Philomela Or, Poems By Mrs. Elizabeth Singer, [Now Rowe,] ... The Second Edition |
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The WHIM. |
 | Philomela |  |
The WHIM.
Near a clear Stream, beneath a cooling Shade,
Charming Retreat, the pensive Iris stray'd;
Iris, a Name to distant Nations known,
By her fam'd Verses Beauties, and her Own.
Heedless She rov'd; for nor the murm'ring Sound
Of the smooth Waves, nor Flow'rs that deck'd the Ground,
Nor the Birds tender Songs could charm the Fair,
Or ease her gloomy Thoughts and melancholy Care.
Charming Retreat, the pensive Iris stray'd;
Iris, a Name to distant Nations known,
By her fam'd Verses Beauties, and her Own.
Heedless She rov'd; for nor the murm'ring Sound
Of the smooth Waves, nor Flow'rs that deck'd the Ground,
Nor the Birds tender Songs could charm the Fair,
Or ease her gloomy Thoughts and melancholy Care.
At last She cries, Fond Love, I own no more
Thy aweful Tyranny, and boasted Pow'r;
No more thro' Thee tumultuous Fears arise,
Sighs from my Breast, and Torrents from my Eyes:
A Native Coldness reigns in ev'ry Part,
And all is calm and quiet in my Heart.
But ah! how poorly I that Calmness taste,
Forc'd to regret ev'n all my Suff'ring past.
Alas! th' unwary Soul but little knows,
That wishes for the Blessings of Repose.
In the sad State of Idleness and Ease,
When Nothing busies, Nothing too can please.
The treach'rous Tyrant, Love, less faintly charms,
Sweet are his Ills, and pleasing all his Harms:
The Mind each Moment to Delights improves;
For all is Pleasures to an Heart that loves.
In what a tedious Round of Griefs he lives,
Who, wretehed, his own Tenderness survives!
Can one that ever felt an am'rous Pain,
Unloving, Life's vexatious Load sustain?
Lose ev'ry ling'ring Hour, and waste away
In dull, unactive Indolence, the Day?
Ah! no: Return, soft God; resume thy Reign,
Bring with thee all thy Fires, to kindle mine again:
Alas! thou wilt not come; and all my Calls are vain;
Cruel! Thou cam'st an uninvited Guest,
And mad'st, unsought, a Passage to my Breast:
Now thou can'st all my Pray'rs and Vows despise,
And scorn to gain a weak inglorious Prize.
I ask not for the Transports those possess,
Whom Thou, with smiling Fates, and mutual Loves dost bless.
The Barb'rous, Charming Youth that rul'd my Heart,
Has taught me all thy Rigour, and thy Smart;
Heedless of mine, in other Flames he burns,
And Hate, or worse Indifference, returns.
The Joy of being Lov'd, I ne'er can prove;
I ask no other now, but that of Love.
Have not my Fears, and my Alarms been vain?
How am I sure that I have broke my Chain?
Don't I, while I desire, already feel the Pain?
What shall I do; What Method take, to find
The true Condition of my floating Mind?
See, while I speak, the dear Ingrateful come!
His Presence clears my Doubts and fixes all my Doom;
I view the lovely Swain; his Sight inspires
Soft melting Thoughts, and raging fierce Desires,
And all my Soul conceives the well-known Fires.
Welcome, ye boundless Griefs and racking Pains!
Welcome, ye ne'er-to-be forgotten Chains!
Amidst Confusion, Horror and Despair,
Studious I'll feed the dear distracting Care,
And thank Thee, Gracious Love, who well hast heard my Pray'r.
Thy aweful Tyranny, and boasted Pow'r;
No more thro' Thee tumultuous Fears arise,
Sighs from my Breast, and Torrents from my Eyes:
176
And all is calm and quiet in my Heart.
But ah! how poorly I that Calmness taste,
Forc'd to regret ev'n all my Suff'ring past.
Alas! th' unwary Soul but little knows,
That wishes for the Blessings of Repose.
In the sad State of Idleness and Ease,
When Nothing busies, Nothing too can please.
The treach'rous Tyrant, Love, less faintly charms,
Sweet are his Ills, and pleasing all his Harms:
The Mind each Moment to Delights improves;
For all is Pleasures to an Heart that loves.
In what a tedious Round of Griefs he lives,
Who, wretehed, his own Tenderness survives!
Can one that ever felt an am'rous Pain,
Unloving, Life's vexatious Load sustain?
Lose ev'ry ling'ring Hour, and waste away
In dull, unactive Indolence, the Day?
Ah! no: Return, soft God; resume thy Reign,
Bring with thee all thy Fires, to kindle mine again:
Alas! thou wilt not come; and all my Calls are vain;
177
And mad'st, unsought, a Passage to my Breast:
Now thou can'st all my Pray'rs and Vows despise,
And scorn to gain a weak inglorious Prize.
I ask not for the Transports those possess,
Whom Thou, with smiling Fates, and mutual Loves dost bless.
The Barb'rous, Charming Youth that rul'd my Heart,
Has taught me all thy Rigour, and thy Smart;
Heedless of mine, in other Flames he burns,
And Hate, or worse Indifference, returns.
The Joy of being Lov'd, I ne'er can prove;
I ask no other now, but that of Love.
Have not my Fears, and my Alarms been vain?
How am I sure that I have broke my Chain?
Don't I, while I desire, already feel the Pain?
What shall I do; What Method take, to find
The true Condition of my floating Mind?
See, while I speak, the dear Ingrateful come!
His Presence clears my Doubts and fixes all my Doom;
178
Soft melting Thoughts, and raging fierce Desires,
And all my Soul conceives the well-known Fires.
Welcome, ye boundless Griefs and racking Pains!
Welcome, ye ne'er-to-be forgotten Chains!
Amidst Confusion, Horror and Despair,
Studious I'll feed the dear distracting Care,
And thank Thee, Gracious Love, who well hast heard my Pray'r.
| Philomela | |