A Collection of Poems Occasionally Writ On Several Subjects. By Isaac Thompson |
 | I. |
Part I Pastoral Essays. |
 | II. |
 | A Collection of Poems |  |
ix
I. Part I Pastoral Essays.
------ hic, ubi densas
Agricolæ stringunt frondes, hic, Mœri, canamus.
Virgil.
Agricolæ stringunt frondes, hic, Mœri, canamus.
Virgil.
1
SPRING.
Pastoral I.
To Mr. Grunwin.
No Windsor-Forest or the Banks of Thame
Inspire my Muse, or lift her Voice to Fame;
On Hills remote, the northern Shepherd sings,
Not less Variety, nor fewer Springs;
As many Suns diversify our Year,
Nor want we Shade or Summer Zephyr here.
Inspire my Muse, or lift her Voice to Fame;
On Hills remote, the northern Shepherd sings,
Not less Variety, nor fewer Springs;
As many Suns diversify our Year,
Nor want we Shade or Summer Zephyr here.
2
Thou, whom kind Nature has with Genius blest;
Distinguish'd both for Judgment and for Taste!
Not prone to blame, nor falsely to commend,
At once a gen'rous Critic, and a Friend;
Accept the lowly Numbers I rehearse,
To thee, the Muse presents this early Verse.
Distinguish'd both for Judgment and for Taste!
Not prone to blame, nor falsely to commend,
At once a gen'rous Critic, and a Friend;
Accept the lowly Numbers I rehearse,
To thee, the Muse presents this early Verse.
'Twas when the Dawn had cast it's lucid Grey
O'er all the East, and promis'd shining Day,
That blithsome Damon, rouz'd from peaceful Dreams
Of mossy Fountains, and of silvan Scenes,
O'er lofty Hills with various turnings stray'd,
Or on his past'ral Staff supinely weigh'd:
Now o'er his fleecy Charge he casts his View,
And marks their blended Traces in the Dew;
To freshest Pastures he directs their Way,
And counts, lest any Wanderer should stray.
And now he travels with his Eye below,
Where Shades lie thick, and winding Rivers flow,
Or Plains projected, shew their youthful green,
With intermingling Beds of Flowers between.
Charm'd with the Beauties of the blooming Spring,
Thus the rapt Shepherd taught his Muse to sing.
O'er all the East, and promis'd shining Day,
That blithsome Damon, rouz'd from peaceful Dreams
Of mossy Fountains, and of silvan Scenes,
O'er lofty Hills with various turnings stray'd,
Or on his past'ral Staff supinely weigh'd:
Now o'er his fleecy Charge he casts his View,
And marks their blended Traces in the Dew;
To freshest Pastures he directs their Way,
And counts, lest any Wanderer should stray.
And now he travels with his Eye below,
Where Shades lie thick, and winding Rivers flow,
Or Plains projected, shew their youthful green,
With intermingling Beds of Flowers between.
Charm'd with the Beauties of the blooming Spring,
Thus the rapt Shepherd taught his Muse to sing.
3
O, charming Season! hail, propitious Year!
Kind to the Swain, and prosp'rous to his Care.
No parching Drought diminishes the Stream,
Or Rains excessive, o'er the Meadows swim;
Nor angry Tempests gather in the Skies,
Nor Winds above the Strength of Zephyrs rise;
But genial Gleams, by turns with fruitful Showers,
Call on the Greens to rise, and spread the Flowers;
And while we joyful, view the teeming Soil,
We thank kind Heav'n, for Heav'n is pleas'd to smile.
Kind to the Swain, and prosp'rous to his Care.
No parching Drought diminishes the Stream,
Or Rains excessive, o'er the Meadows swim;
Nor angry Tempests gather in the Skies,
Nor Winds above the Strength of Zephyrs rise;
But genial Gleams, by turns with fruitful Showers,
Call on the Greens to rise, and spread the Flowers;
And while we joyful, view the teeming Soil,
We thank kind Heav'n, for Heav'n is pleas'd to smile.
With Pleasure, we the rural Toil renew,
And gen'rous Nature bribes us to pursue;
For no Inclemencies retard our Pains,
But infant Plenty laughs along the Plains:
We view the early Bud and rising Bloom,
And joyful, deem the fruitful Crop to come.
While with a ravish'd Heart and thankful Mind,
We say, 'tis Heav'n that works, and Heav'n is kind.
And gen'rous Nature bribes us to pursue;
For no Inclemencies retard our Pains,
But infant Plenty laughs along the Plains:
We view the early Bud and rising Bloom,
And joyful, deem the fruitful Crop to come.
While with a ravish'd Heart and thankful Mind,
We say, 'tis Heav'n that works, and Heav'n is kind.
See, while the rising Sun displays the Morn,
What gay Varieties the Meads adorn;
What charming Colours spangle in my View,
Glow with the Day, and glitter in the Dew;
In sweet Diversities the Hills arise,
And o'er the Plains a bright enamel lies,
All loosely thrown, confus'dly regular;
Heav'n owns the Works, the Works a Heav'n declare.
What gay Varieties the Meads adorn;
What charming Colours spangle in my View,
Glow with the Day, and glitter in the Dew;
4
And o'er the Plains a bright enamel lies,
All loosely thrown, confus'dly regular;
Heav'n owns the Works, the Works a Heav'n declare.
Here Banks, which Winter naked left, and bare,
Now bloom in Flowers, and Verdures rise up there,
Delightful Buds are by the Bramble born,
And blushing Roses open on the Thorn;
The joyful Husbandman his Orchard sees,
Where Sheets of Blossoms flourish o'er his Trees;
Fine Promises of golden Fruit to come,
And Heav'n indulgent nourishes the Bloom.
Now bloom in Flowers, and Verdures rise up there,
Delightful Buds are by the Bramble born,
And blushing Roses open on the Thorn;
The joyful Husbandman his Orchard sees,
Where Sheets of Blossoms flourish o'er his Trees;
Fine Promises of golden Fruit to come,
And Heav'n indulgent nourishes the Bloom.
See, there the purling Streamlet gently flows
A-down the Hills, still swelling as it goes;
Now streight, now turn'd, then winding on again,
Visits each Field, and murmurs thro' the Plain;
While, all along, in blended Scenes, the Flowers,
Grace the long Bank, and dally with the Course:
Nature all joy'd, laughs upwards on the Skies,
And Heav'n too pleas'd, returns us Paradise.
A-down the Hills, still swelling as it goes;
Now streight, now turn'd, then winding on again,
Visits each Field, and murmurs thro' the Plain;
While, all along, in blended Scenes, the Flowers,
Grace the long Bank, and dally with the Course:
Nature all joy'd, laughs upwards on the Skies,
And Heav'n too pleas'd, returns us Paradise.
Hark, how the Woods and Hedges seem to vie,
Which sends the sweetest warbles to the Skie:
With the loud Throstle, there the Copsie rings,
The Black-Bird whistles, and the Linnet sings;
Here the gay Goldfinch chants a pleasing Strain,
And there the lofty Lark forsakes the Plain.
While Rocks reply, and Hills repeat the Voice,
And Heav'n which gave, receives the grateful Noise.
Which sends the sweetest warbles to the Skie:
5
The Black-Bird whistles, and the Linnet sings;
Here the gay Goldfinch chants a pleasing Strain,
And there the lofty Lark forsakes the Plain.
While Rocks reply, and Hills repeat the Voice,
And Heav'n which gave, receives the grateful Noise.
Hail beauteous Spring! thou ever joyful Scene!
Varied in Flowers, and open'd out in green;
When in these Charms thou risest to our Sight,
Our Souls are struck with Wonder and Delight;
On bleaky Winter we reflect no more,
But view with Rapture, what we wish'd before.
To speak Heav'n's Power, all Nature's Works conspire,
And grateful Praises fill the gen'ral Choir.
Varied in Flowers, and open'd out in green;
When in these Charms thou risest to our Sight,
Our Souls are struck with Wonder and Delight;
On bleaky Winter we reflect no more,
But view with Rapture, what we wish'd before.
To speak Heav'n's Power, all Nature's Works conspire,
And grateful Praises fill the gen'ral Choir.
Ye blooming Groves, where Zephyrs softly breathe,
Ye Beds of Primroses which shine beneath,
Ye Banks of Vi'lets, Cowslips on the Plain,
Roses in Hedges, King-cups on the green,
Birds in the Woods, and Larks upon the Skies,
Say, is't not Spring that makes you all rejoyce?
Does not the Season all those Pleasures bring?
And Heav'n, indulgent Heaven! send you Spring?
Ye Beds of Primroses which shine beneath,
Ye Banks of Vi'lets, Cowslips on the Plain,
Roses in Hedges, King-cups on the green,
Birds in the Woods, and Larks upon the Skies,
Say, is't not Spring that makes you all rejoyce?
Does not the Season all those Pleasures bring?
And Heav'n, indulgent Heaven! send you Spring?
6
Screen'd in these Shades, O ever let me stay!
And sweetly sooth a lonely Life away;
Still pleas'd to live, nor fearful of my End,
The Muses my Companions, Heav'n my Friend.
And sweetly sooth a lonely Life away;
Still pleas'd to live, nor fearful of my End,
The Muses my Companions, Heav'n my Friend.
7
PARTING.
Pastoral II.
To Mr. B. Ayrey.
Dear
Friend, unbend a-while thy Thoughts, and deign,
To hear the humble Musick of the Plain.
The silvan Muse, of Daphnis' parting sings,
And tells in lowly Numbers, lowly Things:
Be pleas'd to smile upon my rural Lay,
A Smile from AYREY, will my Pains o'er pay.
To hear the humble Musick of the Plain.
The silvan Muse, of Daphnis' parting sings,
And tells in lowly Numbers, lowly Things:
Be pleas'd to smile upon my rural Lay,
A Smile from AYREY, will my Pains o'er pay.
8
Daphnis, a Swain, whom cruel Fate demands
To leave his lofty Hills and furrow'd Lands:
To leave his Hills, but more his Phebe, prest
A load of Grief within his anxious Breast.
To leave his lofty Hills and furrow'd Lands:
To leave his Hills, but more his Phebe, prest
A load of Grief within his anxious Breast.
Whilst on a Bank, arising from the Plain,
His Partners sit, on either Hand the Swain;
But Phebe nearest to the Shepherd plac'd,
Lean'd on his Breast, his Arm around her Waist;
(Such Freedom, native Innocence allows,
When all the Heart with kind Affection glows.)
Touch'd with a tender Sorrow, thus began
The Swain in mournful Numbers to complain.
His Partners sit, on either Hand the Swain;
But Phebe nearest to the Shepherd plac'd,
Lean'd on his Breast, his Arm around her Waist;
(Such Freedom, native Innocence allows,
When all the Heart with kind Affection glows.)
Touch'd with a tender Sorrow, thus began
The Swain in mournful Numbers to complain.
My Dear! to die with thee, would surely give,
Not half that Anguish, as to part and live;
For what is Life, when ev'ry Pleasure's fled,
But still a Dying, yet be never dead?
Ah me! it must be done, why lingers more,
My foolish Heart? this Parting must be o'er;
Then follows Absence.—Now methinks I rove
O'er Hills unknown, and mourn my hapless Love;
Or laid alone within some joyless Shade,
My Fancy figures out my distant Maid.
Not half that Anguish, as to part and live;
For what is Life, when ev'ry Pleasure's fled,
But still a Dying, yet be never dead?
Ah me! it must be done, why lingers more,
My foolish Heart? this Parting must be o'er;
Then follows Absence.—Now methinks I rove
O'er Hills unknown, and mourn my hapless Love;
Or laid alone within some joyless Shade,
My Fancy figures out my distant Maid.
9
While thus I dream, I see some happier Swain,
Clasp the dear Fair, while sorrowful I plain;
Daphnis forgot, and Phebe turns unkind,
And all her plighted Vows resolve in Wind.
O never let me know that hapless Morn,
First let me die and never more return!
'Mongst hospitable Strangers be my Fall,
Not mourn'd by any, and forgot by all!
Clasp the dear Fair, while sorrowful I plain;
Daphnis forgot, and Phebe turns unkind,
And all her plighted Vows resolve in Wind.
O never let me know that hapless Morn,
First let me die and never more return!
'Mongst hospitable Strangers be my Fall,
Not mourn'd by any, and forgot by all!
What have I said? O why should jealous Fears,
Disturb my Breast, and fill my Eyes with Tears?
I know my Phebe (lovely as the Flowers,
Bright Gleams display, between soft April Showers)
Is fill'd with Innocence, and Faith, and Truth,
As fix'd as Age, tho' full of charming Youth;
O she's all Goodness, as she is all fair,
Joy of my Days, and Comfort of my Care!
Tho' now we part, yet we shall meet again,
And double Joys atone for ev'ry Pain.
