_Bless the dear minute, bless the Heav’nly voice,_
_That has revok’t thy fatal doom;_
_Rejoyce!_ Aminta _leads thee from the Tomb._
_Banish the anxious thoughts of dying hours,_ }
_Forget the shades and melancholy Bow’rs,_ }
_Thy Eyes so oft bedew’d with falling show’rs;_ }
_Banish all Thoughts that do remain,_ }
_Of Sighing Days and Nights of Pain,_ }
_When on neglected Beds of Moss thou’st lain:_ }
_Oh happy Youth!_ Aminta _bids thee live;_
_Thank not the sullen God’s or defer Stars,_
_Since from her Hand thou dost the Prize receive;_
_Hers be the Service, as the bounty hers;_
_For all that Life must dedicated be,_
_To the fair God-like Maid that gave it Thee._
Now, _Lysidas_, behold my happy State;
Behold me Blest, behold me Fortunate,
And from the height of languishing despair,
Rais’d to the Glory of _Aminta’s_ care:
And this one moment of my Heaven of Joy,
Did the remembrance of past Griefs destroy:
And _Pity_ ceas’d not here; but with new Eloquence,
Obliges the shy Maid to visit _Confidence_.
CONFIDENCE.
_A Lady lovely, with a charming Meen,_
_Gay, frank, and open, and an Air serene;_
_In every Look she does her Soul impart,_
_With ease one reads the Sent’ments of her Heart;_
_Her Humour generous, and her Language free,_
_And all her Conversation graceful Liberty:_
_Her_ Villa _is Youth’s general Rendezvous,_
_Where in delightful Gardens, winding Groves,_
_The happy Lovers dwell with secresie,_
_Un-interrupted by fond Jealousie:_
_’.is there with Innocence, they do and say_
_A thousand things, to pass the short-liv’d day:_
_There free from censuring Spies, they entertain,_
_And pleasures tast, un-intermixt with pain._
‘Tis there we see, what most we do adore,
And yet we languish to discover more.
Hard fate of Lovers, who are ne’er content,
In an Estate so Blest and Innocent.
But still press forward, urg’d by soft desires,
To Joys that oft extinguishes their Fires;
In this degree I found a happiness,
Which nought but wishing more cou’d render less.
I saw _Aminta_ here without controul,
And told her all the Secrets of my Soul;
Whilst she t’ express her height of Amity,
Communicated all her Thoughts to me.
The REFLECTION.
_Oh with what Pleasure did I pass away._
_The too swift course of the delightful day!_
_What Joys I found in being a Slave_
_To every Conquering Smile she gave,_
_Whose every sweetness wou’d inspire_
_The Cinick and the Fool with Love;_
_Alas, I needed no more Fire,_
_Who did its height already prove:_
_Ah my_ Aminta! _had I been content,_
_With this degree of Ravishment,_
_With the nee’r satisfy’d delight I took,_
_Only to prattle Love, to sigh and look,_
_With the dull Bartering Kiss for Kiss,_
_And never aim’d at higher Bliss,_
_With all the stealths forgetful Lovers make,_
_When they their_ Little Covenants _break:_
_To these sad shades of Death I’d not been hurl’d,_
_And thou mightst still have blest the drooping World;_
_But though my Pleasure were thus vast and high,_ }
_Yet Loves insatiate Luxury_ }
_Still wish’d reveal’d the unknown Mystery._ }
But still _Love_ importun’d, nor cou’d I rest,
So often, and impatiently he prest,
That I the lovely Virgin wou’d invite,
To the so worshipp’d _Temple of Delight_.
By all the Lovers Arts I strove to move,
And watch the softest Minutes of her Love,
Which against all my Vows and Prayers were proof.
Alas she lov’d, but did not love enough:
And I cou’d no returns but Anger get,
Her Heart was not intirely conquer’d yet;
For liking, I mistook her Complysance,
And that for Love; when ‘twas her Confidence.
