 | Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose |  |
ODE.
['Tis pity, Child, thy eyes are gone]
I
'Tis pity, Child, thy eyes are gone;(To Cupid thus his Mother cry'd)
But, since they are, let Me alone,
To charm thy ears with Beauty's pride:
II
For Sylvia light the lasting flame,And bend thy bow, and wave thy wing;
For Sylvia, all, Desire can name,
Or Vision paint, or Poets sing.
III
Wit, humour, beauty, shape, and air,To finish Sylvia, all agree;
Without disdain the Nymph is fair,
With Youth discreet, with Virtue free.
50
IV
Now, Cupid, mark my strict command,To Thee the Darling I deliver;
On ev'ry Feature take thy stand;
From ev'ry Grace supply thy Quiver.
V
Let none who look, escape a Dart;The soft, or rugged, young, or old;
'Tis Hers to tame the savage heart,
O'er-awe the proud, and fire the cold.
VI
And when the Slaves to Tyrant LoveBy thousands on thy Altar die;
Name, if thou canst, but One, to prove
Thy pow'r deserves with mine to vie.
VII
One, whose distinguish'd Love my claimTo be with Sylvia's charms compar'd,
Display its Object by its flame,
And fairly hope the bright reward.
VIII
Hope? (answer'd Cupid) Mother—No:Each vulgar fire on that may feed:
The Victim You demand, must know
Still to despair, and still to bleed.
IX
Let Damon speak my pow'r divine,Who keeps his passion still unseen;
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In all the glory of fifteen.
X
Already there your Cupid's bestIs done, the force of Love to try;
When first the Charmer fir'd his breast,
She was a Child, as well as I.
XI
Untaught to catch the soft diseaseFrom those whom riper Age prefers,
He wonder'd Infancy should please;
But, oh! that Infancy was Hers.
XII
A Beauty of celestial kindHis fancy form'd, when first she chear'd
The Lover's view, so bright she shin'd,
So soon the Vision disappear'd.
XIII
Yet still, by fits, now here, now there,To heighten pleasure with surprize,
She chanc'd (if only chance it were)
Again to bless his longing eyes.
XIV
Thus with her Years his Love increas'dTill Sylvia now was Woman grown;
And soon she grew, as soon at least
In Damon's reck'ning, as her own.
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XV
But, oh! the hours that wing'd their haste,To make his Cœlia's bloom appear,
Have robb'd from Damon's prime as fast,
And brought the down-hill prospect near.
XVI
Yet no fond hope to gain the DameE'er flatter'd his aspiring mind;
Within his veins he feels a flame
To silence and to thought confin'd.
XVII
From expectation far remov'd,He feels his Passion still improving;
Though in despair of being lov'd,
He would not live to cease from loving.
XVIII
Without the thought of a return,The mercenary Soul's regard;
He swears, that still for Her to burn,
Like Virtue, is its own reward.
XIX
So Damon loves, and only He:Or, might he dare to entertain
A farther hope, that hope would be
That She who gives, may know his pain.
XX
The Warrior, when, with ardor seiz'd,He meets his fate amid the fight,
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To die in his Commander's sight.
XXI
'Twould ease at least the Lover's mind,The tender Secret to reveal;
And see the gentle Maid inclin'd
To pity wounds she cannot heal:
XXII
To hear her cry, “Your hapless care“I must regret, and would redress:
“Be happier in another Fair;
“Or love me still; but love me less:
XXIII
“That You despair, and yet adore;“My friendship and esteem assures:
“I may find Love to please me more;
“But surely none can equal yours.”
| Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose | |