Robe may spoil her easy Mien;
And Art mistaken make her Beauty less,
While still it hides some Graces better seen.
8

But if such Toys can win her lovely Smile,
Hers be the Wealth of Tagus' golden Sand,
Hers the bright Gems that glow in India's Soil,
Hers the black Sons of Africk's sultry Land.
To please her Eye let every Loom contend,
For her be rifled Ocean's pearly Bed.
But where alas wou'd idle Fancy tend?
And sooth with Dreams a youthful Poet's Head?
Let others buy the cold unloving Maid,
In forc'd Embraces act the Tyrant's Part,
While I their selfish Luxury upbraid,
And scorn the Person where I doubt the Heart.
Thus warm'd by Pride, I think I love no more,
And hide in Threats the Weakness of my Mind:
In vain,—tho' Reason fly the hated Door,
Yet Love, the Coward Love, still lags behind.
9

He upbraids and threatens the Avarice of Neæra, and resolves to quit her.

ELEGY III.

Should Jove descend in Floods of liquid Ore,
And golden Torrents stream from every Part,
That craving Bosom still wou'd heave for more,
Not all the Gods cou'd satisfy thy Heart:
But may thy Folly, which can thus disdain
My honest Love, the mighty Wrong repay,
May Midnight Fire involve thy sordid Gain,
And on the shining Heaps of Rapine prey:
May all the Youths, like me, by Love deceiv'd,
Not quench the Ruin, but applaud the Doom,
And, when thou dy'st, may not one Heart be griev'd,
May not one Tear bedew the lonely Tomb.
But the deserving, tender, generous Maid,
Whose only Care is her poor Lover's Mind,
Tho' ruthless Age may bid her Beauty fade
In every Friend to Love, a Friend shall find:
And, when the Lamp of Life will burn no more,
When dead she seems as in a gentle Sleep,
The pitying Neighbour shall her Loss deplore,
And round the Bier assembled Lovers weep:
10

With flowry Garlands, each revolving Year
Shall strow the Grave where Truth and Softness rest,
Then Home returning drop the pious Tear,
And bid the Turf lye easy on her Breast.

To his Friend written under the Confinement of a long Indisposition.

ELEGY IV.

While calm you sit beneath your secret Shade,
And lose in pleasing Thought the Summer Day,
Or tempt the Wish of some unpractis'd Maid,
Whose Heart at once inclines and fears to stray:
The sprightly Vigour of my Youth is fled,
Lonely and sick on Death is all my Thought,
Oh spare, Persephone, this guiltless Head,
Love, too much Love, is all thy Suppliant's Fault.
No Virgin's easy Faith I e'er betray'd,
My Tongue ne'er boasted of a feign'd Embrace,
No Poisons in the Cup have I convey'd,
Nor veil'd Destruction with a friendly Face:
11

No secret Horrors gnaw this quiet Breast,
This pious Hand ne'er rob'd the sacred Fane,
I ne'er disturb'd the God's eternal Rest
With Curses loud,—but oft have pray'd in vain.
No Stealth of Time has thinn'd my flowing Hair,
Nor Age yet bent me with his iron Hand;
Ah why so soon the tender Blossom tear?
E'er Autumn yet the ripen'd Fruit demand.
Ye Gods, whoe'er, in gloomy Shades below,
Now slowly tread your melancholy Round,
Now wandring view the baleful Rivers flow,
And musing hearken to their solemn Sound:
Oh let me still enjoy the chearful Day,
Till many Years unheeded o'er me roll'd,
Pleas'd in my Age I trifle Life away,
And tell how much we lov'd, e'er I grew old.
But you, who now with festive Garlands crown'd,
In chase of Pleasure the gay Moments spend,
By quick Enjoyment heal Love's pleasing Wound,
And grieve for nothing, but your absent Friend.
 

The Goddess of Death.

12

The Lover is at first introduced speaking to his Servant, he afterwards addresses himself to his Mistress, and at last there is a supposed Interview between them.

ELEGY V.