But ‘twas not long my Sighs I did imploy,
Before she rais’d me to the height of Joy.
And all my Fears and Torments to remove,
Yields I shall lead her to the _Court of LOVE_.
Here, _Lysidas_, thou thinks me sure and blest,
With Recompence for all my past unrest;
But fortun’d smil’d the easier to betray,
She’s less inconstant than a Lover’s Joy:
For whilst our Chariot Wheels out-stript the Wind,
Leaving all thought of Mortal Cares behind,
Whilst we sate gazing full of new surprize,
Exchanging Souls from eithers darting Eyes,
We encounter’d _One_ who seem’d of great Command,
Who seiz’d the Reins with an all-pow’rful hand:
Awful his looks, but rude in his Address,
And his Authority roughly did express;
His violent Hands he on _Aminta_ laid,
And out of mine snatch’d the dear trembling Maid;
So suddenly as hinder’d my defence,
And she cou’d only say in parting thence,
_Forgive_, Lisander, _what by force I do,_
_Since nothing else can ravish me from you;_
_Make no resistance, I obey_ [5]Devoir.
_Who values not thy Tears, thy Force or Prayer,_
_Retain thy Faith and Love Aminta still,_
_Since she abandons thee against her Will._
Immoveable I remain’d with this surprize,
Nor durst reply so much as with my Eyes.
I saw her go, but was of Sense bereav’d,
And only knew from what I heard, I liv’d;
Yes, yes, I heard her last Commands, and thence
By violent degrees retriev’d my Sense.
Ye Gods, in this your Mercy was severe,
You might have spar’d the useless favour here.
But the first Thoughts my Reason did conceive,
Were to pursue the injurious Fugitive.
Raving, that way I did my haste direct,
But once more met the Reverend _Respect_,
From whom I strove my self to dis-ingage,
And faign’d a calmness to disguise my Rage.
In vain was all the Cheat, he soon perceiv’d,
Spight of my Smiles, how much, and why I griev’d;
Saw my despairs, and what I meant to do,
And begg’d I wou’d the rash Design forego;
A thousand dangers he did represent,
T’ win me from the desperate attempt.
I ever found his Counsel just and good,
And now resolv’d it shou’d not be withstood;
Thus he ore-came my Rage, but did not free,
My Soul from Griefs more painful Tyranny;
Grief tho’ more soft, did not less cruel prove,
Madness is easier far then hopeless Love.
I parted thus, but knew not what to do;
Nor where I went; nor did I care to know;
With folded Arms, with weeping Eyes declin’d, }
I search the unknown shade, I cou’d not find, }
And mixt my constant Sighs with flying Wind. }
By slow unsteady steps the Paths I trace,
Which undesign’d conduct me to a place
Fit for a Soul distrest; obscur’d with shade,
Lonely and fit for Love and Sorrow made;
The Murmuring Boughs themselves together twist,
And ‘twou’d allow to Grief her self some rest.
Inviron’d ‘tis with lofty Mountains round,
From whence the Eccho’s, Sighs, and Crys rebound;
Here in the midst and thickest of the Wood,
Cover’d with bending Shades a Castle stood,
Where _Absence_ that dejected Maid remains,
Who nothing but her Sorrow entertains.
[5] Duty.
ABSENCE.
