University of Virginia Library

ACT the Second.

SCENE continues.
Enter Sylvia and Nymphs, as from hunting, with bows and arrows.
First Nymph.
Grace of our woods! sure Dian's self directs
Thy still unerring dart.

Sylvia.
Be her's the praise.
Oh! virgin huntress, to thy fav'ring smile
Alone I owe, that foremost in the chace
My shaft transfixes first the trembling prey.
Thou speed'st the whistling arrow to its mark:
Wing'd with thy swiftness o'er the plain I fly,
And all my honours are deriv'd from thee.
SONG.

[Here the Satyr appears listening.]
Sylvia.
Now while the sun darts fierce the noon-tide blaze,
Haste to the neighb'ring grove, fair nymphs, and shun
His fervid ray; mean time, in yonder vale
Where pines and cedars mingling grateful shade,
And from the stream which slowly glides beneath
Excludes the light; there will I bathe, then taste
A short repose upon its flow'ry border.

First Nymph.
Soft be thy slumbers, gentle maid, farewel!

Exeunt.
The Satyr comes forward.
Satyr.
So my coy Nymph! I think I hold thee now
Safe in my toils; go on, securely go
To thy well-chosen privacy; by Pan,
It fits my purpose well: yes, stubborn maid!
There shalt thou find an unexpected guest,
An injur'd lover bent on great revenge.
SONG.

Exeunt Satyr.
Enter Philander in a melancholy posture.
Philander.
SONG.
Why do I wander thus in woods alone?
Why vent to senseless trees my mournful plaints;
Sigh to the fleeting wind; with tears deface
The dimpled stream? Oh! Sylvia, cruel maid!
Thy pride a savage sacrifice demands,
Nor will be satisfied with less than life.

Enter Thirsis.
Thirsis.
I sought thee, dear Philander!

Philander.
Oh! my Thirsis!
Why seek a wretch who cannot find himself?
Lost to each joy, to fierce despair a prey?
Fain would I shun all commerce with mankind:
In these dark shades wear out the sad remains
Of hated life.

Thirsis.
Oh love! thou tyrant of the human breast,
Fierce and remorseless as the prowling wolf
That nightly makes the helpless flock his prey:
Falsly they call thee god of pleasing pains,
Of gentle wishes and refin'd delights:
Doubts, fears, and jealousies, surround thy throne;
Eternal sighs fan thy destructive fires,
And broken hearts are thy sad sacrifice.

Philander.
Such is, indeed, the fate of hopeless love;
And such is mine.

Thirsis.
You make yourself your fate;
Love should be paid with love, and hate with hate.

Philander.
SONG.
In vain my passion you reprove,
This heart, alas! was form'd for love,
His pains, if not his joys, to feel:
Here the soft god has fix'd his throne,
But oh! 'midst sighs, and tears alone,
Nor deigns the wounds he makes to heal.

Thirsis.
Oh! bend not thus thy drooping head to earth,
Like tender plants beneath the beating storm;
This day thy father, by thy griefs impell'd,
With grateful off'rings seeks his patron god;
Prostrate before his altar now he lies,
And all his pious prayers ascend for thee.

Philander.
To mine, alas! no pitying pow'rs enclin'd,
Unheard, and mingled with the vagrant wind.

Thirsis.
Hope better now, for see thy sire appears,
A solemn joy upon his brow he wears:
Some pleasing news he brings.

Philander.
Be still, my heart!—
Oh! throb not thus, can hope be painful too?

Enter Montano.
Montano.
Oh! thou to fierce despair a wretched prey,
Much-lov'd, lamented youth.

Philander.
Ill-omen'd pity!
Alas! my father mourns my fate; 'tis past,
Hope is no more.

Montano.
I bring thee more than hope,
My vows are heard, thy wishes all are crown'd,
No more the haughty maid shall fly thy love.

Philander.
Oh! sounds which might arrest the stroke of death,
Call back the soul to her abandon'd seat,
And give it more than life, give immortality.

Montano.
With awful rev'rence hear the god's decree,
At whose dread altars I so long have serv'd;
Sylvia, by plighted vows, thy lawful claim
Must either yield this day to be thy bride,
Or by her death—

Philander.
Oh! love! almighty love!
What do I hear?

Montano.
Or, by her death atone
For violated faith. Thus dooms Apollo.

Philander.
Is this to crown my wishes? oh! my father!

Montano.
Rash youth, repine not at the god's decree,
But to the haughty fair reveal her sentence,
This day to be a victim, or a bride,
Is all her fate allows.

Philander.
SONG.
Oh! stop that death-denouncing sound,
Nor mix it with the passing air,
Lest by some ruder zephyr found,
'Tis wafted to the trembling fair.
His own soft cause love best can plead,
Or let me die, or let me thus succeed.

[Exit.]
Thirsis.
Despair is in his eyes, oh! sage Montano!
Should the proud nymph persist in her denial,
Her sentence urg'd would aggravate his woe;
And, but forgive my sad foreboding fears,
Perhaps involve him in her wretched fate.

Montano.
Dismiss thy fears, thy unexperienc'd youth
Reads not the secret heart of varying woman;
Form'd to ensnare, and practis'd to delude,
She flies, but flying, hopes to be pursu'd,
With doubling arts long keeps the doubtful field,
And yields, or seems to force alone to yield.