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Poems

By Francis Wrangham

Wrangham, Francis (1769-1842)

[When first the siren Beauty's face]

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—Deus crudeliùs urit,
Quos videt invitos succubuisse sibi.
Tibull. I. viii. 7.

When first the siren Beauty's face
My wandering eye survey'd;
Unmov'd I saw each fraudful grace,
That 'round th' enchantress play'd:

And still, with careless mien elate,
Defied the Paphian's wile;
As ambush'd in a look he sate,
Or couch'd beneath a smile:

And still to rove I madly vow'd
Along the dangerous way,
Secure—where other boasters bow'd
Before the tyrant's sway.

Nor learn'd my breast to heave the sigh,
Or pour the secret heart;
'Till Myra from her beamy eye
Dispatch'd th' unerring dart:

“Fly, fatal shaft” (with cruel zeal
The conscious murderess cried)
“And teach yon haughty boy to feel
“The anguish due to pride.”

To sooth the soul-subduing pain
Awhile I fondly strove;
But combated, alas! in vain,
Th' omnipotence of love.

Then ah! at length, stern power, forbear;
Thy wrath at length forego:
Enough my youth has felt of care,
Enough has tasted woe;

Or if, ordain'd by stubborn fate,
I drag th' eternal chain;
Doom'd, as I bend beneath its weight,
To court relief in vain:

To Myra equal toil impart,
On her thy pang bestow;
Thrill with love's agony her heart,
And bid her suffer too.