_Her mourning languid Eyes are rarely shown,_
_Unless to those afflicted like her own;_
_Her lone Apartment all obscure as Night,_
_Discover’d only by a glimmering Light:_
_Weeping she sate, her Face with Grief dismaid,_
_Which all its natural sweetness has decaid;_
_Yet in despight of Grief there does appear,_ }
_The ruin’d Monuments of what was fair,_ }
_E’r cruel_ Love _and_ Grief _had took possession there._ }
_These made her old without the aid of Years;_ }
_Worn out, and faint with lingring hopes and fears,_ }
_She seldom answers ought but with her Tears._ }
_No Train attends, she only is obey’d_
_By_ Melancholy, _that soft, silent Maid:_
_A Maid that fits her Humour every way,_
_With whom she passes all the tedious day:_
_No other object can her Mind content,_
_She Feeds and Flatters all her languishment;_
_The noisy Streams that from high Mountains fall;_
_And water all the Neighbouring flowry Vale:_
_The Murmurs of the Rivulets that glide,_
_Against the bending Seges on the side;_
_Of mournful Birds the sad and tuneful Noats,_
_The Bleats of straggling Lambs, and new yean’d Goats:_
_The distant Pipe of some lone Mountain Swain,_ }
_Who to his injur’d Passion fits his strain;_ }
_Is all the Harmony her Soul can entertain._ }
On a strict league of Friendship we agree,
For I was sad, and as forlorn as she;
To all her Humours, I conform my own,
Together Sigh, together Weep, and Moan;
Like her to Woods and Fountains I retreat,
And urge the pitying Eccho’s to repeat
My tale of _Love_, and at each Period found
_Aminta’s_ name, and bear it all around,
Whilst listening Voices do the charm reply,
And lost in mixing Air, together dye.
There minutes like dull days creep slowly on,
And every day I drag an Age along;
The coming hours cou’d no more pleasures hast,
Than those so insupportably I’d past.
I rav’d, I wept, I wisht, but all in vain,
The distant Maid, nor saw, nor eas’d my pain;
With my sad tale, each tender Bark I fill,
This--soft complaints, and that--my Ravings tell;
This bears vain Curses on my cruel fate,
And Blessings on the Charming Virgin, that;
The Willow by the lonely Spring that grows,
And o’re the Stream bends his forsaken Boughs,
I call _Lisander_; they, like him, I find,
Murmur and ruffl’d are with every Wind.
On the young springing Beech that’s straight and tall,
I Carve her name, and that _Aminta_ call;
But where I see an Oak that Climbs above
The rest, and grows the Monster of the Grove;
Whose pow’rful Arms when aiding Winds do blow,
Dash all the tender twining Shades below,
And even in Calms maliciously do spread,
That naught beneath can thrive, imbrace or breed;
Whose mischiefs far exceed his fancy’d good,
_Honour_ I call him: _Tyrant_ of the Wood.
Thus rove from Thought to Thought without relief:
A change ‘tis true; but ‘tis from Grief to Grief;
Which when above my silence they prevail, }
With Love I’m froward, on my Fortune rail, }
And to the Winds breathe my neglected Tale. }
To LOVE.
I.
_Fond_ Love _thy pretty Flatteries cease,_
_That feeble Hope you give;_
_Unless ‘twould make my happiness,_
_In vain, dear Boy; in vain you strive,_
_It cannot keep my tortur’d Heart alive._
II.
_Tho’ thou shou’dst give me all the Joys,_
_Luxurious Monarch’s do possess,_
_Without_ Aminta _’.is but empty noise,_
_Dull and insipid happiness;_
_And you in vain invite me to a Feast,_
_Where my_ Aminta _cannot be a Guest._
III.
_Ye glorious Trifles, I renounce ye all,_
_Since she no part of all your splendour makes;_
_Let the Dull unconcern’d obey your call,_
_Let the gay Fop, who his Pert Courtship takes;_
_For_ Love, _whilst he profanes your Deity,_
_Be Charm’d and Pleas’d with all your necessary vanity._
IV.
_But give me leave, whose Soul’s inspir’d,_
_With sacred, but desparing Love._
_To dye from all your noise retir’d,_
_And Buried lie within this silent Grove._
_For whilst I Live, my Soul’s a prey,_
_To insignificant desires,_
_Whilst thou fond God of Love and Play,_
_With all thy Darts, with all thy useless Fires,_
_With all thy wanton flatteries cannot charm,_
_Nor yet the frozen-hearted Virgin warm._
V.
