 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
43
Acontius to Cydippe.
Argument.
In a religious assembly at the temple of Diana in Delos, Acontius was much enamour'd with Cydippe, a lady of remarkable wit and beauty. Besides this, her fortune and family were much above his own: which made him solicitous hovv to discover his Passion in a successful manner. At last he procured a very beautiful apple, upon which he wrote a dystick to this purpose, “I swear by chaste Diana I will for ever be thy Wife.” So soon as he had written it, he threw the apple directly at the feet of Cydippe, who imagining nothing of the deceit, took it up, and having read the inscription, found her self obliged by a solemn oath to marry Acontius. For in those times all oaths which were made in the temple of Diana, were esteemed inviolable. Some time afterwards, her father who knew no-
thing of what had happen'd, espous'd her to another lover. The marriage was just upon the point of celebration, when Cydippe was seized with a violent fever. Acontius writes to her, he reminds her of a former solemn obligation, and artfully insinuates that her distemper is inflicted as a just punishment from Diana.
44
Once more, Cydippe, all thy fears remove,
'Tis now too late to dread a cheat in love.
Those rosy lips in accents half divine,
Breath'd the soft promise in the Delian shrine;
Dear awful oath! enough Cydippe swore,
No human ties can bind a virgin more.
So may kind heav'n attend a lover's pray'r,
Soften thy pains, and comfort my despair.
See, the warm blush your modest cheeks enflame;
Yet is there cause for anger or for shame!
Recal to mind those tender lines of love,
Deny you cannot—tho' your heart disprove.
Still must I waste in impotent desires,
And only hope revive the fainting fires?
Yet did'st thou promise to be ever mine—
A conscious horrour seem'd to shake the shrine,
The pow'r consenting bow'd; a beam of light
Flash'd from the skies, and made the temple bright.
Ah! then Cydippe, dry thy precious tears:
The more my fraud, the more my love appears.
Love ever-watchful, ev'n by nature charms;
Enflames the modest, and the wise disarms;
Fair yet dissembling, pleasing but to cheat
With tender blandishment, and soft deceit,
Kind speaking motions, melancholy sighs,
Tears that delight, and eloquence of eyes.
Love first the treach'rous dear design inspir'd,
My hopes exalted, and my genius fir'd:
Ah! sure I cannot—must not guilty prove;
Deceit it self is laudable in love!
Once more inspir'd such tender lines I send,
See, my hand trembles lest my thoughts offend.
Heroes in war enflam'd by beauty's charms,
Tear the sad virgin from her parents arms;
I too, like these, feel the fierce flames of love,
Yet check my rage, and modestly reprove.
Ah, teach me, heav'n, some language to persuade,
Some other vows to bind the faithless maid;
O Love all-eloquent, you only know
To touch the soul with elegies of woe!
If treach'ry fail, by force I urge my right,
Sheath'd in rough armour, formidably bright:
So Paris snatch'd his Spartan bride away,
A half denying, half consenting prey;
I too resolve—whate'er the dangers be,
For death is nothing when compar'd to thee.
Were you less fair, I then might guiltless prove,
And moderate the fury of my love;
But ah! those charms for ever must inspire,
Each look, each motion sets my soul on fire.
Heav'ns! with what pleasing extasies of pain
Trembling I gaze, and watch thy glance in vain.
How can I praise those golden curls that deck
Each glowing cheek, or wave around thy neck:
Thy swelling arms, and forehead rising fair,
Thy modest sweetness, and attractive air;
Adjoin to these a negligence of grace,
A winning accent, and enchanting face.
Dear matchless charms! I cease to name the rest,
Nor wonder thou that love inflames my breast.
'Tis now too late to dread a cheat in love.
Those rosy lips in accents half divine,
Breath'd the soft promise in the Delian shrine;
Dear awful oath! enough Cydippe swore,
No human ties can bind a virgin more.
So may kind heav'n attend a lover's pray'r,
Soften thy pains, and comfort my despair.
See, the warm blush your modest cheeks enflame;
Yet is there cause for anger or for shame!
Recal to mind those tender lines of love,
Deny you cannot—tho' your heart disprove.
45
And only hope revive the fainting fires?
Yet did'st thou promise to be ever mine—
A conscious horrour seem'd to shake the shrine,
The pow'r consenting bow'd; a beam of light
Flash'd from the skies, and made the temple bright.
Ah! then Cydippe, dry thy precious tears:
The more my fraud, the more my love appears.
Love ever-watchful, ev'n by nature charms;
Enflames the modest, and the wise disarms;
Fair yet dissembling, pleasing but to cheat
With tender blandishment, and soft deceit,
Kind speaking motions, melancholy sighs,
Tears that delight, and eloquence of eyes.