With Wine more Wine deceive thy Master's Care,
Till creeping Slumber sooth his troubled Breast,
Let not a Whisper stir the silent Air,
If hapless Love a while consent to rest.
Untoward Guards beset my Cynthia's Doors,
And cruel Locks th' imprison'd Fair conceal,
May Lightnings blast whom Love in vain implores,
And Jove's own Thunder rive those Bolts of Steel.
Ah gentle Door attend my humble Call,
Nor let thy founding Hinge our Thefts betray,
So all my Curses far from thee shall fall,
We angry Lovers mean not half we say.
Remember now the flowry Wreaths I gave,
When first I told thee of my bold Desires,
Nor thou, O Cynthia, fear the watchful Slave,
Venus will favour what herself inspires.
13

She guides the Youth who see not where they tread,
She shews the Virgin how to turn the Door,
Softly to steal from off her silent Bed,
And not a Step betray her on the Floor.
The fearless Lover wants no Beam of Light,
The Robber knows him, nor obstructs his Way,
Sacred he wanders through the pathless Night,
Belongs to Venus, and can never stray.
I scorn the chilling Wind, and beating Rain,
Nor heed cold Watchings on the dewy Ground,
If all the Hardships I for Love sustain,
With Love's victorious Joys at last be crown'd:
With sudden Step let none our Bliss surprise,
Or check the Freedom of secure Delight—
Rash Man beware and shut thy curious Eyes,
Lest angry Venus snatch their guilty Sight:
But shou'dst thou see, th' important Secret hide,
Tho' question'd by the Powers of Earth and Heav'n,
The prating Tongue shall Love's Revenge abide,
Still sue for Grace, and never be forgiv'n.
A Wizard-Dame, thy Lover's ancient Friend,
With magic Charm has deaft thy Husband's Ear,
At her Command I saw the Stars descend,
And winged Lightnings stop in mid Career.
14

I saw her stamp, and cleave the solid Ground,
While ghastly Spectres round us wildly roam,
I saw them hearken to her potent sound,
Till scar'd at Day they sought their dreary Home.
At her Command the vigorous Summer pines,
And wintry Clouds obscure the hopeful Year,
At her strong bidding gloomy Winter shines,
And vernal Roses on the Snows appear.
She gave these Charms, which I on thee bestow,
They dim the Eye, and dull the jealous Mind,
For me they make a Husband nothing know,
For me, and only me, they make him blind:
But what did most this faithful Heart surprise,
She boasted that her Skill cou'd set it free;
This faithful Heart the boasted Freedom flies,
How cou'd it venture to abandon thee?
15

He adjures Delia to pity him by their Friendship with Cælia who was lately dead.

ELEGY VI.

Thousands wou'd seek the lasting Peace of Death,
And in that Harbour shun the Storm of Care,
Officious Hope still holds the fleeting Breath,
She tells them still,—to morrow will be fair:
She tells me, Delia, I shall thee obtain,
But can I listen to her Syren Song,
Who sev'n slow Months have drag'd my painful Chain,
So long thy Lover and despis'd so long?
By all the Joys thy dearest Celia gave,
Let not her once-lov'd Friend unpity'd burn;
So may her Ashes find a peaceful Grave,
And Sleep uninjur'd in their sacred Urn:
To her I first avow'd my tim'rous Flame,
She nurs'd my Hopes, and taught me how to sue,
She still wou'd pity what the Wise might blame,
And feel for Weakness what she never knew:
Ah do not grieve the dear lamented Shade,
That hov'ring round us all my Suff'rings hears,
She is my Saint,—to her my Pray'rs are made,
With oft repeated Gifts of Flow'rs and Tears:
16

To her sad Tomb at Midnight I retire,
And lonely sitting by the silent Stone,
I tell it all the Griefs my Wrongs inspire,
The Marble Image seems to hear my Moan:
Thy Friend's pale Ghost shall vex thy sleepless Bed,
And stand before thee all in virgin White;
That ruthless Bosom will disturb the dead,
And call forth Pity from eternal Night:
Cease, cruel Man, the mournful Theme forbear,
Tho' much thou suffer, to thy self complain,
Ah to recal the sad Remembrance spare,
One Tear from her, is more than all thy Pain.

