Chapter V.
SHE
I come, my lovely Sister and my Spouse!
Those spicy groves, and ever-blooming bow'rs
Invite me often to their happy shades;
Balsamic odours and delicious fruits
With various plenty entertain me here.
O come, my friends, the banquet is divine!
Indulge your taste, and recreate your souls
With heav'nly food, and consecrated wines.
SHE
Unwelcome slumbers steal upon my sense,
I sleep, but still my list'ning fancy wakes.
'Tis my beloved speaks, I know the voice:
‘My fair, my undefil'd! he gently cries,
‘Unbolt these envious doors; 'tis I that call
‘For entrance here: My locks with drizly dews,
‘And falling moisture of the night are fill'd.”
‘My vesture's off, my cruel tongue reply'd,
‘How can I put it on? My feet new-wash'd
‘How can I groping thro' the dark defile?”
Still at the door my injur'd lord attends,
While on the lock his busy fingers move:
Touch'd with a soft remorse, at last I rise,
Flew to the door; but while with eager haste
The fasten'd lock I search'd, sweet smelling myrrh
From ev'ry bolt its precious moisture shed;
The rich perfume my lover's hands had left.
With joyful speed the passage I unbarr'd,
But found my visionary bliss was gone.
My soul with anguish melted when he spoke,
And now with wild distraction sees her guilt.
I call'd in vain, for there was no reply,
In vain I search'd, for he was now withdrawn:
Then pensive wand'ring thro' the silent streets
The watchmen found me, and with cruel scorn
Reproach my honour and unblemish'd name.
The scoffing centry took away my veil.
But you, bright maids of Salem, I adjure
By your own chaste affections, if you find
My lord, with all your tender eloquence
Relate the anguish of my love-sick heart.
VIRGINS.
Inform us then, thou fairest of thy sex!
For whom those melting tears are shed in vain;
Tell us with what peculiar excellence
Superior to the race of men he shines.
SHE.
Among ten thousand he distinguish'd stands.
A spotless white with rosy blushes stain'd
Adorns his face, bright as a cloudless morn,
With crimson flush'd. In shining curls his hair
Flows graceful down, black as the raven's plumes.
His eyes, the eyes of doves, serene and mild.
A vernal bloom upon his youthful cheeks
And balmy lips perpetually resides.
To what shall I his matchless hands compare,
And snowy fingers? whence the circling gems
Receive more grace and lustre than they give.
His well-shap'd legs in just proportion rise
Like marble pillars on a base of gold.
Majestic and complete his form appears,
As tow'ring Lebanon with cedars crown'd.
Persuasion dwells upon his charming tongue,
And eloquence divine: When-e'er he speaks
My soul with ecstasy attends the sound.
He's altogether lovely!—This is he,
My friend, my life, and my eternal bliss!