Love first the treach'rous dear design inspir'd,
My hopes exalted, and my genius fir'd:
Ah! sure I cannot—must not guilty prove;
Deceit it self is laudable in love!
46
See, my hand trembles lest my thoughts offend.
Heroes in war enflam'd by beauty's charms,
Tear the sad virgin from her parents arms;
I too, like these, feel the fierce flames of love,
Yet check my rage, and modestly reprove.
Ah, teach me, heav'n, some language to persuade,
Some other vows to bind the faithless maid;
O Love all-eloquent, you only know
To touch the soul with elegies of woe!
If treach'ry fail, by force I urge my right,
Sheath'd in rough armour, formidably bright:
So Paris snatch'd his Spartan bride away,
A half denying, half consenting prey;
I too resolve—whate'er the dangers be,
For death is nothing when compar'd to thee.
Were you less fair, I then might guiltless prove,
And moderate the fury of my love;
47
Each look, each motion sets my soul on fire.
Heav'ns! with what pleasing extasies of pain
Trembling I gaze, and watch thy glance in vain.
How can I praise those golden curls that deck
Each glowing cheek, or wave around thy neck:
Thy swelling arms, and forehead rising fair,
Thy modest sweetness, and attractive air;
Adjoin to these a negligence of grace,
A winning accent, and enchanting face.
Dear matchless charms! I cease to name the rest,
Nor wonder thou that love inflames my breast.
Since all alike to Hymen's altars bend,
Ah, bless at once the lover, and the friend!
Let envy rage, and int'rest disapprove,
Envy and int'rest must submit to love.
By pray'rs and vows Hesione was won
To share the joys of hostile Telamon.
Soft gen'rous pity touch'd the captive dame
Who warm'd Achilles with a lover's flame.
To bless the wretched, shows a soul divine—
Be ever angry—but be ever mine.
Yet can no pray'rs thy firm resentment move?
Wretch that I was so ill to fix my love!
See, at thy feet despairing, wild I roul,
Grief swells my heart, and anguish racks my soul,
There fix my doom; relentless to my sighs,
And lifted hands, and supplicating eyes.
Then wilt thou say (for pity sure must move
A virgin's breast) “how patient is his love!
“Ev'n my heart trembles, as his tears I see;
“The youth who serves so well, is worthy me.
Ah, bless at once the lover, and the friend!
Let envy rage, and int'rest disapprove,
Envy and int'rest must submit to love.
48
To share the joys of hostile Telamon.
Soft gen'rous pity touch'd the captive dame
Who warm'd Achilles with a lover's flame.
To bless the wretched, shows a soul divine—
Be ever angry—but be ever mine.
Yet can no pray'rs thy firm resentment move?
Wretch that I was so ill to fix my love!
See, at thy feet despairing, wild I roul,
Grief swells my heart, and anguish racks my soul,
There fix my doom; relentless to my sighs,
And lifted hands, and supplicating eyes.
Then wilt thou say (for pity sure must move
A virgin's breast) “how patient is his love!
“Ev'n my heart trembles, as his tears I see;
“The youth who serves so well, is worthy me.
49
Still must I then in sad distraction moan?
My cause unheeded, and my grief unknown.
Ah, no—Acontius cannot write in vain;
Sure ev'ry wretch has licence to complain!
But if you triumph in a lover's woe,
Remember still Diana is your foe:
Diana listen'd to the vows you made,
And trembled at the change her eyes survey'd.
Ah, think, repent, while yet the time is giv'n,
Fierce is the vengeance of neglected heav'n!
By Dian's hand the Phrygian matron fell,
Sent with her race, an early shade to hell.
Chang'd to a stag, Acteon pour'd away,
In the same morn the chaser and the prey.
Althea rag'd with more than female hate,
And hurl'd into the flames the brand of fate.
Like these offensive, punish'd too like these,
Heav'n blasts thy joys, and heightens the disease.
Nor think Cydippe, (as my fears foresee)
A thought unworthy of thyself, or me!
Think not I frame this seeming truth, to prove
Thy stern disdain, a pious fraud in love;
Rather than so, I yet abjure thy charms,
And yield thee scornful, to another's arms!
Alas, for this pale sickness haunts thy bed,
And shooting aches seem to tear thy head;
A sudden vengeance waits thy guilty loves;
Absent is Hymen, Dian disapproves.
Think then, repent—recal the parting breath
O'er thy lips hov'ring in the hour of death.
See, on thy cheeks the fading purple dies,
And shades of darkness settle on thy eyes.
But whence, ye pow'rs, or wherefore rose that pray'r?
Still must I mourn in absence, or despair;
Forc'd, if she dies, the promise to resign—
Ev'n if she lives, I must not call her mine!
My cause unheeded, and my grief unknown.
Ah, no—Acontius cannot write in vain;
Sure ev'ry wretch has licence to complain!
But if you triumph in a lover's woe,
Remember still Diana is your foe:
Diana listen'd to the vows you made,
And trembled at the change her eyes survey'd.
Ah, think, repent, while yet the time is giv'n,
Fierce is the vengeance of neglected heav'n!
By Dian's hand the Phrygian matron fell,
Sent with her race, an early shade to hell.
Chang'd to a stag, Acteon pour'd away,
In the same morn the chaser and the prey.
Althea rag'd with more than female hate,
And hurl'd into the flames the brand of fate.
Like these offensive, punish'd too like these,
Heav'n blasts thy joys, and heightens the disease.
50
A thought unworthy of thyself, or me!
Think not I frame this seeming truth, to prove
Thy stern disdain, a pious fraud in love;
Rather than so, I yet abjure thy charms,
And yield thee scornful, to another's arms!
Alas, for this pale sickness haunts thy bed,
And shooting aches seem to tear thy head;
A sudden vengeance waits thy guilty loves;
Absent is Hymen, Dian disapproves.
Think then, repent—recal the parting breath
O'er thy lips hov'ring in the hour of death.
See, on thy cheeks the fading purple dies,
And shades of darkness settle on thy eyes.
But whence, ye pow'rs, or wherefore rose that pray'r?
Still must I mourn in absence, or despair;
Forc'd, if she dies, the promise to resign—
Ev'n if she lives, I must not call her mine!
51
Like some pale ghost around thy house I rove,
Now burn in rage, and now relent with love;
A thousand needless messages I make,
A thousand mournful speeches give, and take.
O that my skill the sov'reign virtues knew
Of ev'ry herb that drinks the early dew,
Then might I hear thy moans, thy sickness see,
Nor were it sure a crime to gaze on thee.
Perhaps ev'n now, (as fear foresees too well)
The wretch I curse, detest, avoid like hell,
Beside thee breathes a love-dejected sigh,
And marks the silent glances of thy eye.
Some faint excuse he raises, to detain
Thy swelling arm, and press the beating vein:
Now o'er thy neck his glowing fingers rove,
Too great a pleasure for so mean a love!
Villain beware! the sacred nymph resign,—
Avoid, detest her, dread whate'er is mine;
Elsewhere a lover's preference I give,
But cease to rival here, or cease to live.
The vows you claim by right of human laws,
At best but serve to vindicate my cause.
To thee alone by duty is she kind;
Can parents alienate a daughter's mind?
First weigh the crime, the vengeance next explore,
The father promis'd, but the daughter swore:
That merely vain on human faith relies;
But this obtests the sanction of the skies.
Now burn in rage, and now relent with love;
A thousand needless messages I make,
A thousand mournful speeches give, and take.
O that my skill the sov'reign virtues knew
Of ev'ry herb that drinks the early dew,
Then might I hear thy moans, thy sickness see,
Nor were it sure a crime to gaze on thee.
Perhaps ev'n now, (as fear foresees too well)
The wretch I curse, detest, avoid like hell,
Beside thee breathes a love-dejected sigh,
And marks the silent glances of thy eye.
Some faint excuse he raises, to detain
Thy swelling arm, and press the beating vein:
Now o'er thy neck his glowing fingers rove,
Too great a pleasure for so mean a love!
52
Avoid, detest her, dread whate'er is mine;
Elsewhere a lover's preference I give,
But cease to rival here, or cease to live.
The vows you claim by right of human laws,
At best but serve to vindicate my cause.
To thee alone by duty is she kind;
Can parents alienate a daughter's mind?
First weigh the crime, the vengeance next explore,
The father promis'd, but the daughter swore:
That merely vain on human faith relies;
But this obtests the sanction of the skies.
Here cease my woes—ah, whither am I born
A woman's triumph, and a rival's scorn?
Vain are my vows, unheeded is my pray'r,
The scatt'ring winds have lost 'em all in air;
Yet think Cydippe, e'er thy lover dies!
Banish that wretch for ever from thy eyes;
Scorn, envy, censures are conferr'd on me,
And pain,—and death is all he brings to thee.
Gods! may some vengeance crimes like these attone,
And snatch his life, to mediate for thy own!
A woman's triumph, and a rival's scorn?
Vain are my vows, unheeded is my pray'r,
The scatt'ring winds have lost 'em all in air;
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Banish that wretch for ever from thy eyes;
Scorn, envy, censures are conferr'd on me,
And pain,—and death is all he brings to thee.
Gods! may some vengeance crimes like these attone,
And snatch his life, to mediate for thy own!
Nor think to please avenging Cynthia's eyes
With streams of blood in holy sacrifice:
Heav'n claims the real, not the formal part,
A troubled spirit, and repenting heart.
For ease, and health the patient oft requires
The piercing steel, and burns alive in fires;
Not so with you—ah, but confirm the vow!
One look, one promise can restore thee now;
Again thy smiles eternal joys bestow,
And thy eyes sparkle, and thy blushes glow.
With streams of blood in holy sacrifice:
Heav'n claims the real, not the formal part,
A troubled spirit, and repenting heart.
For ease, and health the patient oft requires
The piercing steel, and burns alive in fires;
Not so with you—ah, but confirm the vow!
One look, one promise can restore thee now;
Again thy smiles eternal joys bestow,
And thy eyes sparkle, and thy blushes glow.
54
Suppose from me for ever you remove,
Once must you fall a sacrifice to love;
And then, ah, then will angry Cynthia close
Thy wakeful eyes, or ease a matron's throes?
Yet wilt thou ever find a cause for shame?
No sure—a mother cannot, must not blame.
Tell her the vow, the place, the sacred day
I gaz'd on thee, and gaz'd my heart away:
Then will she surely say (if e'er she knew
But half that tender love I feel for you)
“Ah, think Cydippe, and his consort be;
“The youth who pleas'd Diana, pleases me!
Yet if she asks (as women oft enquire)
Tell her my life, my nation, and my sire:
Not void of youthful vanities I came,
Nor yet inglorious in the world of fame;
From ancient race I drew my gen'rous blood,
Where Cea's isle o'erlooks the watry flood:
Add, that I study ev'ry art to please,
Blest in my genius, born to live at ease.
Wit, merit, learning cannot fail to move,
And all those dearer blessings lost in love!
Ah! had you never sworn, 'twere hard to chuse
A love like mine—and will you now refuse?
Once must you fall a sacrifice to love;
And then, ah, then will angry Cynthia close
Thy wakeful eyes, or ease a matron's throes?
Yet wilt thou ever find a cause for shame?
No sure—a mother cannot, must not blame.
Tell her the vow, the place, the sacred day
I gaz'd on thee, and gaz'd my heart away:
Then will she surely say (if e'er she knew
But half that tender love I feel for you)
“Ah, think Cydippe, and his consort be;
“The youth who pleas'd Diana, pleases me!
Yet if she asks (as women oft enquire)
Tell her my life, my nation, and my sire:
Not void of youthful vanities I came,
Nor yet inglorious in the world of fame;
55
Where Cea's isle o'erlooks the watry flood:
Add, that I study ev'ry art to please,
Blest in my genius, born to live at ease.
Wit, merit, learning cannot fail to move,
And all those dearer blessings lost in love!
Ah! had you never sworn, 'twere hard to chuse
A love like mine—and will you now refuse?
In midnight dreams when wakeful fancy keeps
Its dearest thoughts, and ev'n in slumber weeps,
Diana's self these mournful strains inspir'd,
And Cupid when I wak'd, my genius fir'd.
Methinks, ev'n now, his piercing arrows move
My tender breast, and spread the pains of love.
Like me beware, unhappy as thou art!
Direct at thee Diana aims her dart
To drink the blood that feeds thy faithless heart.
The loves thou never can'st enjoy, resign;
Nor rashly lose another life with thine.
Then will we, eager as our joys, remove
To Dian's shrine, the patroness of love!
High o'er her head in triumph shall be plac'd
The golden fruit, with this inscription grac'd;
“Ye hapless lovers, hence, for ever know
“Acontius gain'd the nymph who caus'd his woe!
Here cease my hand—I tremble, lest each line
Should wound a soul so griev'd, so touch'd as thine.
No more my thoughts th' ungrateful toil pursue;
Pleasure farewel, and thou, my dear, adieu!
Its dearest thoughts, and ev'n in slumber weeps,
Diana's self these mournful strains inspir'd,
And Cupid when I wak'd, my genius fir'd.
Methinks, ev'n now, his piercing arrows move
My tender breast, and spread the pains of love.
Like me beware, unhappy as thou art!
Direct at thee Diana aims her dart
To drink the blood that feeds thy faithless heart.
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Nor rashly lose another life with thine.
Then will we, eager as our joys, remove
To Dian's shrine, the patroness of love!
High o'er her head in triumph shall be plac'd
The golden fruit, with this inscription grac'd;
“Ye hapless lovers, hence, for ever know
“Acontius gain'd the nymph who caus'd his woe!
Here cease my hand—I tremble, lest each line
Should wound a soul so griev'd, so touch'd as thine.
No more my thoughts th' ungrateful toil pursue;
Pleasure farewel, and thou, my dear, adieu!
| Poems on Several Occasions | |