On Delia's being in the Country, where he supposes she stays to see the Harvest.

ELEGY VII.

Now Delia breathes in Woods the fragrant Air,
Dull are the Hearts that still in Town remain,
Venus her self attends on Delia there,
And Cupid sports amid the sylvan Train.
Oh with what Joy my Delia to behold,
I'd press the Spade, or wield the weighty Prong,
Guide the slow Plough-share thro' the stubborn Mold,
And patient goad the loit'ring Ox along:
17

The scorching Heats I'd carelessly despise,
Nor heed the Blisters on my tender Hand;
The great Apollo wore the same Disguise,
Like me subdu'd to Love's supreme Command.
No healing Herbs cou'd sooth their Master's Pain,
The Art of Physick lost and useless lay,
To Pencus' Stream, and Tempe's shady Plain,
He drove his Herds beneath the None-tide Ray:
Oft with a bleating Lamb in either Arm,
His blushing Sister saw him pace along;
Oft wou'd his Voice the silent Valley charm,
Till lowing Oxen broke the tender Song.
Where are his Triumphs? where his warlike Toil?
Where by his Darts the crested Python slain?
Where are his Delphi? his delightful Isle?
The God himself is grown a cottage Swain.
O Ceres, in your golden Fields no more,
With Harvest's chearful Pomp my Fair detain,—
Think what for lost Proserpina you bore,
And in a Mother's Anguish feel my Pain.
Our wiser Fathers left their Fields unsown,
Their Food was Acorns, Love their sole Imploy,
They met, they lik'd, they stay'd but till alone,
And in each Valley snatch'd the honest Joy:
18

No wakeful Guard, no Doors to stop Desire,
Thrice happy Times!—but Oh I fondly rave,
Lead me to Delia, all her Eyes inspire
I'll do,—I'll plough or dig as Delia's Slave.
 

The Goddess Diana.

The Daughter of Ceres taken from her by Pluto.

He despairs that he shall ever possess Delia.

ELEGY VIII.

Ah what avails thy Lover's pious Care?
His lavish Incense clouds the Sky in vain,
Nor Wealth nor Greatness was his idle Pray'r,
For thee alone he pray'd, thee hop'd to gain;
With thee I hop'd to waste the pleasing Day,
Till in thy Arms an Age of Joy was past,
Then old with Love insensibly decay,
And on thy Bosom gently breath my last.
I scorn the Lydian River's golden Wave,
And all the vulgar Charms of human Life,
I only ask to live my Delia's Slave,
And when I long have serv'd her, call her Wife:
I only ask, of her I love possest,
To sink o'ercome with Bliss in safe Repose,
To strain her yielding Beauties to my Breast,
And kiss her wearied Eye-lids till they close.
19

Attend, O Juno, with thy sober Ear,
Attend, gay Venus, Parent of Desire,
This one fond Wish if you refuse to hear,
Oh let me with this Sigh of Love expire.

He has lost Delia.

ELEGY IX.

He who could first two gentle Hearts unbind,
And rob a Lover of his weeping Fair,
Hard was the Man, but harder in my Mind,
The Lover still who dy'd not of Despair:
With mean Disguise let others Nature hide,
And mimick Virtue with the Paint of Art,
I scorn the Cheat of Reason's foolish Pride,
And boast the graceful Weakness of my Heart.
The more I think, the more I feel my Pain,
And learn the more each heav'nly Charm to prize,
While Fools, too light for Passion, safe remain,
And dull Sensation keeps the Stupid wise.
Sad is my Day, and sad my lingring Night,
When wrapt in silent Grief I weep alone,
Delia is lost, and all my past Delight
Is now the Source of unavailing Moan.
20