Like as in Fields o'ercharg'd with constant Show'rs,
Hangs down the Grass, and droop the weary Flow'rs;
But when the Mists and Clouds dispers'd in Streams,
Let down the Sun-shine, and reflect his Beams,
Rises the Grass, and open out the Flowers,
The Sun more welcome, and a Bliss the Showers.
So we, when once we see this Absence o'er,
Shall meet more Joy, than e'er we met before;
Our joining Breasts a keener Bliss shall fill,
A warmer Rapture and a fiercer Thrill;
Each will be newer to each other's Sight,
And ev'ry Pain will introduce Delight.
Disturb my Breast, and fill my Eyes with Tears?
I know my Phebe (lovely as the Flowers,
Bright Gleams display, between soft April Showers)
Is fill'd with Innocence, and Faith, and Truth,
As fix'd as Age, tho' full of charming Youth;
O she's all Goodness, as she is all fair,
Joy of my Days, and Comfort of my Care!
Tho' now we part, yet we shall meet again,
And double Joys atone for ev'ry Pain.
Like as in Fields o'ercharg'd with constant Show'rs,
Hangs down the Grass, and droop the weary Flow'rs;
But when the Mists and Clouds dispers'd in Streams,
Let down the Sun-shine, and reflect his Beams,
10
The Sun more welcome, and a Bliss the Showers.
So we, when once we see this Absence o'er,
Shall meet more Joy, than e'er we met before;
Our joining Breasts a keener Bliss shall fill,
A warmer Rapture and a fiercer Thrill;
Each will be newer to each other's Sight,
And ev'ry Pain will introduce Delight.
Fly swift ye Minutes, bring that happy Hour,
Which Daphnis unto Phebe shall restore;
O how I long to see that Moment nigh,
When ravish'd all, in Phebe's Arms I lie,
And softly tell the Thoughts which Absence rais'd,
How oft I sigh'd her Name, how much I prais'd:
How many Times my Prostrate Soul did move
In ardent Prayers to ev'ry Power above,
To guard my Charmer, and preserve my Fair
From ev'ry Ill, and each deluding Snare.
Which Daphnis unto Phebe shall restore;
O how I long to see that Moment nigh,
When ravish'd all, in Phebe's Arms I lie,
And softly tell the Thoughts which Absence rais'd,
How oft I sigh'd her Name, how much I prais'd:
How many Times my Prostrate Soul did move
In ardent Prayers to ev'ry Power above,
To guard my Charmer, and preserve my Fair
From ev'ry Ill, and each deluding Snare.
And
Phebe in her turn, with melting Glee,
Shall sweetly say whate'er she thought of me:
While Kisses, soft as Kindness can prepare,
Those Lips which tell the pretty Tale, shall share.
The Thought of that dear Day revives my Heart,
Nor dread I Absence, nor I mourn to part.
Shall sweetly say whate'er she thought of me:
While Kisses, soft as Kindness can prepare,
Those Lips which tell the pretty Tale, shall share.
11
Nor dread I Absence, nor I mourn to part.
But when I'm gone, ye Swains who bear the Crook,
Or climb the Hills, or wander by the Brook,
If ever in your Thoughts I claim'd a Share,
Or justly you the Name of Friendship bear:
If ever to my Tales you've merry made,
Or danc'd, or listen'd to the Tunes I play'd,
If ever I have any Kindness show'd,
Or step'd aside to do my Neighbour good:
If e'er to help amongst your Flocks I've come,
Or sav'd a Sheep, or brought a Stragler home;
Let not those grateful Turns be set at nought,
But bear them still, when I am gone, in Thought,
And let each grateful Swain recal to Mind,
That I have left my nearer self behind;
Shew Favour to this dear, this charming Maid,
My best belov'd, and Daphnis is o'er pay'd.
Or, if the Plain, or rising Hill she tread,
Walk thro' the Wood, or shine along the Mead,
Or on some flow'ry Bed she take her Rest,
Or gently lean upon the Bank, her Breast;
Shepherds attend, and keep her safe from Ill,
Be ever near her, and be ready still.
Or climb the Hills, or wander by the Brook,
If ever in your Thoughts I claim'd a Share,
Or justly you the Name of Friendship bear:
If ever to my Tales you've merry made,
Or danc'd, or listen'd to the Tunes I play'd,
If ever I have any Kindness show'd,
Or step'd aside to do my Neighbour good:
If e'er to help amongst your Flocks I've come,
Or sav'd a Sheep, or brought a Stragler home;
Let not those grateful Turns be set at nought,
But bear them still, when I am gone, in Thought,
And let each grateful Swain recal to Mind,
That I have left my nearer self behind;
Shew Favour to this dear, this charming Maid,
My best belov'd, and Daphnis is o'er pay'd.
Or, if the Plain, or rising Hill she tread,
Walk thro' the Wood, or shine along the Mead,
Or on some flow'ry Bed she take her Rest,
Or gently lean upon the Bank, her Breast;
12
Be ever near her, and be ready still.
Time calls away, and Daphnis must remove,
Farewel Companions, and adieu—my Love.
Farewel Companions, and adieu—my Love.
13
THE PENSIVE SWAIN.
Pastoral III.
To Mr. I. Harrison.
Attend
me Harrison, while I rehearse
A pensive Shepherd's Plaints in humble Verse,
Begin, my Muse! whilst Harrison attends,
The best good-natur'd Man, and best of Friends;
Nor doubt his gen'rous Temper will refuse
To smile on thee, for still he loves the Muse.
A pensive Shepherd's Plaints in humble Verse,
Begin, my Muse! whilst Harrison attends,
The best good-natur'd Man, and best of Friends;
Nor doubt his gen'rous Temper will refuse
To smile on thee, for still he loves the Muse.
14
The western Clouds in golden Borders shone,
And half in Ocean dip'd, appear'd the Sun;
Kind was the Season, and the Evening cool,
And all was calm and gay, but Dolon's Soul,
A chearless Swain, within a lonely Glade,
'Gainst Silvia's Cruelty he thus inveigh'd;
While with his Verse each Grot around him rung,
And Hills gave back the Burthen of his Song.
And half in Ocean dip'd, appear'd the Sun;
Kind was the Season, and the Evening cool,
And all was calm and gay, but Dolon's Soul,
A chearless Swain, within a lonely Glade,
'Gainst Silvia's Cruelty he thus inveigh'd;
While with his Verse each Grot around him rung,
And Hills gave back the Burthen of his Song.
Now comes the softest Season of the Year,
Delightsome Ev'nings, and a balmy Air;
See, beauteous Nature in her Charms arise,
Fine flow'ry Fields, and bright indulgent Skies;
The Woods shoot out in Leaves, the Grass in Bloom,
And tender Zephyrs steal the sweet perfume;
The Birds exult, while Hills and Plains reply,
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
Delightsome Ev'nings, and a balmy Air;
See, beauteous Nature in her Charms arise,
Fine flow'ry Fields, and bright indulgent Skies;
The Woods shoot out in Leaves, the Grass in Bloom,
And tender Zephyrs steal the sweet perfume;
The Birds exult, while Hills and Plains reply,
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
The Sun returning, sheds his genial Beams,
And makes the Earth relent, and warms the Streams;
And as his vital Influences flow,
The joyful Glebe confesses them below;
What bloom in Field, in Park, in Wood and Grove,
Are all the blissful Progeny of Love.
The happy Time is known in Earth and Skie,
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
And makes the Earth relent, and warms the Streams;
And as his vital Influences flow,
The joyful Glebe confesses them below;
What bloom in Field, in Park, in Wood and Grove,
Are all the blissful Progeny of Love.
15
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
The Honey-suckle round the Hawthorn twines,
The Hawthorn with the Honey-suckle joyns:
While on the Bud the am'rous Zephyr Blows,
It heaves and swells, and bursts into a Rose,
And as it bursts, a Flood of Fragrance flows.
The blooming Groves a flowry Gleam display,
That adds unto the Brightness of the Day;
While those to these, in balmy Breezes sigh,
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
The Hawthorn with the Honey-suckle joyns:
While on the Bud the am'rous Zephyr Blows,
It heaves and swells, and bursts into a Rose,
And as it bursts, a Flood of Fragrance flows.
The blooming Groves a flowry Gleam display,
That adds unto the Brightness of the Day;
While those to these, in balmy Breezes sigh,
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
The little Birds, in Pairs and am'rous Play,
Court thro' the Wood, or bill upon the Spray.
See, perch'd on high, there sits the Turtle Dove,
And spreads his Plumes and cooes about his Love;
While she with all the Softness of a Bride,
Melts to his Song, and leans against his Side.
All Nature seems in Scenes of Love to vie,
And all Things feel it's blissful Joys but I.
Court thro' the Wood, or bill upon the Spray.
See, perch'd on high, there sits the Turtle Dove,
And spreads his Plumes and cooes about his Love;
While she with all the Softness of a Bride,
Melts to his Song, and leans against his Side.
All Nature seems in Scenes of Love to vie,
And all Things feel it's blissful Joys but I.
And must I still this lonely Thing remain,
Condemn'd forever to implore in Vain?
Ah cruel Silvia! can there nought remove
Thy settled Scorn, and bend thy Heart to love?
What is my Crime, O fair Relentless! tell;
Whose greatest Fault is loving thee too well?
If that's a Fault, dear Silvia! tell me why?
For all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
Condemn'd forever to implore in Vain?
Ah cruel Silvia! can there nought remove
Thy settled Scorn, and bend thy Heart to love?
16
Whose greatest Fault is loving thee too well?
If that's a Fault, dear Silvia! tell me why?
For all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
While I consume amidst thy Frowns and Scorn,
There nothing pleases, Ev'ning, Noon, or Morn;
Nor all the Meads, nor all their balmy Stores,
Nor Groves, tho' fill'd with Musick and with Flow'rs;
In vain their Fragrance, Zephyrs breathe in vain,
They cannot cure, or sooth a Lover's Pain;
There nought delights my Smell, my Ear, or Eye,
While all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
There nothing pleases, Ev'ning, Noon, or Morn;
Nor all the Meads, nor all their balmy Stores,
Nor Groves, tho' fill'd with Musick and with Flow'rs;
In vain their Fragrance, Zephyrs breathe in vain,
They cannot cure, or sooth a Lover's Pain;
There nought delights my Smell, my Ear, or Eye,
While all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
But should'st thou smile, all Nature wou'd revive,
To Dolon's Soul, and doubly be alive;
In sweeter Notes the warbling Choir would sing,
The Spring grow fairer, and be more than Spring.
A fresher Spirit all the World improve,
And all Things rise in Bliss, in Life, and Love.
Then come my Silvia, to my Breast come nigh!
For all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
To Dolon's Soul, and doubly be alive;
In sweeter Notes the warbling Choir would sing,
The Spring grow fairer, and be more than Spring.
A fresher Spirit all the World improve,
And all Things rise in Bliss, in Life, and Love.
Then come my Silvia, to my Breast come nigh!
For all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
What holds my Dear from coming to these Arms?
What Pow'r ill-fated, still detains thy Charms?
Come, bring one Glance of thy deluding Eyes,
For while thou stay'st, thy wretched Dolon dies!
Ah! wilt thou triumph in my latest Breath,
Can Pleasure find thee in a Lover's Death?
If so, to please her, Heavens, let me die!
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
Thus sung the pensive Swain his mournful Lay,
Here ceas'd his Song, and with his Song, the Day.
What Pow'r ill-fated, still detains thy Charms?
17
For while thou stay'st, thy wretched Dolon dies!
Ah! wilt thou triumph in my latest Breath,
Can Pleasure find thee in a Lover's Death?
If so, to please her, Heavens, let me die!
And all Things feel the Joys of Love but I.
Thus sung the pensive Swain his mournful Lay,
Here ceas'd his Song, and with his Song, the Day.
18
THE COMPLAINT.
Pastoral IV.
To Mr. T. Strickland.
As down-cast Thyrsis, hapless in his Love,
Lean'd o'er a Stream which scarce appear'd to move;
And view'd the fading Beauties of his Face,
Within the Mirrour of the liquid Glass.
In the deep Anguish of his Heart he mourn'd,
And Rocks, and Woods, and Hills, his Voice return'd.
While Autumn-Zephyrs, bade the Flow'rs to fade,
Breath'd deadness o'er the Grass and brown'd the Shade,
The wither'd Verdures scatter'd from the Wood,
And floated slowly down the silent Flood.
Lean'd o'er a Stream which scarce appear'd to move;
And view'd the fading Beauties of his Face,
Within the Mirrour of the liquid Glass.
In the deep Anguish of his Heart he mourn'd,
And Rocks, and Woods, and Hills, his Voice return'd.
19
Breath'd deadness o'er the Grass and brown'd the Shade,
The wither'd Verdures scatter'd from the Wood,
And floated slowly down the silent Flood.
Thou, whom the Muses with their Art inspire,
Soft melting Numbers, and a flowing Fire;
Whose Wit not strikes us with a short-liv'd Flame,
But always Charms, and always is the same.
Hark, while the Muse rehearses Thyrsis' Song,
Which thus in wailing Accents left his Tongue.
Soft melting Numbers, and a flowing Fire;
Whose Wit not strikes us with a short-liv'd Flame,
But always Charms, and always is the same.
Hark, while the Muse rehearses Thyrsis' Song,
Which thus in wailing Accents left his Tongue.
Alas, sad Youth! how art thou chang'd of late,
Too near Resemblance of thy wretched Fate!
Oft o'er this Brook have I those Features seen,
Bloom in full Youth, and pleasant Smile the Mein;
A chearful Gladness dawn'd within these Eyes,
And that same Brow serene as cloudless Skies;
Ah me! my Blowsabella then was kind,
Nor fear'd my Heart, nor jealous was my Mind.
Too near Resemblance of thy wretched Fate!
Oft o'er this Brook have I those Features seen,
Bloom in full Youth, and pleasant Smile the Mein;
A chearful Gladness dawn'd within these Eyes,
And that same Brow serene as cloudless Skies;
Ah me! my Blowsabella then was kind,
Nor fear'd my Heart, nor jealous was my Mind.
But since the Nymph, unjust, and faithless grown,
Gave Strephon, what is due to me alone;
Forlorn, forsaken, by the perjur'd Maid,
My bloom decays, and Youth begins to fade:
Dull Melancholy sits upon my Face,
Lowrs in my Brow, and blots out ev'ry Grace;
My charming Blowsabella turns unkind,
Grief wrings my Heart, and bitter sinks my Mind.
Gave Strephon, what is due to me alone;
Forlorn, forsaken, by the perjur'd Maid,
My bloom decays, and Youth begins to fade:
20
Lowrs in my Brow, and blots out ev'ry Grace;
My charming Blowsabella turns unkind,
Grief wrings my Heart, and bitter sinks my Mind.
Once I with Blowsabella spent my Days,
Or told her Tales, or charm'd her with my Lays;
With Rapture on her Shepherd's Arm she hung,
And Swains all list'ning crouded to my Song;
Rapt to the Heart, their nimble Feet were seen,
To shift in sprightly Dance, and trip the Green;
Pleas'd with my Numbers, ev'n the ancient gaz'd,
And heard with Wonder, and with Rapture prais'd.
Or told her Tales, or charm'd her with my Lays;
With Rapture on her Shepherd's Arm she hung,
And Swains all list'ning crouded to my Song;
Rapt to the Heart, their nimble Feet were seen,
To shift in sprightly Dance, and trip the Green;
Pleas'd with my Numbers, ev'n the ancient gaz'd,
And heard with Wonder, and with Rapture prais'd.
Then each new Day was pleasant to my View,
My Heart all blest, nor what was tedious knew:
The golden Minutes smoothly danc'd away,
Nor thought I they were long, nor wish'd their Stay;
For each new Moment, brought as new delight,
Thus Morning slid to Noon, and Noon to Night;
By Night I sought not kind repose in Vain,
'Till Morn all pleasant brought the Day again.
But now forlorn I solitary rove,
And lonely seek some unfrequented Grove;
Where 'midst a Wood obscure, or thicken'd Shade,
From Sight of Swains and perjur'd Nymphs convey'd,
I teach the Flute, or rural Reed to mourn,
And give the Notes a strange unusual turn;
The cruel Ragings of my Mind to ease,
But all in vain, not Musick's self can please.
My Heart all blest, nor what was tedious knew:
The golden Minutes smoothly danc'd away,
Nor thought I they were long, nor wish'd their Stay;
For each new Moment, brought as new delight,
Thus Morning slid to Noon, and Noon to Night;
By Night I sought not kind repose in Vain,
'Till Morn all pleasant brought the Day again.
But now forlorn I solitary rove,
And lonely seek some unfrequented Grove;
21
From Sight of Swains and perjur'd Nymphs convey'd,
I teach the Flute, or rural Reed to mourn,
And give the Notes a strange unusual turn;
The cruel Ragings of my Mind to ease,
But all in vain, not Musick's self can please.
Dull Time appears with lagging Wings to speed,
And the slow Sun moves idly o'er my Head;
Nor Morn, nor Noon, nor soft approach of Night,
Assuage my Grief, or pleasing Rest invite.
A Moment seems an Hour, an Hour a Day;
Each Day a tedious tiresome Week to stay;
Each Week the length of any Month appears;
And Months trail on in long continued Years.
And the slow Sun moves idly o'er my Head;
Nor Morn, nor Noon, nor soft approach of Night,
Assuage my Grief, or pleasing Rest invite.
A Moment seems an Hour, an Hour a Day;
Each Day a tedious tiresome Week to stay;
Each Week the length of any Month appears;
And Months trail on in long continued Years.
His Flocks, while Thyrsis tended blithe and gay,
Frisk'd o'er the Fields, and wanton'd in their Play;
A lovelier Charge, not drove another Swain,
Pride of the Hills, and fairest on the Plain;
But now neglected, they unheeded bleat,
O'er barren Lawns, nor find fresh Greens to eat;
By Briers and Brambles all their Fleeces torn,
Hang on the Hedge, and blend amongst the Thorn.
Frisk'd o'er the Fields, and wanton'd in their Play;
A lovelier Charge, not drove another Swain,
Pride of the Hills, and fairest on the Plain;
But now neglected, they unheeded bleat,
O'er barren Lawns, nor find fresh Greens to eat;
By Briers and Brambles all their Fleeces torn,
Hang on the Hedge, and blend amongst the Thorn.
22
See Nature's self appears to joyn my Woe;
So fade her Joys, her Beauties vanish so;
Left by the Sun, his Absence she deplores,
Nor keeps her Greens alive, nor chears her Flow'rs;
Yet Phœbus will return again, and bring,
A blissful Season, and renew the Spring:
But Blowsabella will no more return,
And Thyrsis must an endless Winter mourn.
So fade her Joys, her Beauties vanish so;
Left by the Sun, his Absence she deplores,
Nor keeps her Greens alive, nor chears her Flow'rs;
Yet Phœbus will return again, and bring,
A blissful Season, and renew the Spring:
But Blowsabella will no more return,
And Thyrsis must an endless Winter mourn.
Alas! to Hills and Mountains I complain;
Yet not to Hills and Mountains, all in vain;
Tho' these are Senseless, they shall hear my Song,
And Woods and Rocks stand Judges of my Wrong;
The Woods were call'd to witness to our Love;
And solemn Vows were made in ev'ry Grove;
Nor Woods and Groves record our Loves alone,
Our Vows and Promises to Heav'n are known;
And tho' false Blowsabella's Mem'ry fail,
So does not Heav'n, but Heav'n remembers all.
Yet not to Hills and Mountains, all in vain;
Tho' these are Senseless, they shall hear my Song,
And Woods and Rocks stand Judges of my Wrong;
The Woods were call'd to witness to our Love;
And solemn Vows were made in ev'ry Grove;
Nor Woods and Groves record our Loves alone,
Our Vows and Promises to Heav'n are known;
And tho' false Blowsabella's Mem'ry fail,
So does not Heav'n, but Heav'n remembers all.
Nor think, O Strephon, that thy wealthy Store,
Which brib'd a Nymph to break those Oaths she swore,
Which made thee happy at another's Cost,
And only bought that Blessing which I lost
Can bribe the Pow'r which weighs our Deeds above,
To be unjust, or pardon perjur'd Love:
If Peace thou seek'st, be just to Mortals here,
And dread just Heav'n, and future Anguish fear.
Which brib'd a Nymph to break those Oaths she swore,
Which made thee happy at another's Cost,
And only bought that Blessing which I lost
23
To be unjust, or pardon perjur'd Love:
If Peace thou seek'st, be just to Mortals here,
And dread just Heav'n, and future Anguish fear.
Thus Thyrsis plain'd, but now began to lowr,
The thicken'd Air, and labour'd with a Show'r,
To shun th' impending Cloud, he sped away,
And ceas'd, the mournful Echoes of his Lay.
The thicken'd Air, and labour'd with a Show'r,
To shun th' impending Cloud, he sped away,
And ceas'd, the mournful Echoes of his Lay.
24
FRIENDSHIP.
Pastoral V.
To Mr. P. Tyzack.
Two youthful Swains, in silvan Shades retir'd,
Both Friendship warm'd, and both the Muse inspir'd,
Long Time had Damon, Strephon's absence born,
As long had Strephon languish'd to return:
Both lately met, their Friendship they rehearse,
In rural Song, and in alternate Verse.
Both Friendship warm'd, and both the Muse inspir'd,
Long Time had Damon, Strephon's absence born,
As long had Strephon languish'd to return:
Both lately met, their Friendship they rehearse,
In rural Song, and in alternate Verse.
To thee, dear TYZACK I repeat their Lays,
More fond of thy Esteem, than publick Praise.
When Friendship is the Theme that I pursue,
The Theme and Song are both to TYZACK due;
And if this Verse he judges not in vain,
Then all the Bays are mine, I seek to gain.
Damon.
More fond of thy Esteem, than publick Praise.
25
The Theme and Song are both to TYZACK due;
And if this Verse he judges not in vain,
Then all the Bays are mine, I seek to gain.
What Joy, what Pleasure now revives to me!
Since I once more have found (dear Strephon!) thee;
In ev'ry Shade a new Delight appears,
And ev'ry flow'ry Field new Beauties wears;
Fresh dawns of Life my ravish'd Bosom knows,
While all Things a new Heav'n of Joy disclose.
Strephon.
How much was I, to leave the Country, crost!
I daily languish'd for the Plains I lost;
Yet ev'n the Plains no Pleasure give to me,
Except I tend the bleating Flocks with thee:
But ev'ry Place has Charms, if Damon's there,
And Joy and Pleasure bloom thro' all the Year.
Damon.
What Shepherd knows not that I love to play
On various Reeds, and waste in Songs the Day?
26
But Musick welcom'd and adieu'd the Sun.
But since from thee in lonely Fields I stray'd,
No Songs were sung, nor rural Pipes were play'd.
Strephon.
Oft have I sat, and listen'd to thy Song,
Nor thought I once, the pleasing Time was long;
As oft the Musick of thy Pipe has held
Me charm'd, unable to forsake the Field;
But since I knew no blithsome Damon near,
No Song has pleas'd, nor Pipe has charm'd mine Ear.
Damon.
A hill there is, to ev'ry Shepherd known,
Where Trees arise, and Streams fall purling down;
'Twas all Delight and Pleasure, while with thee,
I trac'd its flowery Banks from Tree to Tree;
But since you left me, stript of all, it seems;
Nor Trees Delight, nor please, the purling Streams.
Strephon.
Oft, as I walk'd the Town, and cast mine Eyes
Where proud Augusta's glitt'ring Turrets rise;
27
An homely Cottage, or a shady Tree,
Than all the Pomp, Augusta's Turrets wear,
They're all a Torment, Damon is not here.
Damon.
How rich the Feast did seem, nay more than seem
When Strawb'rries roll'd in plentious Cups of Cream.
What merry Hours each Winter Ev'ning blest,
When Nuts were crack'd, with many a witty Jest!
Depriv'd of Strephon, I'm depriv'd of these,
Nor Nuts, nor witty Jests, nor Berries please.
Strephon.
In Stalls, when I have seen the Basket bear
The Russet-Apple, or the Gold-Knop-Pear:
My Thoughts have then recall'd, how oft with you,
I found these grateful in the Place they grew;
But since with Damon I was blest no more,
I tasted these, but found them mean and sour.
Damon.
And wilt thou take the Shepherd's Crook again,
And tend on Flocks, and leave no more the Plain?
28
Of Goats, four hundred, and a thousand Sheep:
I envy not the Wealth, his Pastures bear,
But blest with Strephon, I am happier far.
Strephon.
Believe me, Damon, I will leave no more,
These Fields, so known, so lov'd by me before,
Bright golden Days of Joy, devolve again,
And Scenes of long Delight, if Life remain;
Since I once more have found these Shades and you,
I gladly bid the busy World adieu.
Damon.
Then shall these Hills again repeat my Lays,
And Rocks give back the Tune, as Damon plays.
Bright Summer Suns shall chear my Heart again,
And Harvests bless me with their ripen'd Grain
Forlorn, from Strephon, these no more can please,
But bless'd with him, I then enjoy all these.
Strephon.
Begin then Damon, raise the tuneful Strain,
And call the Mountain-Shepherds to the Plain;
29
And Woods repeat, and Mountains join the Voice,
The Voice this welcome News to Swains shall bring,
'Tis Damon's Song, and Strephon hears him sing.
30
THE LETTER.
Pastoral VI.
There is a Rock, whose solitary Brow,
Is dark with melancholly Shades of Yew;
Thro' these, the Winds in hollow murmurs blow,
And beat, with solemn Sounds, the Caves below.
Fit Place for Contemplation, or for Care,
To lift the Soul, or pour out sad Despair!
And here lay Collin, hapless Swain! alone,
And scribled out this Letter on a Stone.
