 | Poems, Songs and Love-Verses |  |
To Clelia.
Fair, and yet Cruel, sure it cannot be,Nature denies such Catastrophe;
The spangled Orbs serenely do display
Not in a Cloudy Night the Milkie way;
The misty Shades do swiftly disappear,
When Sol's Bright rays do Crown the Hemesphere;
But Love is subject to the Chains of Fate,
And more unhappy proves than fortunate.
How often have my Vows to Clelia paid
My Constant Zeal? How often have I made
The same confession of my Love to thee,
As mortals pay unto Divinity?
Yet the requital of my Love's Disdain,
And Cruelty the Med'cine for my Pain;
A Viper which doth feed upon my Heart,
And plays the Tyrant upon every Part;
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Which does my vital Spirits so controul,
That though you'd strive for to prevent my fate,
My Doom's confirm'd and pitty comes too late.
Thus the faint Pilgrim with Devotion bows
Unto the Sacred Shrine, and pays his Vows;
Beging a Blessing on his feeble knee,
Supported by his Faith and Piety;
His daily Orisons do beg Direction
From that great Pow'r that is his sole Protection;
But when at last his fatal Glass is run,
And time casts Mists before his glimmering Sun,
In some old ruin'd Monastry or Cave,
Shunning the World, he seeks a quiet Grave.
| Poems, Songs and Love-Verses | |