Where is the Wit that heighten'd Beauty's Charms?
Where is the Face that fed my longing Eyes?
Where is the Shape that might have blest my Arms?
Where all those Hopes relentless Fate denies?
When spent with endless Grief I die at last
Delia may come, and see my poor Remains,—
Oh Delia, after such an Absence past,
Can'st thou still love, and not forget my Pains?
Wilt thou in Tears thy Lover's Coarse attend?
With Eyes averted Light the solemn Pyre,
Till all around the doleful Flames ascend,
Then slowly sinking by Degrees expire:
To sooth the hov'ring Soul be thine the Care,
With plaintive Cries to lead the mournful Band,
In sable Weeds the golden Vase to bear,
And cull my Ashes with thy trembling Hand:
Panchaia's Odours be their costly Feast,
And all the Pride of Asia's fragrant Year,
Give them the Treasures of the farthest East,
And, what is still more precious, give thy Tear.
Dying for thee, there is in Death a Pride,
Let all the World thy hapless Lover know,
No silent Urn the noble Passion hide,
But deeply graven thus my Suff'rings show:
21

Here lyes a Youth born down with Love and Care,
He cou'd not long his Delia's Loss abide,
Joy left his Bosom with the parting Fair,
And when he durst no longer hope, he dy'd.

On Delia's Birth-day.

ELEGY X.

This Day, which saw my Delia's Beauty rise,
Shall more than all our sacred Days be blest,
The World enamour'd of her lovely Eyes,
Shall grow as good and gentle as her Breast.
By all our guarded Sighs, and hid Desires,
Oh may our guiltless Love be still the same,
I burn, and glory in the pleasing Fires,
If Delia's Bosom share the mutual Flame.
Thou happy Genius of her natal Hour,
Accept her Incense, if her Thoughts be kind;
But let her court in vain thy angry Power,
If all our Vows are blotted from her Mind.
And thou, O Venus, hear my righteous Pray'r,
Or bind the Shepherdess or loose the Swain,
Yet rather guard them both with equal Care,
And let them die together in thy Chain:
22

What I demand perhaps her Heart desires,
But Virgin Fears her nicer Tongue restrain,
The secret Thought, which blushing Love inspires,
The conscious Eye can full as well explain.

Against Lovers going to War, in which he philosophically prefers Love and Delia to the more serious Vanities of the World.

ELEGY XI.

The Man, who sharpen'd first the warlike Steel,
How fell and deadly was his iron Heart,
He gave the Wound encount'ing Nations feel,
And Death grew stronger by his fatal Art:
Yet not from Steel, Debate and Battle rose,
'Tis Gold o'erturns the even Scale of Life,
Nature is free to all, and none were Foes,
Till partial Luxury began the Strife.
Let Spoil and Victory adorn the Bold,
While I inglorious neither hope nor fear,
Perish the Thirst of Honour, Thirst of Gold,
E'er for my Absence Delia lose a Tear:
Why shou'd the Lover quit his pleasing Home,
In search of Danger on some foreign Ground?
Far from his weeping Fair ungrateful roam,
And risk in every Stroke a double Wound:
23

Ah better far, beneath the spreading Shade,
With chearful Friends to drain the sprightly Bowl,
To sing the Beauties of my darling Maid.
And on the sweet Idea feast my Soul:
Then full of Love, to all her Charms retire,
And fold her blushing to my eager Breast,
Till, quite o'ercome with Softness, with Desire,
Like me she pants, she faints, and sinks to Rest.

To Delia.

ELEGY XII.

No second Love shall e'er my Heart surprize,
This solemn League did first our Passion bind:
Thou only thou canst please thy Lover's Eyes,
Thy Voice alone can sooth his troubled Mind.
Oh that thy Charms were only fair to me,
Displease all others, and secure my Rest,
No need of Envy,—let me happy be,
I little care that others know me blest.
With thee in gloomy Deserts let me dwell,
Where never human Footstep mark'd the Ground;
Thou, Light of Life, all Darkness canst expel,
And seem a World with Solitude around.
24

I say too much—my heedless Words restore,
My Tongue undoes me in this loving Hour,
Thou know'st thy Strength, and thence insulting more,
Will make me feel the Weight of all thy Pow'r:
Whate'er I feel, thy Slave I will remain,
Nor fly the Burthen I am form'd to bear,
In Chains I'll sit me down at Venus' Fane,
She knows my Wrongs, and will regard my Pray'r.

He imagines himself married to Delia, and that content with each other they are retired into the Country.

ELEGY XIII.