Is dark with melancholly Shades of Yew;
Thro' these, the Winds in hollow murmurs blow,
And beat, with solemn Sounds, the Caves below.
Fit Place for Contemplation, or for Care,
To lift the Soul, or pour out sad Despair!
31
And scribled out this Letter on a Stone.
“O charming Nymph, whom once I durst call mine,
“When thou as fondly nam'd me to be thine;
“And tho' no more for mine thou shalt be known,
“Yet I will still be thine, and thine alone;
“And, faithless Woman! tho' I speak in vain,
“And sigh to Winds, yet will I still complain;
“The Winds to Woods, my sad Complaints shall bear,
“And ev'ry Grot thy perjur'd Faith shall hear;
“Ev'n flinty Rocks shall softly join my Moan,
“And Streams, my Plaints remurmur, as they run.
“O cruel, fair, perfidious Charmer, say!
“What Object steals thy wand'ring Heart away?
“O say what happier Lover now enjoys
“Thy faithless Breast, and fills thy fraudful Eyes!
“Of what superior Charms is he possest,
“That Colin's fall is doom'd, to make him blest?
“Is he more fond, more passionate than I?
“Or can he finer Charms in thee descry?
“Does he new Views of beauteous Scenes explore,
“Unknown, unfelt, by Colin's Soul before?
“Else, what so far your fickle Mind could move,
“To break all Vows, and violate all Love?
“Ah me! what Pangs thro' all my vitals dart!
“Oh! I could tear my fond believing Heart!
“That thought you'd still be soft, and kind, and true,
“Nor fear'd to find a perjur'd Soul in you;
“Such tender looks and dear deluding Mein,
“Bespoke you all an Angel's Truth within.
“When thou as fondly nam'd me to be thine;
“And tho' no more for mine thou shalt be known,
“Yet I will still be thine, and thine alone;
“And, faithless Woman! tho' I speak in vain,
“And sigh to Winds, yet will I still complain;
“The Winds to Woods, my sad Complaints shall bear,
“And ev'ry Grot thy perjur'd Faith shall hear;
“Ev'n flinty Rocks shall softly join my Moan,
“And Streams, my Plaints remurmur, as they run.
“O cruel, fair, perfidious Charmer, say!
“What Object steals thy wand'ring Heart away?
“O say what happier Lover now enjoys
“Thy faithless Breast, and fills thy fraudful Eyes!
“Of what superior Charms is he possest,
“That Colin's fall is doom'd, to make him blest?
“Is he more fond, more passionate than I?
“Or can he finer Charms in thee descry?
“Does he new Views of beauteous Scenes explore,
“Unknown, unfelt, by Colin's Soul before?
32
“To break all Vows, and violate all Love?
“Ah me! what Pangs thro' all my vitals dart!
“Oh! I could tear my fond believing Heart!
“That thought you'd still be soft, and kind, and true,
“Nor fear'd to find a perjur'd Soul in you;
“Such tender looks and dear deluding Mein,
“Bespoke you all an Angel's Truth within.
“Can you forget that tender Time now past?
“When round my Neck your circling Arms you cast,
“When (touch'd with something that foretold my Pain)
“My Heart the heavy Grief could scarce sustain;
“Your melting Words subdu'd my rising Fears,
“And your deluding Kisses stop'd my Tears;
“With promis'd Faith you charm'd me into Joy,
“Ah then I thought no Swain so blest as I!
“But O the dismal Change! my Joys are fled,
“And sullen, now I wander thro' the Glade.
“In vain, each friendly Shepherd would divert,
“With Songs, the sad Disorder of my Heart;
“Without Delight, their tuneful Lays I hear,
“The warbling Flute as idly strikes mine Ear;
“Ev'n joyless rise the Verdures of the Plain,
“And Roses blow, and Lillies spring in vain:
“From Songs, from Flowers, and ev'ry Thing to bless,
“I sickly fly, and seek this lone Recess;
“Where rocky Caverns, frightful yawn around,
“And Shades combining, darken all the Ground.
“When round my Neck your circling Arms you cast,
“When (touch'd with something that foretold my Pain)
“My Heart the heavy Grief could scarce sustain;
“Your melting Words subdu'd my rising Fears,
“And your deluding Kisses stop'd my Tears;
“With promis'd Faith you charm'd me into Joy,
“Ah then I thought no Swain so blest as I!
“But O the dismal Change! my Joys are fled,
“And sullen, now I wander thro' the Glade.
“In vain, each friendly Shepherd would divert,
“With Songs, the sad Disorder of my Heart;
“Without Delight, their tuneful Lays I hear,
“The warbling Flute as idly strikes mine Ear;
33
“And Roses blow, and Lillies spring in vain:
“From Songs, from Flowers, and ev'ry Thing to bless,
“I sickly fly, and seek this lone Recess;
“Where rocky Caverns, frightful yawn around,
“And Shades combining, darken all the Ground.
“Forever here, forsaken, I'll complain,
“Tho' all my Wailings and my Moans be vain;
“For ne'er another Mistress can remove
“My Heart from you, or change my faithful Love.
“For you, I all the Sex besides forgo,
“Tho' by that Deed I run on certain woe:
“And never shall my Mem'ry lose that Time,
“When clasp'd within your Arms, and you in mine,
“I took the last adieu, and all my Breast,
“Throbs, Thrillings, Pangs, and Agonies possest;
“My Heart destracted 'midst a thousand Fears,
“Swell'd to my Eyes, and melted out in Tears;
“My trembling Limbs could scarce my Weight sustain,
“And Life surpriz'd, stood pausing with the Pain.
“Think then, O False! how in that sad adieu,
“You grasp'd with me, and promis'd to be true!
“Heav'n heard your Vows, as from your Lips they past,
“And Heav'n will certainly be just at last.
“Tho' all my Wailings and my Moans be vain;
“For ne'er another Mistress can remove
“My Heart from you, or change my faithful Love.
“For you, I all the Sex besides forgo,
“Tho' by that Deed I run on certain woe:
“And never shall my Mem'ry lose that Time,
“When clasp'd within your Arms, and you in mine,
“I took the last adieu, and all my Breast,
“Throbs, Thrillings, Pangs, and Agonies possest;
“My Heart destracted 'midst a thousand Fears,
“Swell'd to my Eyes, and melted out in Tears;
“My trembling Limbs could scarce my Weight sustain,
“And Life surpriz'd, stood pausing with the Pain.
“Think then, O False! how in that sad adieu,
“You grasp'd with me, and promis'd to be true!
34
“And Heav'n will certainly be just at last.
35
ABSENCE.
Pastoral VII.
------ Paulò majora canamus.
Virg. Ec. 4.
Virg. Ec. 4.
Begin my rural Muse a loftier Strain,
Sublimer lift the Musick of the Plain;
The Theme commands. I sing the Spouse (of old,
In Song inspir'd, and sacred Numbers told.)
All plaintive laid in Sharon's flow'ry Grove,
Thus moan'd in Absence, and proclaim'd her love:
And as she mourn'd, the Winds forgot to blow,
The Birds to warble, and the Streams to flow:
All Nature hush'd, and all Attention grown,
Repeated not one Echoe of it's own;
But catching at the soft dejected Song,
Responds aloud these Words of Sponsa's Tongue.
Sublimer lift the Musick of the Plain;
The Theme commands. I sing the Spouse (of old,
In Song inspir'd, and sacred Numbers told.)
All plaintive laid in Sharon's flow'ry Grove,
Thus moan'd in Absence, and proclaim'd her love:
36
The Birds to warble, and the Streams to flow:
All Nature hush'd, and all Attention grown,
Repeated not one Echoe of it's own;
But catching at the soft dejected Song,
Responds aloud these Words of Sponsa's Tongue.
How long delightless, must I mourn thy Stay,
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
Behold, the bleaky Time of Winter's past,
Nor darksome Clouds the troubl'd Skies o'ercast:
Th' indulgent Season shows the youthful Year,
And gives a warmer Breeze, and sweeter Air;
The Fields begin to shine in Bloom again,
And Birds exult, and dawning Bliss proclaim,
All Nature ravish'd, seems with Joy to sing,
And hail the sweet return of flow'ry Spring:
In ev'ry wavy Wood, and shady Grove,
We hear an am'rous Turtle court his Love;
In mutt'ring Notes he pays his melting Vows,
And bills his Mate, who answers him in Cooes.
The Fig-Trees here a wealthy Load display,
The waxing Fruit enlarges ev'ry Day:
And there, the Grapes in luscious Clusters swell.
Their sweet Effluvia waft a grateful Smell.
Nor darksome Clouds the troubl'd Skies o'ercast:
Th' indulgent Season shows the youthful Year,
And gives a warmer Breeze, and sweeter Air;
The Fields begin to shine in Bloom again,
And Birds exult, and dawning Bliss proclaim,
All Nature ravish'd, seems with Joy to sing,
And hail the sweet return of flow'ry Spring:
In ev'ry wavy Wood, and shady Grove,
We hear an am'rous Turtle court his Love;
In mutt'ring Notes he pays his melting Vows,
And bills his Mate, who answers him in Cooes.
37
The waxing Fruit enlarges ev'ry Day:
And there, the Grapes in luscious Clusters swell.
Their sweet Effluvia waft a grateful Smell.
How long delightless, must I mourn thy Stay?
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away:
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away:
While thou art absent, ev'ry Thing to please,
Not once enlivens Health, but turns Disease.
All Day in sad and solemn Tears I mourn,
And wish (I know not why) for Night's return.
Not once enlivens Health, but turns Disease.
All Day in sad and solemn Tears I mourn,
And wish (I know not why) for Night's return.
By Night, kind Rest, and Sleep's embraces fled,
And weary with my solitary Bed,
I rise, and walk the Melancholy gloom,
(Sad as my Soul, and chearless as my Doom)
There seek thy Face, and ev'ry Place explore
Where I have known thy Company before:
In what Recess, obscurely dost thou lie?
I call aloud, but empty Winds reply.
And weary with my solitary Bed,
I rise, and walk the Melancholy gloom,
(Sad as my Soul, and chearless as my Doom)
There seek thy Face, and ev'ry Place explore
Where I have known thy Company before:
In what Recess, obscurely dost thou lie?
I call aloud, but empty Winds reply.
How long delightless, must I mourn thy stay?
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
38
O might these fragrant Scenes, so lov'd by thee,
Invite thee to return, so lov'd by me!
Invite thee to return, so lov'd by me!
Ye Winds, to leave the North, your Pinions try,
And from the softer South in Whispers fly;
Come breathe along these Gardens, Groves, and Greens,
And bathe each flow'ry Plant in od'rous Streams;
Ye balmy Gales of Air, ye Zephyrs blow!
And court the Floods of mellow'd Spice to flow;
That he, my chiefest Joy, may deign to come,
To taste the Fruit, and smell the fragrant Bloom:
The ripen'd Juices shall invite his Taste,
Prolong his Stay, and make his Sponsa blest.
And from the softer South in Whispers fly;
Come breathe along these Gardens, Groves, and Greens,
And bathe each flow'ry Plant in od'rous Streams;
Ye balmy Gales of Air, ye Zephyrs blow!
And court the Floods of mellow'd Spice to flow;
That he, my chiefest Joy, may deign to come,
To taste the Fruit, and smell the fragrant Bloom:
The ripen'd Juices shall invite his Taste,
Prolong his Stay, and make his Sponsa blest.
O thou the dearest of my tendrest Part,
Pride of my Soul, and Glory of my Heart!
Pride of my Soul, and Glory of my Heart!
How long delightless, must I mourn thy stay?
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
Ah! When shall I again thy Presence find,
More lovely, and more lov'd, than all Mankind?
More lovely, and more lov'd, than all Mankind?
As barren, worthless Forest-trees appear,
When the full golden Apple-tree is near.
Such, looks the Herd of all Mankind to me,
And such the fairest Youths, compar'd with thee.
When the full golden Apple-tree is near.
39
And such the fairest Youths, compar'd with thee.
Not Lebanon, with Cedars cover'd o'er,
In great exalted Beauties, charms us more;
And yet in thee, the mildest Glories shine,
Nor has the Dove a kinder Eye than thine.
Such thou, the Feeder of my tender Fires,
The sacred Object of my Soul's desires!
In great exalted Beauties, charms us more;
And yet in thee, the mildest Glories shine,
Nor has the Dove a kinder Eye than thine.
Such thou, the Feeder of my tender Fires,
The sacred Object of my Soul's desires!
How long delightless, must I mourn thy Stay?
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
While I with thee enjoy'd the breezy Shade,
And tufted Greens, and Flow'rs adorn'd the Bed:
On golden Boughs was cluster'd mellow'd-Fruit,
That bow'd the Branch, and glow'd beneath the Shoot:
O pleasant Fruit of more than mortal Taste!
O Feast cœlestial! O divine Repast!
And tufted Greens, and Flow'rs adorn'd the Bed:
On golden Boughs was cluster'd mellow'd-Fruit,
That bow'd the Branch, and glow'd beneath the Shoot:
O pleasant Fruit of more than mortal Taste!
