University of Virginia Library

Deep in the Centre of this Noon-tide Shade
I spend the Hours in Sighs, a hapless Maid!
Far from these verdant Meads and rosy Bow'rs,
Far from the Fragrancy of op'ning Flow'rs
Florelio roves, and leaves me here alone,
To senseless Rocks, and Woods to make my Moan.
Ah! cruel Youth! and can't these pleasant Groves,
Once the dear Scene of all our former Loves!
Can't These then charm your ravish'd Senses more?
Oh! may they charm you, as they charm'd before!
Then have you quite forgot those soft Alarms,
When you lay press'd in tender Phæbe's Arms;
When tender Phæbe was your sole Delight,
Your only Thoughts by Day, your Dreams by Night?
Remember ah! (for sure you can't forget)
The thousand tender Things you would repeat:
But if you can't; my Breast the Truth can tell,
For ah! a Love like mine remembers all too well.
How could you fondly say, this Face was fair,
Yet leave this Face a Prey to grim Despair?
How could you say, these Eyes were bright as Stars,
Yet leave these Eyes alas! dissolv'd in Tears?
How could you say, these Lips like Coral glow,
Yet leave these Lips to utter nought but Woe?
How could you say, these Breasts all Snowy rise,
Yet leave these Breasts to heave with Nought but Sighs?
For if such Charms I could in Conscience own,
Alas! they all were Charms for you alone.
This Face alas! which once you said was fair,
For Thee is made a Prey to grim Despair:
These Eyes, which once were bright as rising Stars,
For Thee alas! are now dissolv'd in Tears:
These ruby Lips, which Coral-like could glow,
For Thee are taught to utter nought but Woe:
These Breasts, which once all Snowy-White could rise,
For Thee must heave alas! with Nought but Sighs:

Then do but call these tender Things to Mind,
Do but reflect, and sure you must be kind:
For ah! you cannot, will not take it Ill,
If Phæbe tells you, she's your Phæbe still.

Dear, faithless Youth! I here my Loss deplore,
Whilst you, perhaps, can think on me no more;
Charm'd with some Fair more beautiful and gay,
With whom you fondly spend the livelong Day:
Whilst I alas! must wander in Despair,
Distracted beat my Breast, and tear my Hair.
At Close of Day I roam the lonely Woods,
And gently listen to the falling Floods;
The lonely Woods wave murm'ring to my Woe,
And falling Floods in seeming Anguish flow.
Then I with Tears the mossy Bank survey,
Where once we both together fondly lay;
Prostrate I fall upon the printed Grass,
And within my Tears bedew the sacred Place.
In gloomy Shades and Grotts I vent my Grief,
But gloomy Shades and Grotts denie Relief.

Tho' far from Phæbe false Florelio flies,
Sleep sets the charming Youth before my Eyes;
Around my Neck he throws his snowy Arms,
And rushes on me in a Thousand Charms:
But when the Morn my fleeting Hopes destroys,
I wake, and chide the visionary Joys;
Far to the Woods and desart Wilds I go,
There give the flying Gales my Tale of Woe.

In the dark Covert of a neighb'ring Shade,
By lofty Elms and dreery Cypress made,
A melancholy Turtle sits alone,
And coos, responsive to my wretched Moan,
Widow'd, like me, forsaken by her Mate,
She sighs in Murmurs her relentless Fate:
Each Morn we meet, and both aloud complain,
Each Morn aloud we both lament in vain.

No more the Small-Birds twittle out their Loves
Nor Sylvan Musick warbles down the Groves;
No more I listen to the Evening Breeze,
No more it softly fans the waving Trees.
High o'er the darksome Grove, and lone Retreat,
Once, my dear false Florelio's happy Seat!
Black Melancholy sits, with Horrour Crown'd,
And breaths a gloomy Silence all around:
Night, and her Shades more horrible appear,
But all would please, was but Florelio here:
His lovely Presence lightens ev'ry Green,
Dispels the Gloom, and gladdens all the Scene:
Sweet are his Looks, bright as the risen Day,
Chasing the melancholy Dark away:
When he appears, my Soul exults with Joy,
And starts into my Eyes to meet the Boy.

Oft' thro' the Grove I solitary walk,
And with the vocal Ecchoes fondly talk,
Sometimes I sudden stop, and think I hear
Florelio's Voice, sweet-thrilling thro' my Ear,
Whilst Hopes and Fears, alternate in my Breast,
Beat high, affording neither Joy nor Rest:
I run, stand still, then rush among the Trees,
And seem to hear him talk in ev'ry Breeze;
At last I lay me down beneath the Shade,
And blame the Weakness of a love-sick Maid.

Oh! had I never known those pow'rful Charms,
Never been clasp'd in those bewitching Arms!
Oh! had I liv'd in some far-distant Place,
And never seen that Dear Enchanter's Face!
Oh! better had I never seen the Light,
But slept for ever in the Womb of Night!
But oh!—then I had never known the Boy,
Oh! never felt the Soul-dissolving Joy!
Ne'er had I laid my weary head to Rest,
On the soft Pillow of Florelio's Breast,
Ne'er to his Bosom had he strain'd me fast,
As once he did—But that, I fear's the Last.

Yet may the friendly Gods propitious prove,
And bless Florelio in his future Love!
If greatly bold he seeks the War's Alarms,
Slow fly the Dart, Success attend his Arms:
If on the Waves he braves the Stormy Main,
May India's wealthy Mines reward his Pain.
Breath soft, ye Winds! ye Billows! gently rowl,
Ye bear the mighty Treasure of my Soul:
Be calm, ye Heavens! no surging Waters rise,
No lowry Storms disturb the angry Skies;
Safe send Florelio back, tho' tender Phæbe dies.