Let others boast their Heaps of shining Gold,
And view their Fields with waving Plenty crown'd,
Whom neighb'ring Foes in constant Terror hold,
And Trumpets break their Slumbers never sound:
While calmly poor I trifle Life away,
Enjoy sweet Leisure by my chearful Fire,
No wanton Hope my Quiet shall betray,
But cheaply blest I'll scorn each vain Desire.
With timely Care I'll sow my little Field,
And plant my Orchard with it's Master's Hand,
Nor blush to spread the Hay, the Hook to wield,
Or range my Sheaves along the sunny Land.
25

If late at Dusk, while carelesly I roam,
I meet a strolling Kid, or bleating Lamb,
Under my Arm I'll bring the Wand'rer home,
And not a little chide it's thoughtless Dam.
What Joy to hear the Tempest howl in vain,
And clasp a fearful Mistress to my Breast?
Or lull'd to Slumber by the beating Rain,
Secure and happy sink at last to Rest?
Or if the Sun in flaming Leo ride,
By shady Rivers indolently stray,
And with my Delia, walking Side by Side,
Hear how they murmur, as they glide away.
What Joy to wind along the cool Retreat,
To stop and gaze on Delia as I go?
To mingle sweet Discourse with Kisses sweet,
And teach my lovely Scholar all I know?
Thus pleas'd at Heart, and not with Fancy's Dream,
In silent Happiness I rest unknown;
Content with what I am, not what I seem,
I live for Delia, and myself alone.
Ah foolish Man, who thus of her possess'd,
Cou'd float and wander with Ambition's Wind,
And if his outward Trappings spoke him blest,
Not heed the Sickness of his conscious Mind.
26

With her I scorn the idle Breath of Praise,
Nor trust to Happiness that's not our own,
The Smile of Fortune might Suspicion raise,
But here I know that I am lov'd alone.
Stanhope, in Wisdom as in Wit divine,
May rise and plead Britannia's glorious Cause,
With steady Rein his eager Wit confine,
While manly Sense the deep Attention draws:
Let Stanhope speak his list'ning Country's Wrong,
My humble Voice shall please one partial Maid;
For her alone I pen my tender Song,
Securely sitting in his friendly Shade.
Stanhope shall come, and grace his rural Friend,
Delia shall wonder at her noble Guest,
With blushing Awe the riper Fruit commend,
And for her Husband's Patron cull the best.
Hers be the Care of all my little Train,
While I with tender Indolence am blest,
The favourite Subject of her gentle Reign,
By Love alone distinguish'd from the rest.
For her I'll yoke my Oxen to the Plow,
In gloomy Forests tend my lonely Flock,
For her a Goat-herd climb the Mountain's Brow,
And sleep extended on the naked Rock:
27

Ah what avails to press the stately Bed,
And far from her 'midst tasteless Grandeur weep,
By marble Fountains lay the pensive Head,
And, while they murmur, strive in vain to sleep?
Delia alone can please, and never tire,
Exceed the Paint of Thought in true Delight,
With her, Enjoyment wakens new Desire,
And equal Rapture glows thro' every Night:
Beauty and Worth in her alike contend
To charm the Fancy, and to fix the Mind,
In her, my Wife, my Mistress, and my Friend;
I taste the Joys of Sense and Reason join'd.
On her I'll gaze, when others Loves are o'er,
And dying press her with my clay cold Hand—
Thou weep'st already, as I were no more,
Nor can that gentle Breast the Thought withstand.
Oh, when I die, my latest Moments spare,
Nor let thy Grief with sharper Torments kill,
Wound not thy Cheeks, nor hurt that flowing Hair,
Tho' I am dead, my Soul shall love thee still:
Oh quit the Room, Oh quit the deathful Bed,
Or thou wilt die, so tender is thy Heart,
Oh leave me, Delia, e'er thou see me dead,
These weeping Friends will do thy mournful Part:
28

Let them, extended on the decent Bier,
Convey the Coarse in melancholy State,
Thro' all the Village spread the tender Tear,
While pitying Maids our wond'rous Loves relate.

To Delia.

ELEGY XIV.