O Feast cœlestial! O divine Repast!
Let me forever on thy Bosom rest,
Stamp'd on thy Heart, and seal'd within thy Breast!
There nothing can destroy what Love inspires;
Nor Waves, nor Floods can quench th' eternal Fires:
Love knows no Age, but full immortal Prime,
Nor waxes feebler in th' immense of Time;
I feel it here, O come! my Vitals stay,
Or else I faint, or else I die away.
Stamp'd on thy Heart, and seal'd within thy Breast!
There nothing can destroy what Love inspires;
Nor Waves, nor Floods can quench th' eternal Fires:
40
Nor waxes feebler in th' immense of Time;
I feel it here, O come! my Vitals stay,
Or else I faint, or else I die away.
O stay my Spirits with cœlestial Wine,
And give the Comforts of thy Fruit divine!
From my faint Heart this pressing Care remove,
And raise my Soul that sickly sinks in Love!
And give the Comforts of thy Fruit divine!
From my faint Heart this pressing Care remove,
And raise my Soul that sickly sinks in Love!
How long delightless, must I mourn thy stay?
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
Relieve my Pains, arise, and come away.
Ah! sure his Voice I hear, or else I dream;
It must be his, for none can mimick him.
See, where he comes! not swifter flies the Hind;
Skim back, the Hills; and Mountains roul behind.
It must be his, for none can mimick him.
See, where he comes! not swifter flies the Hind;
Skim back, the Hills; and Mountains roul behind.
No more delightless, shall I mourn his stay,
My Pains are now reliev'd, he comes away.
My Pains are now reliev'd, he comes away.
41
COUNTRY-LIFE.
An Eclogue.
To Mr. Rotheram.
Tantus amor terræ ------
Virg.
Virg.
To
you, whose Mind with ev'ry Art's endow'd,
Learn'd, and polite, and wise, and just, and good;
Not only form'd t'instruct us, both to please,
With Strength to vanquish, or to charm with Ease.
To you, the Muse, ambitious in her Choice,
Lifts up her rural Song, and tunes her Voice;
And if you deign a friendly Smile to show,
Tho' low my Verse, my Glory is not so.
Learn'd, and polite, and wise, and just, and good;
Not only form'd t'instruct us, both to please,
With Strength to vanquish, or to charm with Ease.
42
Lifts up her rural Song, and tunes her Voice;
And if you deign a friendly Smile to show,
Tho' low my Verse, my Glory is not so.
The happy Swain, who lives on homely Fare,
Serene his Days, and quiet is his Care.
Tho' hid from Fame, yet he's remote from Strife,
Feels all the Blessings, and the Joys of Life;
Gluts not on Feasts, nor Nods, o'er Fumes of Wine,
But drinks the gen'rous Tribute of his Kine;
Or temp'rate feeds on Meat and eats the Bread,
His Hands did sow, and his own Closes fed:
Pleas'd with the Plenty Providence has sent,
He thanks the Pow'rs above, and is content.
Serene his Days, and quiet is his Care.
Tho' hid from Fame, yet he's remote from Strife,
Feels all the Blessings, and the Joys of Life;
Gluts not on Feasts, nor Nods, o'er Fumes of Wine,
But drinks the gen'rous Tribute of his Kine;
Or temp'rate feeds on Meat and eats the Bread,
His Hands did sow, and his own Closes fed:
Pleas'd with the Plenty Providence has sent,
He thanks the Pow'rs above, and is content.
His Limbs repose not on the downy Bed,
Nor painted Figures shine above his Head;
But nightly Rest in lowly Cots he takes,
Unbroke his Slumbers, and serene he wakes,
When the bright Day-Star, by Aurora driven,
Flames thro' the Concave of the eastern Heav'n;
The feather'd Songsters fill the morning Skies,
With echoing Notes, and call the Swain to rise;
With Pleasure he observes the joyful Sound,
And leaves his rural Shed, and walks his Ground;
Here he beholds his spacious Oxen feed;
And there his Kine are grazing on the Mead;
And here his fleecy Flocks command his Eye;
He sees, and as he sees, exults with Joy;
While Herbs, or Flow'rs, or Fruit, his Sense regale,
With balmy Airs, that leave him strong and hale:
This makes his daily Labours pass with ease,
And ev'n the worst of rural Hardships please.
In verdant Fields he cheats his Time away,
On Wings more bright, more sweet, more soft than they.
Each Day, new Beauties charm his wond'ring Sight,
And each new Beauty gives as new Delight;
In Spring he views the blended Glories rise,
Which ev'ry Day more blended strike his Eyes,
The Summer-Sun the rip'ning Fruit displays,
And paints the various Fruit as various ways.
Delicious Autumn finds a rich repast,
And various Pleasure gives, in various Taste.
Nor Winter's self's to scenes of Pleasure lost,
But varies Charms in various Works of Frost.
Nor painted Figures shine above his Head;
But nightly Rest in lowly Cots he takes,
Unbroke his Slumbers, and serene he wakes,
When the bright Day-Star, by Aurora driven,
Flames thro' the Concave of the eastern Heav'n;
43
With echoing Notes, and call the Swain to rise;
With Pleasure he observes the joyful Sound,
And leaves his rural Shed, and walks his Ground;
Here he beholds his spacious Oxen feed;
And there his Kine are grazing on the Mead;
And here his fleecy Flocks command his Eye;
He sees, and as he sees, exults with Joy;
While Herbs, or Flow'rs, or Fruit, his Sense regale,
With balmy Airs, that leave him strong and hale:
This makes his daily Labours pass with ease,
And ev'n the worst of rural Hardships please.
In verdant Fields he cheats his Time away,
On Wings more bright, more sweet, more soft than they.
Each Day, new Beauties charm his wond'ring Sight,
And each new Beauty gives as new Delight;
In Spring he views the blended Glories rise,
Which ev'ry Day more blended strike his Eyes,
The Summer-Sun the rip'ning Fruit displays,
And paints the various Fruit as various ways.
44
And various Pleasure gives, in various Taste.
Nor Winter's self's to scenes of Pleasure lost,
But varies Charms in various Works of Frost.
Now with his Plough he turns the furrow'd Land,
Or throws the future Harvest from his Hand:
Or prunes his Trees, or teaches Grafts to grow,
And bids the Crab with golden Apples glow:
Ev'n aged Trees which scarce alive remain,
His skilful Hand renews to Life again;
New Ranks of Boughs he teaches them to wear,
And be once more the Glory of the Year.
Or throws the future Harvest from his Hand:
Or prunes his Trees, or teaches Grafts to grow,
And bids the Crab with golden Apples glow:
Ev'n aged Trees which scarce alive remain,
His skilful Hand renews to Life again;
New Ranks of Boughs he teaches them to wear,
And be once more the Glory of the Year.
And now he cuts the Honours of the Plain,
And gath'ring in his Loads of ripen'd Grain,
He joys to see his Labour back has told,
Or thirty, sixty, or an hundred Fold.
And now he shakes the bending Trees, which bear
The reden'd Apple, and the mellow'd Pear.
Or takes his Bees, and from the wealthy Dome,
Bears Floods of Honey in the golden Comb.
And gath'ring in his Loads of ripen'd Grain,
He joys to see his Labour back has told,
Or thirty, sixty, or an hundred Fold.
And now he shakes the bending Trees, which bear
The reden'd Apple, and the mellow'd Pear.
Or takes his Bees, and from the wealthy Dome,
Bears Floods of Honey in the golden Comb.
45
Thus joyful come his Days, and calmly go,
And what's his Labour's his Diversion too;
Whilst unperceiv'd, old Age comes gently on,
He lives unenvy'd, and he envies none:
When Death draws near, he joyful meets his Doom,
Nor dreads a sep'rate State in Worlds to come.
O happy Life! such blissful Years were told,
When Time slid o'er on easy Wings of Gold:
Ere yellow Metal learn'd in Fires to flow,
Or flaming Stones were taught in Crowns to glow:
When faithful Pairs in Grottos told their Loves,
And Shades gave Laws, and Courts were held in Groves.
Hail happy Hills and Plains! you still appear
The same, and yet the golden Age is here.
And what's his Labour's his Diversion too;
Whilst unperceiv'd, old Age comes gently on,
He lives unenvy'd, and he envies none:
When Death draws near, he joyful meets his Doom,
Nor dreads a sep'rate State in Worlds to come.
O happy Life! such blissful Years were told,
When Time slid o'er on easy Wings of Gold:
Ere yellow Metal learn'd in Fires to flow,
Or flaming Stones were taught in Crowns to glow:
When faithful Pairs in Grottos told their Loves,
And Shades gave Laws, and Courts were held in Groves.
Hail happy Hills and Plains! you still appear
The same, and yet the golden Age is here.
The sacred Muses, who my Soul inspire,
With pleasing Dreams and sweet poetick Fire,
Invite my Genius to your rural Scenes,
And warm my Breast in Views of bow'ry Greens.
Methinks I'm laid upon the spangled Ground,
And Zephirs waft, and Fragrance breathes around.
Here while beneath the spreading Pine I lie,
And Raptures, warm from Nature's Hand enjoy;
I envy not the Great their Pomp and Show,
While Flatt'rers Praise, and Vulgar gaze below:
Nor with the Merchant would I risque my Peace
Expos'd to Tempests and the dang'rous Seas.
With pleasing Dreams and sweet poetick Fire,
Invite my Genius to your rural Scenes,
And warm my Breast in Views of bow'ry Greens.
46
And Zephirs waft, and Fragrance breathes around.
Here while beneath the spreading Pine I lie,
And Raptures, warm from Nature's Hand enjoy;
I envy not the Great their Pomp and Show,
While Flatt'rers Praise, and Vulgar gaze below:
Nor with the Merchant would I risque my Peace
Expos'd to Tempests and the dang'rous Seas.
O give me Shades, and let me live retir'd,
Where Truth's belov'd, and Virtue is admir'd!
Where Hearts are honest, Innocence is pure,
And smiling Health and Peace repose secure!
No anxious Thoughts shall there my Hours molest,
Or vexing Cares sit heavy on my Breast:
Nor midnight Revels call abroad my Soul,
To sate in Cups, or swill the mad'ning Bowl.
Where Truth's belov'd, and Virtue is admir'd!
Where Hearts are honest, Innocence is pure,
And smiling Health and Peace repose secure!
No anxious Thoughts shall there my Hours molest,
Or vexing Cares sit heavy on my Breast:
Nor midnight Revels call abroad my Soul,
To sate in Cups, or swill the mad'ning Bowl.
While raptur'd on the flow'ry Bank I lie,
And o'er the Works of Nature cast mine Eye;
Unnumber'd Beauties there my Soul shall find,
And from them paint their Author to my Mind:
Here Meadows clad in green, there shady Bow'rs,
Here glow the Blossoms, and there spread the Flow'rs;
Here Trees and Hedges compass in the Field,
And there large Woods a pleasing Prospect yield.
Nor will the lone Recess, the solemn Grot,
Or please me less, or less improve my Thought:
There seated silent on a rugged Stone,
Shagg'd o'er with Heath, and thick with Moss o'er grown,
Where shatter'd Rocks an awful Scene compose,
And darksome Hollies wave upon their Brows;
Where chrystal Streams from bubbling Fountains flow
Fall tinkling down the Hills, and purl below:
Pleas'd with the Prospect, I shall sit serene,
View the grey Craggs, brown Hills, and Mountains green;
And as each Object strikes upon mine Eyes,
My Soul shall swell, my Contemplations rise:
Or backward from th' Effect, explore the Cause,
Or praise the Pow'r, which gave the World it's Laws;
Why Springs are found upon the barren Hill,
From Cliffs of Rocks, why gliding Streams distil;
Why Sops of Mist which gather from the Plain,
And climb the Hills, should promise Drops of Rain;
Why Clouds should flit on high, or roll below;
And what it is that paints the various Bow.
Why Morning grey, and Ev'ning streak'd with red,
Should tell the Swain fair Weather will succeed.
Whence Thunder breeds, why labours in the Skie,
Whence breaks the Roar, and whence the Lightnings fly.
And why the Sun, or short, or longer shines,
And why the Seasons change as he declines.
Or why the Moon should gild the Shades of Night,
With shining Horns, or a full Orb of Light;
Why liquid Streams the Pow'r of Frost obey,
Or Ice before the Fire should melt away.
And o'er the Works of Nature cast mine Eye;
Unnumber'd Beauties there my Soul shall find,
And from them paint their Author to my Mind:
47
Here glow the Blossoms, and there spread the Flow'rs;
Here Trees and Hedges compass in the Field,
And there large Woods a pleasing Prospect yield.
