University of Virginia Library

Translated from the Italian Poets.

To Celia.

With so much Passion Celia I adore,
No Youth can love a beauteous Mistress more;
And I believe my Celia loves me too,
As Virgins their Admirers use to do;
When-e'er I saw her dart her Eyes around,
As if too willing to impart a Wound;
The Minute I improv'd, and prest it home,
That she'd be mine for all the Years to come:
At this she blush'd, and as she gaz'd, said she,
Can I resist those Charms that spring from thee?
No, no, and as thus spoke the trembling fair,
Twisting the Locks of her divided Hair,
Mixt with the Charms of Gold; her Eyes convey'd,
Tokens as great as those her Hands had made:
Accept, said she, this sacred Pledge of mine,
To you, I with it, do my Soul resign.
Take it, and try if it has pow'r to tame,
Th' unruly Flushings of a Lover's flame:
Alas, cry'd I, what have you, Celia, done?
As well might Mortals their Meridian Sun
Look in the Face, and scorn the baffl'd Ray,
As this drive Fire from my Heart away.
How can my Weakness bear the Hot Extreams?
Fire's ill apply'd to quench my living Flames:
Let these unhappy Spells be doom'd to Fire
More hot, than ever was my fond Desire;
On them let the corroding Burnings prey,
For they have even eat my Soul away:
But Celia, let the living Locks of Hair,
Thrive as sweet Roses in a Southern Air;
And be not angry that I've burnt your Hair,
Tho' I dread Burnings, I adore the Fair.