What Scenes of Bliss my raptur'd Fancy fram'd,
In some lone Spot with Peace and thee retir'd,
Tho' Reason then my sanguine Fondness blam'd,
I still believ'd what flatt'ring Love inspir'd:
But now my Wrongs have taught my humbled Mind,
To dangerous Bliss no longer to pretend,
In Books, a calm but fixt Content to find,
Safe Joys, that on our selves alone depend:
With them the gentle Moments I beguile,
In learned Ease, and elegant Delight,
Compare the Beauties of each different Stile,
Each various Ray of Wit's diffusive Light:
Now mark the Strength of Milton's sacred Lines,
Sense rais'd by Genius, Fancy rul'd by Art,
Where all the Glory of the God-head shines,
And earliest Innocence inchants the Heart.
29

Now fir'd by Pope and Virtue leave the Age
In low Pursuit of self-undoing Wrong,
And trace the Author thro' his moral Page,
Whose blameless Life still answers to his Song.
If Time and Books my lingring Pain can heal,
And Reason fix it's Empire o'er my Heart,
My Patriot Breast a nobler Warmth shall feel,
And glow with Love where Weakness has no part.
Thy Heart, O Lyttleton, shall be my Guide,
It's Fire shall warm me, and it's Worth improve,
Thy Heart, above all Envy, and all Pride,
Firm as Man's Sense, and soft as Woman's Love.
And you, O West, with her your Partner dear,
Whom social Mirth and useful Sense commend,
With Learning's Feast my drooping Mind shall chear,
Glad to escape from Love to such a Friend.
But why, so long my weaker Heart deceive?
Ah still I love in Pride and Reason's Spite,
No Books, alas my painful Thoughts relieve,
And while I threat, this Elegy I write.
30

To Mr. George Grenville.

ELEGY XV.

Oh form'd alike to serve us and to please;
Polite with Honesty; and learn'd with Ease;
With Heart to act, with Genius to retire;
Open, yet wise; tho' gentle, full of Fire;
With thee I scorn the low Constraint of Art,
Nor fear to trust the Follies of my Heart;
Hear then from what my long Despair arose,
The faithful Story of a Lover's Woes:
When, in a sober melancholy Hour,
Reduc'd by Sickness under Reason's Power,
I view'd my State too little weigh'd before,
And Love himself cou'd flatter me no more,
My Delia's Hopes I would no more deceive,
But whom my Passion hurt, thro' Friendship leave;
I chose the coldest Words my Heart to hide,
And cure her Sex's Weakness thro' it's Pride:
The Prudence which I taught, I ill pursu'd,
The Charm my Reason broke, my Heart renew'd;
Again submissive to her Feet I came,
And prov'd too well my Passion by my Shame;
While she, secure in Coldness, or Disdain,
Forgot my Love, or triumph'd in it's Pain,
Began with higher Views her Thoughts to raise,
And scorn'd the humble Poet of her Praise:
She let each little Lie o'er Truth prevail,
And strengthen'd by her Faith each groundless Tale,
31

Believ'd the grossest Arts that Malice try'd,
Nor once in Thought was on her Lover's Side:
Oh where were then my Scenes of fancy'd Life?
Oh where the Friend, the Mistress, and the Wife?
Her Years of promis'd Love were quickly past,
Not two revolving Moons cou'd see them last.—
To Stow's delightful Scenes I now repair,
In Cobham's Smile to lose the Gloom of Care!
Nor fear that he my Weakness shou'd despise,
In Nature Learned, and humanely Wise:
There Pit, in Manners soft, in Friendship warm,
With mild Advice my list'ning Grief shall charm,
With Sense to counsel, and with Wit to please,
A Roman's Virtue with a Courtier's Ease.
Nor you, my Friend, whose Heart is still at rest,
Contemn the human Weakness of my Breast;
Reason may chide the Faults she cannot cure,
And Pains, which long we scorn'd, we oft endure;
Tho' wiser Cares employ your studious Mind;
Form'd with a Soul so elegantly kind,
Your Breast may lose the Calm it long has known,
And learn my Woes to pity, by it's own.
THE END.
previous section Love Elegies
no next section