Nor will the lone Recess, the solemn Grot,
Or please me less, or less improve my Thought:
There seated silent on a rugged Stone,
Shagg'd o'er with Heath, and thick with Moss o'er grown,
Where shatter'd Rocks an awful Scene compose,
And darksome Hollies wave upon their Brows;
Where chrystal Streams from bubbling Fountains flow
Fall tinkling down the Hills, and purl below:
Pleas'd with the Prospect, I shall sit serene,
View the grey Craggs, brown Hills, and Mountains green;
And as each Object strikes upon mine Eyes,
My Soul shall swell, my Contemplations rise:
Or backward from th' Effect, explore the Cause,
Or praise the Pow'r, which gave the World it's Laws;
48
From Cliffs of Rocks, why gliding Streams distil;
Why Sops of Mist which gather from the Plain,
And climb the Hills, should promise Drops of Rain;
Why Clouds should flit on high, or roll below;
And what it is that paints the various Bow.
Why Morning grey, and Ev'ning streak'd with red,
Should tell the Swain fair Weather will succeed.
Whence Thunder breeds, why labours in the Skie,
Whence breaks the Roar, and whence the Lightnings fly.
And why the Sun, or short, or longer shines,
And why the Seasons change as he declines.
Or why the Moon should gild the Shades of Night,
With shining Horns, or a full Orb of Light;
Why liquid Streams the Pow'r of Frost obey,
Or Ice before the Fire should melt away.
When in these Searches should my Soul be tost,
And in the pleasing Labyrinths be lost;
Thence should she learn her own Defects to know,
And whence the Joys of her Existence flow:
The wond'rous Source should teach her to admire,
Enlarge her Thoughts, and lift the Muse's Fire;
The rapt'rous Ken should bid my Numbers rise,
And leave the Earth, and range above the Skies.
And in the pleasing Labyrinths be lost;
Thence should she learn her own Defects to know,
And whence the Joys of her Existence flow:
The wond'rous Source should teach her to admire,
Enlarge her Thoughts, and lift the Muse's Fire;
49
And leave the Earth, and range above the Skies.
50
ŒNONE to PARIS.
A Pastoral Epistle; Paraphras'd from OVID.
The Argument.
Hecuba
(the Wife of Priam King of Troy) being with Child (afterwards call'd Paris) dreamed she was deliver'd of a Firebrand: Priam consulting the Oracle thereupon, was answer'd, The Child should be the Cause of the Destruction of Troy; wherefore Priam commanded it should be deliver'd to wild Beasts assoon as born; but Hecuba, (mov'd with the natural Affection of a Mother for her Infant) to evade the barbarous Execution of this Order, got Paris privately convey'd to Mount Ida, there to be secretly foster'd by the Shepherds, where, when he was grown up, he fell
in Love with the Nymph OEnone. But an Apple being presented to the Goddesses Juno, Pallas, and Venus, bearing this Inscription, Detur pulchriori, (Let it be given to the fairest,) and a Contest thereupon arising, Jupiter appoints Paris for an Umpire to decide the Controversy: Each of the Goddesses therefore tempts him into her Favour by a promis'd Reward; Juno offers him Empire, Pallas Wisdom, and Venus the Enjoyment of the most beautiful Woman. The last won his Voice; and soon after being known and own'd for King Priam's Son, he sails into Greece, falls in Love with Helen, the Wife of King Menelaus, and carries her to Troy. OEnone hearing this, and raving to be so abandon'd and deceiv'd, writes the following Epistle to him, in which she Expresses a great Variety and Struggle of Passions.
51
No injur'd Prince, his Vengeance here proclaims;
But a weak Nymph of broken Vows complains.
Then safely read; or claims your Grecian Fair,
As all your Love, so all your Time and Care?
Unhappy Change! and can such Baseness wait
On noble Minds? O curse of being great!
There was a Time when Paris' self was known
A lovely Swain, whom I durst call my own.
There was a Time when I an harmless Maid,
He prest me to his Breast, and sigh'd and said,
“How long, my charming Nymph! must Paris burn,
“In ardent Love for you, without return?
“Hence let my Tongue no more of you complain,
“The truest Lover, make the happiest Swain.
“Feel here my Heart, what throbbing beats my Breast,
“Look on my Eyes, and there my Flame's confest:
“Thro' ev'ry Vein the swift Destruction flies,
“O yield OEnone, or your Paris dies!
Won with your Words, and gazing on your Charms,
I blush'd, and sigh'd, and dropt into your Arms.
Ah, then no fatal Pomp around you shone,
Nor known to be the mighty Priam's Son:
But o'er the Lawn, an exile Shepherd stray'd,
And I a fam'd and celebrated Maid;
Yet fam'd and celebrated as I was,
I met your Love, and stoop'd to your Embrace:
And while you sought no other Bed but mine,
OEnone saw the golden Hours of Time.
In flow'ry Shades we spent the Summer's Day,
In pleasing Dalliance, and delightful Play:
Or stray'd along the Margin of a Stream,
Or laid upon a Bank, and prest the Green:
Amidst our Flocks our am'rous Toys exprest,
Clasp'd Arm in Arm, and Breast repos'd on Breast;
Ev'n Winter's bleaky Months unheeded fled,
Nor knew we half the Storms, the Season shed.
But a weak Nymph of broken Vows complains.
Then safely read; or claims your Grecian Fair,
As all your Love, so all your Time and Care?
Unhappy Change! and can such Baseness wait
On noble Minds? O curse of being great!
There was a Time when Paris' self was known
A lovely Swain, whom I durst call my own.
There was a Time when I an harmless Maid,
He prest me to his Breast, and sigh'd and said,
52
“In ardent Love for you, without return?
“Hence let my Tongue no more of you complain,
“The truest Lover, make the happiest Swain.
“Feel here my Heart, what throbbing beats my Breast,
“Look on my Eyes, and there my Flame's confest:
“Thro' ev'ry Vein the swift Destruction flies,
“O yield OEnone, or your Paris dies!
Won with your Words, and gazing on your Charms,
I blush'd, and sigh'd, and dropt into your Arms.
Ah, then no fatal Pomp around you shone,
Nor known to be the mighty Priam's Son:
But o'er the Lawn, an exile Shepherd stray'd,
And I a fam'd and celebrated Maid;
Yet fam'd and celebrated as I was,
I met your Love, and stoop'd to your Embrace:
And while you sought no other Bed but mine,
OEnone saw the golden Hours of Time.
In flow'ry Shades we spent the Summer's Day,
In pleasing Dalliance, and delightful Play:
Or stray'd along the Margin of a Stream,
Or laid upon a Bank, and prest the Green:
53
Clasp'd Arm in Arm, and Breast repos'd on Breast;
Ev'n Winter's bleaky Months unheeded fled,
Nor knew we half the Storms, the Season shed.
With you I rose ere Phœbus shot a Ray,
To rouse the Stag, and chace the savage Prey:
Companion of your Sport, as of your Love,
The Deer surpris'd, adown the Hills we drove;
Well pleas'd, you smil'd, as in the flying Chace,
You heard me name the Hounds, and chear their Race:
And when the Game was o'er, you would relate,
How well I manag'd, and my Words repeat;
How swift I sped along the Forest-green,
And as you told, give Kisses in between.
To rouse the Stag, and chace the savage Prey:
Companion of your Sport, as of your Love,
The Deer surpris'd, adown the Hills we drove;
Well pleas'd, you smil'd, as in the flying Chace,
You heard me name the Hounds, and chear their Race:
And when the Game was o'er, you would relate,
How well I manag'd, and my Words repeat;
How swift I sped along the Forest-green,
And as you told, give Kisses in between.
On ev'ry stately Tree you carv'd my Name,
And cut out Records of your lasting Flame;
Each lofty Beech, a Protestation wears,
Which still grows larger with the length of Years.
Upon the flow'ry Banks of Xanthus grows
(Well known for Beauty, and for shady Boughs,)
A lofty Popular, may the Tree ne'er fade,
Nor be the Trunk by length of Years decay'd;
But shoot and flourish in perpetual Bloom,
Thro' present Times, and Ages yet to come:
For Paris cut these Verses in the Rind,
And vow'd he 'grav'd the Copy of his Mind.
“When for OEnone, Paris leaves to burn,
“The Streams of Xanthus to their Source shall turn.
Now turn ye Streams, thou Xanthus, backwards flow!
His Faith is perjur'd, and destroy'd his vow.
O rather, lovely Youth! return again,
Come sooth my woes, and mitigate my pain!
Nay, sooner Xanthus will revolve his Course,
And roll his Streamlets backwards to their Sourse.
Sure never Innocence or Love like mine,
Met such Delusion and Deceit as thine!
Nor know I justly where to cast the blame;
On Venus, or on Paris to complain:
'Twas she first sought our Blisses to divide,
And you, false Youth! too easily comply'd.
And can a heav'nly Pow'r so cruel be?
Or can the tender Queen of Love be she?
Where shall the Gods for Justice be rever'd,
If Innocence be doom'd to this Reward?
And cut out Records of your lasting Flame;
Each lofty Beech, a Protestation wears,
Which still grows larger with the length of Years.
Upon the flow'ry Banks of Xanthus grows
(Well known for Beauty, and for shady Boughs,)
A lofty Popular, may the Tree ne'er fade,
Nor be the Trunk by length of Years decay'd;
54
Thro' present Times, and Ages yet to come:
For Paris cut these Verses in the Rind,
And vow'd he 'grav'd the Copy of his Mind.
“When for OEnone, Paris leaves to burn,
“The Streams of Xanthus to their Source shall turn.
Now turn ye Streams, thou Xanthus, backwards flow!
His Faith is perjur'd, and destroy'd his vow.
O rather, lovely Youth! return again,
Come sooth my woes, and mitigate my pain!
Nay, sooner Xanthus will revolve his Course,
And roll his Streamlets backwards to their Sourse.
Sure never Innocence or Love like mine,
Met such Delusion and Deceit as thine!
Nor know I justly where to cast the blame;
On Venus, or on Paris to complain:
'Twas she first sought our Blisses to divide,
And you, false Youth! too easily comply'd.
And can a heav'nly Pow'r so cruel be?
Or can the tender Queen of Love be she?
Where shall the Gods for Justice be rever'd,
If Innocence be doom'd to this Reward?
55
Within our Breasts a mutual Rapture sprung,
And Love was always sweet, and always young:
Our Nights all Joy, indulgent ev'ry Day,
Each Moment smil'd, each Minute danc'd away.
When from the bright celestial Thrones above,
Minerva, Venus, and the Spouse of Jove,
Together naked; left the blest Abodes,
Prefering Paris to th' immortal Gods:
When all unveil'd, their Beauties met your view,
The Prize contended, to be fix'd by you;
Not Wit, nor Empire, could invite your Choice,
But the fair Grecian Lady won your Voice.
When this you told, a sudden Horrour ran
Thro' all my Blood, and thrill'd in ev'ry Vein,
As sudden, Paleness did my Cheeks surprize,
And Floods of Tears stood trembling in my Eyes;
The dire Portents, how much I had to grieve,
What Woes to suffer, and what Days to live.
You stood and gaz'd, nor Words had I to speak,
While the pale Roses faded from my Cheek:
Then full of Love, you snatch'd me to your Breast,
And sigh'd, and thousand tender Things exprest;
Then swore by Jove, and ev'ry Power above,
Nor Fate, nor Time, should once divide our Love.
Sooth'd by the pleasing Musick of your Tongue,
All ravish'd, to your panting Breast I clung.
But soon my Bliss on hasty Wing I view'd;
Again it fled, no more to be renew'd:
When envious Fame your high Descent made known,
And to the World proclaim'd you Priam's Son.
From Groves, and Plains, and Grottos, you retir'd,
In Courts and Palaces to be admir'd;
And soon in Courts and Palaces were taught,
To break your Vows, and set your Oaths at nought,
And all the Truth and Honesty, we priz'd
In Groves, and Plains, and Grottos, you despis'd.
For now a Fleet of Ships at Anchor ride,
Bound in the Bay, and wanton with the Tide;
These wait the Gale, my Paris to convey,
O'er curling Surges, and a length of Sea.
O charming Youth! how then you seem'd to grieve,
When of your weeping Love, you took your Leave;
When on each Breast, did I, did you, incline,
You wept, I wept, you mixt your Tears with mine.
Nor be asham'd that then you shed a Tear,
OEnone lov'd, or griev'd to part from her;
Your Passion then was spotless as your Fame,
Not such a Love you bear the Grecian Dame:
About my Neck your circling Arms you threw,
As Vines on Elms, about my Neck they grew:
Whatever melting Grief could do, you did;
Whatever tender Love could say, you said;
You wept, and kist, and swore eternal Truth,
And call'd all Heav'n a Witness, perjur'd Youth!
How then you feign'd a Tempest on the Sea,
To lengthen Time, and spin your Stay with me;
You fancy'd Storms inclement, swept the Skie,
Which none could see but you, nor feel but I;
The Sailors smil'd the dear Deceit to View;
For all was calm, and scarce a Zephir blew:
'Till often call'd, and 'sham'd so long to stay,
You wrench'd aside, and tore yourself away:
Gods! at that Moment what my Heart sustain'd,
How sad, how griev'd, how agoniz'd, how pain'd!
