University of Virginia Library

The ENCHANTMENT.

In Imitation of Theocritus.

Mix, mix the Philters, quick—she flies, she flies,
Deaf to my Call, regardless of my Cries.
Are Vows so vain? Could Oaths so feeble prove?
Ah! with what Ease she breaks those Chains of Love!
Whom Love with all his Force had bound in vain,
Let Charms compel, and magick Rites regain.
Begin, begin, the mystick Spels prepare,
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
Queen of the Night, bright Empress of the Stars,
The Friend of Love, assist a Lover's Cares;
And thou, infernal Hecate, be nigh,
At whose Approach fierce Wolves affrighted fly:
Dark Tombs disclose their Dead, and hollow Cries
Echo from under ground—Arise, arise.
Begin, begin, the mystick Spels prepare,
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
As crackling in the Fire this Laurel lies,
So, strugling in Love's Flame, her Lover dies;
It bursts, and in a Blaze of Light expires,
So may she burn, but with more lasting Fires.
Begin, begin, the mystick Spells prepare,
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
As the Wax melts, which to the Flame I hold,
So may she melt, and never more grow cold.
Tough Iron will yield, and stubborn Marble run,
And hardest Hearts by Love are melted down.
Begin, begin, the mystick Spels prepare,
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
As with impetuous Motion, whirling round,
This magick Wheel still moves, yet keeps its Ground,
Ever returning, so may she come back,
And never more th'appointed Round forsake.
Begin, begin, the mystick Spels prepare,
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
Diana, hail! all hail! most welcome thou,
To whom th'infernal King and Judges bow;
O thou, whose Art the Power of Hell disarms,
Upon a faithless Woman try thy Charms.
Hark! the Dogs howl, she comes, the Goddess comes,
Sound the loud Trump, and beat our brazen Drums,
Begin, begin, the mystick Spels prepare.
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
How calm's the Sky! how undisturb'd the Deep!
Nature is husht, the very Tempests sleep;
The drowsy Winds breathe gently thro' the Trees,
And silent on the Beach, repose the Seas:
Love only wakes; the Storm that tears my Breast
For ever rages, and distracts my Rest:
O Love! relentless Love! Tyrant accurst,
In Desarts bred, by cruel Tygers nurs'd!
Begin, begin, the mystick Spels prepare,
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
This Ribbon, that once bound her lovely Waiste,
O that my Arms might gird her there as fast!
Smiling she gave it, and I priz'd it more
Than the rich Zone th'Idalian Goddess wore:
This Ribbon, this lov'd Relict of the Fair,
So kist, and so preserv'd—thus—thus I tear.
O Love! why dost thou thus delight to rend
My Soul with Pain? Ah! why torment thy Friend?
Begin, begin, the mystick Spels prepare,
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
Thrice have I sacrific'd, and prostrate thrice
Ador'd: Assist, ye Powers, the Sacrifice.
Whoe'er he is whom now the Fair beguiles
With guilty Glances, and with perjur'd Smiles,
Malignant Vapours blast his impious Head,
Ye Lightnings scorch him, Thunder strike him dead;
Horror of Conscience all his Slumbers break,
Distract his Rest, as Love keeps me awake;
If marry'd, may his Wife a Helen be,
And curs'd, and scorn'd, like Menelaus, He.
Begin, begin, the mystick Spels prepare,
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
These pow'rful Drops, thrice on the Threshold pour,
And bathe with this enchanted Juice, her Door,
That Door where no Admittance now is found,
But where my Soul is ever hovering round.
Haste, and obey; and binding be the Spell:
Here ends my Charm; O Love! succeed it well:
By force of Magick, stop the flying Fair,
Bring Mira back, my perjur'd Wanderer.
Thou'rt now alone, and painful is Restraint,
Ease thy prest Heart, and give thy Sorrows vent;
Whence sprang, and how began these Griefs, declare;
How much thy Love, how cruel thy Despair.
Ye Moon and Stars, by whose auspicious Light
I haunt these Groves, and waste the tedious Night!
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
Too late for Hope, for my Repose too soon
I saw, and lov'd: Her Heart engag'd, was gone;
A happier Man possess'd whom I adore;
O! I should ne'er have seen, or seen before.
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
What shall I do? Shall I in Silence bear,
Destroy my self, or kill the Ravisher?
Die, wretched Lover, die; but O! beware,
Hurt not the Man who is belov'd by her;
Wait for a better Hour, and trust thy Fate,
Thou seek'st her Love, beget not then her Hate.
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
My Life consuming with eternal Grief,
From Herbs, and Spells, I seek a vain Relief;
To every wise Magician I repair
In vain, for still I love, and I despair.
Circe, Medea, and the Sibyls' Books,
Contain not half th'Enchantment of her Looks.
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
As melted Gold preserves its Weight the same,
So burnt my Love, nor wasted in the Flame.
And now, unable to support the Strife,
A glimmering Hope recalls departing Life.
My Rival dying, I no longer grieve,
Since I may ask, and she with Honour give.
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
Witness, ye Hours, with what unwearied Care,
From Place to Place I still pursu'd the Fair;
Nor was Occasion to reveal my Flame,
Slow to my Succour, for it kindly came,
It came, it came, that Moment of Delight,
O Gods! and how I trembled at the Sight!
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
Dismay'd, and motionless, confus'd, amaz'd,
Trembling I stood, and terrify'd I gaz'd;
My fault'ring Tongue in vain for Utterance try'd,
Faint was my Voice, my Thoughts abortive dy'd,
Or in weak Sounds, and broken Accents came,
Imperfect, as Discourses in a Dream.
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
Soon she divin'd what this Confusion meant,
And guest with ease the Cause of my Complaint.
My Tongue emboldning as her Looks were mild,
At length I told my Griefs—and still she smil'd.
O Siren! Siren! fair Deluder, say,
Why would you tempt to trust, and then betray?
So faithless now, why gave you Hopes before?
Alas! you should have been less kind, or more.
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
Secure of Innocence, I seek to know
From whence this Change, and my Misfortunes grow,
Rumour is loud, and every Voice proclaims
Her violated Faith, and conscious Flames:
Can this be true? Ah! flattering Mischief speak;
Could you make Vows, and in a Moment break?
And can the Space so very narrow be
Betwixt a Woman's Oath, and Perjury?
O Jealousy! all other Ills at first
My Love essay'd, but thou art sure the worst.
Tell, for you know the Burthen of my Heart,
Its killing Anguish, and its secret Smart.
Ungrateful Mira! urge me thus no more,
Nor think me tame, that once so long I bore;
If Passion, dire Revenge, or black Despair,
Should once prevail beyond what Man can bear,
Who knows what I? Ah! feeble Rage, and vain!
With how secure a Brow she mocks my Pain:
Thy Heart, fond Lover, does thy Threats belye,
Can'st thou hurt her, for whom thou yet would'st die?
Nor durst she thus thy just Resentment brave,
But that she knows how much thy Soul's her Slave.
But see! Aurora rising with the Sun,
Dissolves my Charm, and frees th'enchanted Moon;
My Spells no longer bind at Sight of Day,
And young Endymion calls his Love away:
Love's the Reward of all, on Earth, in Heaven,
And for a Plague to me alone was given:
But Ills not to be shun'd, we must endure,
Death, and a broken Heart's a ready Cure.
Cynthia, farewel, go rest thy wearied Light,
I must for ever wake—We'll meet again at Night.