I stood, a marble Statue, in my Woe,
Nor could I speak, nor Tears had Pow'r to flow;
But while mine Eyes your Gally kept in view,
To grieve and gaze was all that I could do;
'Till ply'd with Oars, and shot before the Wind,
You disappear'd, and left my Sight behind;
Yet still o'er swelling Seas and widen'd Main,
My Eyes pursu'd you, but pursu'd in vain.
And Love was always sweet, and always young:
Our Nights all Joy, indulgent ev'ry Day,
Each Moment smil'd, each Minute danc'd away.
When from the bright celestial Thrones above,
Minerva, Venus, and the Spouse of Jove,
Together naked; left the blest Abodes,
Prefering Paris to th' immortal Gods:
When all unveil'd, their Beauties met your view,
The Prize contended, to be fix'd by you;
Not Wit, nor Empire, could invite your Choice,
But the fair Grecian Lady won your Voice.
When this you told, a sudden Horrour ran
Thro' all my Blood, and thrill'd in ev'ry Vein,
As sudden, Paleness did my Cheeks surprize,
And Floods of Tears stood trembling in my Eyes;
The dire Portents, how much I had to grieve,
What Woes to suffer, and what Days to live.
You stood and gaz'd, nor Words had I to speak,
While the pale Roses faded from my Cheek:
Then full of Love, you snatch'd me to your Breast,
And sigh'd, and thousand tender Things exprest;
56
Nor Fate, nor Time, should once divide our Love.
Sooth'd by the pleasing Musick of your Tongue,
All ravish'd, to your panting Breast I clung.
But soon my Bliss on hasty Wing I view'd;
Again it fled, no more to be renew'd:
When envious Fame your high Descent made known,
And to the World proclaim'd you Priam's Son.
From Groves, and Plains, and Grottos, you retir'd,
In Courts and Palaces to be admir'd;
And soon in Courts and Palaces were taught,
To break your Vows, and set your Oaths at nought,
And all the Truth and Honesty, we priz'd
In Groves, and Plains, and Grottos, you despis'd.
For now a Fleet of Ships at Anchor ride,
Bound in the Bay, and wanton with the Tide;
These wait the Gale, my Paris to convey,
O'er curling Surges, and a length of Sea.
O charming Youth! how then you seem'd to grieve,
When of your weeping Love, you took your Leave;
When on each Breast, did I, did you, incline,
You wept, I wept, you mixt your Tears with mine.
57
OEnone lov'd, or griev'd to part from her;
Your Passion then was spotless as your Fame,
Not such a Love you bear the Grecian Dame:
About my Neck your circling Arms you threw,
As Vines on Elms, about my Neck they grew:
Whatever melting Grief could do, you did;
Whatever tender Love could say, you said;
You wept, and kist, and swore eternal Truth,
And call'd all Heav'n a Witness, perjur'd Youth!
How then you feign'd a Tempest on the Sea,
To lengthen Time, and spin your Stay with me;
You fancy'd Storms inclement, swept the Skie,
Which none could see but you, nor feel but I;
The Sailors smil'd the dear Deceit to View;
For all was calm, and scarce a Zephir blew:
'Till often call'd, and 'sham'd so long to stay,
You wrench'd aside, and tore yourself away:
Gods! at that Moment what my Heart sustain'd,
How sad, how griev'd, how agoniz'd, how pain'd!
I stood, a marble Statue, in my Woe,
Nor could I speak, nor Tears had Pow'r to flow;
58
To grieve and gaze was all that I could do;
'Till ply'd with Oars, and shot before the Wind,
You disappear'd, and left my Sight behind;
Yet still o'er swelling Seas and widen'd Main,
My Eyes pursu'd you, but pursu'd in vain.
Now drown'd in Tears I fall upon the Shore,
And all th' immortal Pow'rs of Heav'n implore,
That prosp'rous Breezes and indulgent Gales,
May gently heave you on, and swell your Sails,
And kindly o'er the rising Surges born,
You soon and safely to my Arms return.
My Pray'r was heard, but some indignant God,
Rejected half, and half my Pray'r bestow'd;
For soon your Gally measur'd back the Sea,
And you return'd, but not return'd to me.
And all th' immortal Pow'rs of Heav'n implore,
That prosp'rous Breezes and indulgent Gales,
May gently heave you on, and swell your Sails,
And kindly o'er the rising Surges born,
You soon and safely to my Arms return.
My Pray'r was heard, but some indignant God,
Rejected half, and half my Pray'r bestow'd;
For soon your Gally measur'd back the Sea,
And you return'd, but not return'd to me.
A rugged Rock there is, whose awful Brow
Nods from the Skie, and shades the Deep below;
Against whose Sides, the justling Billows meet,
And break, and roar, and tumble at it's Feet;
This craggy Steep I daily us'd to climb,
While you were absent, to beguile the Time;
There mark the Track, you steer'd along the Main,
Or point what Place you must appear again.
My Eyes ran all th' expanded Prospect o'er,
Joyn'd Land to Land, and measur'd Shore to Shore.
At last, a Vessel rising to my View,
Revives old Transports, and solicits new.
Soft flutt'ring Pangs around my Bosom rove,
And my fond Soul springs full of you and Love.
Swift o'er the Waves, it leaves the Seas behind,
Spread full the Sails, and belly'd with the Wind:
When lo, as nearer to my Sight it drew,
A gawdy Scene of Splendour struck my view!
The Stern and Poop with gold and Silver glow,
And shed long Gleams upon the Deep below:
The Cords and Shrouds in figur'd Colours shone,
And flutt'ring Pendants glitter'd in the Sun.
But on the Deck, the Fate of all appear'd,
What my Heart boded, and my Bosom fear'd:
Stretch'd o'er, a Canopy that flam'd with Gold,
And golden Carpets lay beneath unrol'd;
There sat, in stately Pomp, the Grecian Queen,
Deluding smil'd, and languish'd in her Mein;
Her purple Dress flew loose with graceful Pride,
And a bright Azure stream'd on ev'ry Side:
Upon her Breast th' enamour'd Paris lay,
And raptur'd, sunk, and softly dy'd away;
While wanton, she his Bosom trifled bare,
Or dally'd with the Ringlets of his Hair.
Stung with the View, and maden'd at the Deed,
I furious, tore the Tresses from my Head;
Wild, down the rugged Precipice I ran,
And publish'd my Disorder o'er the Plain,
The Rocks and Caverns doubl'd to my Cries,
And all Mount Ida clamour'd with my Voice;
O Paris, faithless Paris! loud I cry'd,
O Paris, faithless Paris! they reply'd.
Soon as that lovely Name, forever dear!
Return'd in wand'ring Echoes on my Ear;
My Rage abated, but not so my Grief,
O sad Distraction! Pain beyond Belief!
All bath'd in Tears, I sought the Shades and Groves,
The conscious Witnesses of all our Loves;
There mark'd the Places, where my Paris stray'd,
And kist the Grove, and wept within the Shade;
Then fell upon the Turf, which oft we prest,
There wept again, and sigh'd, and mourn'd, and kist.
Nods from the Skie, and shades the Deep below;
Against whose Sides, the justling Billows meet,
And break, and roar, and tumble at it's Feet;
This craggy Steep I daily us'd to climb,
While you were absent, to beguile the Time;
59
Or point what Place you must appear again.
My Eyes ran all th' expanded Prospect o'er,
Joyn'd Land to Land, and measur'd Shore to Shore.
At last, a Vessel rising to my View,
Revives old Transports, and solicits new.
Soft flutt'ring Pangs around my Bosom rove,
And my fond Soul springs full of you and Love.
Swift o'er the Waves, it leaves the Seas behind,
Spread full the Sails, and belly'd with the Wind:
When lo, as nearer to my Sight it drew,
A gawdy Scene of Splendour struck my view!
The Stern and Poop with gold and Silver glow,
And shed long Gleams upon the Deep below:
The Cords and Shrouds in figur'd Colours shone,
And flutt'ring Pendants glitter'd in the Sun.
But on the Deck, the Fate of all appear'd,
What my Heart boded, and my Bosom fear'd:
Stretch'd o'er, a Canopy that flam'd with Gold,
And golden Carpets lay beneath unrol'd;
There sat, in stately Pomp, the Grecian Queen,
Deluding smil'd, and languish'd in her Mein;
60
And a bright Azure stream'd on ev'ry Side:
Upon her Breast th' enamour'd Paris lay,
And raptur'd, sunk, and softly dy'd away;
While wanton, she his Bosom trifled bare,
Or dally'd with the Ringlets of his Hair.
Stung with the View, and maden'd at the Deed,
I furious, tore the Tresses from my Head;
Wild, down the rugged Precipice I ran,
And publish'd my Disorder o'er the Plain,
The Rocks and Caverns doubl'd to my Cries,
And all Mount Ida clamour'd with my Voice;
O Paris, faithless Paris! loud I cry'd,
O Paris, faithless Paris! they reply'd.
Soon as that lovely Name, forever dear!
Return'd in wand'ring Echoes on my Ear;
My Rage abated, but not so my Grief,
O sad Distraction! Pain beyond Belief!
All bath'd in Tears, I sought the Shades and Groves,
The conscious Witnesses of all our Loves;
There mark'd the Places, where my Paris stray'd,
And kist the Grove, and wept within the Shade;
61
There wept again, and sigh'd, and mourn'd, and kist.
Say lovely Youth, for you have still my Heart,
Is all in vain, and fruitless ev'ry Art?
Will no fresh Spark re-kindle your Desire,
Can nothing fan to Life, your ancient Fire?
And must I ne'er expect your kind Return,
But sigh neglected, and neglected burn?
Is Paris deaf to his OEnone's Sighs,
And can she ask of him what he denies?
O wretched Change, O Perjury abhor'd!
And O yet lovely still, and still ador'd!
Is this my Fate, and am I then to find,
No calmer Pause, nor respite of the Mind;
But still the Furies, boundless in their Reign,
To spin one long continu'd thread of Pain:
Good Heav'n! declare what is my great Offence,
Or cease to punish spotless Innocence.
Is all in vain, and fruitless ev'ry Art?
Will no fresh Spark re-kindle your Desire,
Can nothing fan to Life, your ancient Fire?
And must I ne'er expect your kind Return,
But sigh neglected, and neglected burn?
Is Paris deaf to his OEnone's Sighs,
And can she ask of him what he denies?
O wretched Change, O Perjury abhor'd!
And O yet lovely still, and still ador'd!
Is this my Fate, and am I then to find,
No calmer Pause, nor respite of the Mind;
But still the Furies, boundless in their Reign,
To spin one long continu'd thread of Pain:
Good Heav'n! declare what is my great Offence,
Or cease to punish spotless Innocence.
I've try'd all Arts my Passion to controul,
And still the giddy Tumult of my Soul;
But all in vain, no Charm has Strength to bind,
In lasting Chains, my wild disorder'd Mind;
Soon my weak-guarded Breast is touch'd a-new,
And all my Heart is full of Love and you;
The fiery Sparks begin to glow again
In ev'ry Pulse, and leap in ev'ry Vein.
Nor think, O Prince! so mean a Thought of me,
That my Heart swells to share a Throne with thee;
When with your Love compar'd, my Thoughts despise
The Pomp of Courts, and Empire's gawdy Joys:
Lay me but nearest to the Man I love,
I would not change to be the Wife of Jove.
When you a Swain, and trod behind the Plough,
I lov'd you then as dear, as much as now;
Then, you would press my Hand, and smiling own,
My Charms were such as might adorn a Throne:
O had you still that lovely Shepherd been,
And I remain'd your joyous rural Queen!
O had you ne'er of Grecian Beauties heard,
Nor wanton Venus' tempting gift prefer'd!
Still o'er these Lawns you'd rov'd a blissful Swain,
Nor I had Reason, justly to complain;
Then, yet your Flute had warbl'd thro' the Shade,
And Birds hung list'ning to the Tunes you play'd:
For while you watch'd your fleecy Wantons here,
And rais'd the various Products of the Year;
No Swain like you, could Charm with so much Ease,
Nor had that nat'ral Elegance to please;
Your Song, your Dance, the Virgins Bosoms fir'd,
While Shepherds gaz'd, and envy'd, and admir'd.
Alas! your Soul to-greater State was born,
Than range the Fields, or pipe beneath a Thorn;
And yet more blest those Fields might prove to you,
If you the Fate which threatens near, pursue.
For think not, Paris! that the Grecian Lord
Will stay his Vengeance, or restrain his Sword;
Ere long, his Wrongs shall tumult in Alarms,
And Troy behold all Greece approach in Arms.
And still the giddy Tumult of my Soul;
But all in vain, no Charm has Strength to bind,
In lasting Chains, my wild disorder'd Mind;
62
And all my Heart is full of Love and you;
The fiery Sparks begin to glow again
In ev'ry Pulse, and leap in ev'ry Vein.
Nor think, O Prince! so mean a Thought of me,
That my Heart swells to share a Throne with thee;
When with your Love compar'd, my Thoughts despise
The Pomp of Courts, and Empire's gawdy Joys:
Lay me but nearest to the Man I love,
I would not change to be the Wife of Jove.
When you a Swain, and trod behind the Plough,
I lov'd you then as dear, as much as now;
Then, you would press my Hand, and smiling own,
My Charms were such as might adorn a Throne:
O had you still that lovely Shepherd been,
And I remain'd your joyous rural Queen!
O had you ne'er of Grecian Beauties heard,
Nor wanton Venus' tempting gift prefer'd!
Still o'er these Lawns you'd rov'd a blissful Swain,
Nor I had Reason, justly to complain;
Then, yet your Flute had warbl'd thro' the Shade,
And Birds hung list'ning to the Tunes you play'd:
63
And rais'd the various Products of the Year;
No Swain like you, could Charm with so much Ease,
Nor had that nat'ral Elegance to please;
Your Song, your Dance, the Virgins Bosoms fir'd,
While Shepherds gaz'd, and envy'd, and admir'd.
Alas! your Soul to-greater State was born,
Than range the Fields, or pipe beneath a Thorn;
And yet more blest those Fields might prove to you,
If you the Fate which threatens near, pursue.
For think not, Paris! that the Grecian Lord
Will stay his Vengeance, or restrain his Sword;
Ere long, his Wrongs shall tumult in Alarms,
And Troy behold all Greece approach in Arms.
Cassandra's Vision I shall still retain,
When the warm God-head run in ev'ry Vein;
In views of future Times, her Soul was fir'd,
And thus she told me what the Pow'r inspir'd.
No more OEnone, plough thy fruitless Plain,
O'er barren Wilds of Sand thou throw'st thy Grain;
For lo! a fatal Hiefer sails from Greece,
Which shall destroy thy Hopes, thy Joys, and Peace;
Nor only shall thy private Store destroy,
But Piram's House, and sink in Flames all Troy.
She comes! O righteous Heav'n, her Course restrain,
Or drive her back, or plunge her in the Main!
She said, and fled, nor yet her Mind was cool,
The God kept still Possession in her Soul.
When the warm God-head run in ev'ry Vein;
In views of future Times, her Soul was fir'd,
And thus she told me what the Pow'r inspir'd.
No more OEnone, plough thy fruitless Plain,
O'er barren Wilds of Sand thou throw'st thy Grain;
For lo! a fatal Hiefer sails from Greece,
Which shall destroy thy Hopes, thy Joys, and Peace;
64
But Piram's House, and sink in Flames all Troy.
She comes! O righteous Heav'n, her Course restrain,
Or drive her back, or plunge her in the Main!
She said, and fled, nor yet her Mind was cool,
The God kept still Possession in her Soul.
I try'd to search the mystick Speech, in vain;
But you and Helen now disclose it plain:
My Hopes, my Joys, my Peace, are all destroy'd,
And Paris in another Bed enjoy'd!
Hence, endless Pain and Woe reside with me,
For my dear All is fled away in thee.
Nor stops the Mischief here, the Gods and Fate,
O'er Illion's Towers with red Destruction wait:
The Domes are fir'd, the pompous Palace burns,
And all the Land in Disolation mourns.
This is the Dow'r, the faithless Helen brings,
The Fall of Cities and the Blood of Kings:
Avert it, perjur'd Paris! and restore
The lawless Woman on the Spartan Shore.
Return within my peaceful Arms again,
Appease the Gods, and quench th' impending Flame.
Or if all this appear in your Esteem,
The Words of Women, and an idle Dream,
Yet can you hope the Grecian Dame will prove,
A lasting Passion, and a constant Love?
As thine, she once Atrides' Bosom prest,
As fondly clasp'd him, and as warmly kist;
And as he lies alone, forsaken now,
The like new Change of Fortune waits on you.
Fair as she is, no steady Soul she knows,
For ev'ry new deluding Youth she glows:
With ev'ry blooming Object, loves to play,
And melt in loose lascivious Trance away.
With Theseus, once the lovely Faithless sail'd,
And feigning Rage, the Flight a Rape mis-call'd,
Who can believe her Honour kept unfoil'd,
When Love beat high, and Theseus' Vigour boil'd?
Could Theseus with the blushing Wanton play,
And let the Moments idly creep away?
This, Madness unexampl'd, must believe,
Nor can the empty Sound of Rape, deceive;
She willing fled with him, as now with thee,
And the next Youth shall bear her o'er the Sea.
But you and Helen now disclose it plain:
My Hopes, my Joys, my Peace, are all destroy'd,
And Paris in another Bed enjoy'd!
Hence, endless Pain and Woe reside with me,
For my dear All is fled away in thee.
Nor stops the Mischief here, the Gods and Fate,
O'er Illion's Towers with red Destruction wait:
The Domes are fir'd, the pompous Palace burns,
And all the Land in Disolation mourns.
This is the Dow'r, the faithless Helen brings,
The Fall of Cities and the Blood of Kings:
Avert it, perjur'd Paris! and restore
The lawless Woman on the Spartan Shore.
Return within my peaceful Arms again,
Appease the Gods, and quench th' impending Flame.
65
The Words of Women, and an idle Dream,
Yet can you hope the Grecian Dame will prove,
A lasting Passion, and a constant Love?
As thine, she once Atrides' Bosom prest,
As fondly clasp'd him, and as warmly kist;
And as he lies alone, forsaken now,
The like new Change of Fortune waits on you.
Fair as she is, no steady Soul she knows,
For ev'ry new deluding Youth she glows:
With ev'ry blooming Object, loves to play,
And melt in loose lascivious Trance away.
With Theseus, once the lovely Faithless sail'd,
And feigning Rage, the Flight a Rape mis-call'd,
Who can believe her Honour kept unfoil'd,
When Love beat high, and Theseus' Vigour boil'd?
Could Theseus with the blushing Wanton play,
And let the Moments idly creep away?
This, Madness unexampl'd, must believe,
Nor can the empty Sound of Rape, deceive;
She willing fled with him, as now with thee,
And the next Youth shall bear her o'er the Sea.
66
Not thus OEnone set her Heart on you,
But burns with constant Love, and keeps her Vow.
No plunder'd Beauties to your Arms I brought,
But spotless Innocence, in Deed and Thought.
My Virgin-Breast, no brutal Wishes mov'd,
But tender, melted, bled, ador'd, and lov'd;
Nor thought I it a Crime to meet your Arms,
And knew you but a Shepherd full of Charms:
Yet still there something more than Shepherds know,
Shone thro' your Airs, and dwelt upon your Brow;
When raptur'd, you the Flow'ry Garland made,
And mingl'd Pinks and Dasies in the Braid;
Then clasp'd me in your Arms, you'd smiling own,
The Head which wore it, well deserv'd a Crown;
But while with you in Groves and Shades retir'd,
No other Crowns, my ravish'd Breast desir'd.
To view these happy Hours approach again,
Were worth an Empire, or an Age of Pain!
But O that charming Day's forever fled;
What Tears I weep, and what I've yet to shed!
The circling Hours, in painful Moments fly,
Nor sees the Sun, a greater Wretch than I;
While I of violated Faith complain,
And call on Paris to return, in vain.
More light thy Faith, more vain thy empty Vows,
Than Leaves which drop in Autumn from the Boughs,
Or idle Straws which wand'ring Zephirs bear,
Toss to and fro, and trifle in the Air.
But burns with constant Love, and keeps her Vow.
No plunder'd Beauties to your Arms I brought,
But spotless Innocence, in Deed and Thought.
My Virgin-Breast, no brutal Wishes mov'd,
But tender, melted, bled, ador'd, and lov'd;
Nor thought I it a Crime to meet your Arms,
And knew you but a Shepherd full of Charms:
Yet still there something more than Shepherds know,
Shone thro' your Airs, and dwelt upon your Brow;
When raptur'd, you the Flow'ry Garland made,
And mingl'd Pinks and Dasies in the Braid;
Then clasp'd me in your Arms, you'd smiling own,
The Head which wore it, well deserv'd a Crown;
But while with you in Groves and Shades retir'd,
No other Crowns, my ravish'd Breast desir'd.
To view these happy Hours approach again,
Were worth an Empire, or an Age of Pain!
But O that charming Day's forever fled;
What Tears I weep, and what I've yet to shed!
The circling Hours, in painful Moments fly,
Nor sees the Sun, a greater Wretch than I;
67
And call on Paris to return, in vain.
More light thy Faith, more vain thy empty Vows,
Than Leaves which drop in Autumn from the Boughs,
Or idle Straws which wand'ring Zephirs bear,
Toss to and fro, and trifle in the Air.
O Phebus! what avails it me to know
The various Plants, their Virtues, where they grow!
In vain my Skill, in vain my Searches prove,
I cannot find a Cure for raging Love.
Not all the Virtues of the flow'ry Plain,
Can fix one Faithless, wand'ring Heart, again:
Nor thou thy self; the glorious God of Day,
Can sooth my Torments, or my Woes Allay.
The various Plants, their Virtues, where they grow!
In vain my Skill, in vain my Searches prove,
I cannot find a Cure for raging Love.
Not all the Virtues of the flow'ry Plain,
Can fix one Faithless, wand'ring Heart, again:
Nor thou thy self; the glorious God of Day,
Can sooth my Torments, or my Woes Allay.
Paris alone enjoys the mighty Pow'r,
To cure my Heart, and all my Joys restore.
Then fairest, loveliest, dearest Youth! return,
Bring Life, and Love, and Day, and Night, and Morn;
For curs'd from thee, I none of these enjoy,
But sigh, and mourn, and weep, and faint, and die.
O come, O snatch you from the Grecian Fair!
Ere Troy be plung'd in Flame, in Blood and War;
Ere some curs'd Spear, more fatal than the rest,
Pierce at thy Heart, and wallow thro' thy Breast.
Make haste, forsake your beauteous Fugitive,
Be mindful of your Country's Good, and live.
To cure my Heart, and all my Joys restore.
Then fairest, loveliest, dearest Youth! return,
Bring Life, and Love, and Day, and Night, and Morn;
For curs'd from thee, I none of these enjoy,
But sigh, and mourn, and weep, and faint, and die.
O come, O snatch you from the Grecian Fair!
Ere Troy be plung'd in Flame, in Blood and War;
68
Pierce at thy Heart, and wallow thro' thy Breast.
Make haste, forsake your beauteous Fugitive,
Be mindful of your Country's Good, and live.
69
A Pastoral ODE.
I
As DICKY a languishing Swain,Sat pensive alone in a Grove;
Thus mournfully told he the Pain,
His Heart felt in Absence and Love.
Alas how uneasy am I,
How lumpish and dull is my Heart!
It knows not a Corner of Joy,
But sorrows in every Part.
70
II
For PEGGY, my fair one, is gone,She's gone, and has left me behind;
Where plaintively lying alone,
I joyn the sad wispering Wind.
Each murmuring Blast that comes near,
I fill with soft Notes of my Pain:
The Grottos my Murmurings hear,
And sadly re-murmur again.
III
But all is in vain, silly Lad!For PEGGY perceives not thy Moan:
She sees not thy Coutenance sad,
Nor knows thou art mourning alone.
Perhaps now her DICKY's forgot,
And a Youth that's more happy than he,
Possesses her with a soft Thought,
Or clasps in his Arms on his Knee.
IV
And should it be so, can I blameA Nymph that's so charming as she?
She ne'er was design'd for a Swain,
So mean, and so wretched as me.
71
Too much to an Angel refin'd;
To stoop to so humble a Wight,
Or center so lowly her Mind.
V
How silly was I, and how wild,To wish for so mighty a Prize!
To let my poor Heart be beguil'd,
And pant in the Warmth of her Eyes!
She suffer'd my Pride to advance,
And heard what my Bosom could say;
She smil'd, and I dy'd in a Trance;
She spoke, and I melted away.
VI
O had she not been so divine!Or else more severe to her Swain!
O had better Fortune been mine!
Or else had not I been so vain!
Then DICKY perhaps had been blest
In a Nymph more befitting his State:
Or known no dull Weight on his Breast,
Nor mourn'd the hard Laws of his Fate.
72
VII
But rapt with his PEGGY, still heLong Days of Delight had enjoy'd;
From doubts and from Jealousies free,
Nor Absence his Bliss had destroy'd.
Alas, ye deluding dear Hours,
That slipt in short Moments away,
When PEGGY and I blest the Bow'rs,
And call'd you and begg'd you to stay!
VIII
You're gone, and no more will return,And Ages your Places supply;
In Moments I find Years to mourn,
Tho' Years fled in Moments of Joy.
How swiftly can Pleasure bear Time,
How shortly flit Ages away!
How dully Despair can confine,
And clogg a whole Age in a Day!
| A Collection of Poems | |