_Others by absence Cure their fire,_
_Me it inrages more with pain;_
_Each thought of my_ Aminta _blows it higher,_
_And distance strengthens my desire;_
_I Faint with wishing, since I wish in vain;_
_Either be gone, fond_ Love, _or let me dye,_
_Hopeless desire admits no other remedy._
Here ‘twas the height of _Cruelty_ I prov’d,
By absence from the sacred Maid I lov’d:
And here had dy’d, but that Love found a way,
Some letters from _Aminta_ to convey,
Which all the tender marks of pity gave,
And hope enough to make me wish to Live.
From _Duty_, now the lovely Maid is freed,
And calls me from my lonely solitude:
Whose cruel Memory in a Moments space,
The thoughts of coming Pleasures quite deface;
With an impatent Lovers hast I flew,
To the vast Blessing Love had set in view,
But oh I found _Aminta_ in a place,
Where never any Lover happy was!
RIVALS.
Rivals _’.is call’d, a Village where,_
_The Inhabitants in Fury still appear;_
_Malicious paleness, or a generous red,_
_O’r every angry face is spread,_
_Their Eyes are either smiling with disdain,_
_Or fiercely glow with raging Fire._
_Gloomy and sullen with dissembl’d pain,_
Love _in the Heart, Revenge in the desire:_
_Combates, Duels, Challenges,_
_Is the discourse, and all the business there._
_Respect of Blood, nor sacred friendship tyes;_
_Can reconcile the Civil War,_
_Rage, Horror, Death, and wild despair,_
_Are still Rencounter’d, and still practised there._
‘Twas here the lovely cruel Maid I found,
Incompass’d with a thousand Lovers round;
At my approach I saw their Blushes rise,
And they regarded me with angry Eyes.
_Aminta_ too, or else my Fancy ‘twas,
Receiv’d me with a shy and cold Address,
--I cou’d not speak--but Sigh’d, retir’d and Bow’d; }
With pain I heard her Talk and Laugh aloud, }
And deal her Freedoms to the greedy Crowd. }
I Curst her Smiles, and envy’d every look,
And Swore it was too kind, what’ere she spoke;
Condemn’d her Air, rail’d on her soft Address, }
And vow’d her Eyes did her false Heart confess, }
And vainly wisht their Charming Beauties less. }
A Secret hatred in my Soul I bear,
Against these objects of my new despair;
I waited all the day, and all in vain;
Not one lone minute snatcht, to ease my pain;
Her Lovers went and came in such a sort, }
It rather seem’d _Loves-Office_ than his _Court_, }
Made for eternal _Bus’ness_, not his _Sport_, }
_Love_ saw my pain, and found my rage grew high,
And led me off, to lodge at _Jealousie_.
JEALOUSIE.
I.
_A Palace that is more uneasy far,_
_Then those of cruelty and absence are,_
_There constant show’rs of Hail and Rains do flow,_
_Continual Murmuring Winds around do blow,_
_Eternal Thunder rowling in the Air,_
_And thick dark hanging Clouds the day obscure;_
_Whose sullen dawn all Objects multiplies._
_And render things that are not, to the Eyes._
_Fantoms appear by the dull gloomy light,_ }
_That with such subtil Art delude the sight,_ }
_That one can see no Object true or right._ }
_I here transported and impatient grow_
_And all things out of order do;_
_Hasty and peevish every thing I say,_ }
_Suspicion and distrust’s my Passions sway,_ }
_And bend all Nature that uneasy way._ }
II.
_A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart;_
_A thousand Visions fill the Eyes,_
_And Deaf to all that can relief impart,_
_We hate the Counsel of the Wise,_
_And Sense like Tales of Lunaticks despise:_
_Faithless, as Couzen’d Maids, by Men undone,_
_And obstinate as new Religion,_
_As full of Error, and false Notion too,_
_As Dangerous, and as Politick;_
_As Humerous as a Beauty without Wit;_
_As Vain and Fancyful in all we do:_
_--Thus Wreck the Soul, as if it did conceal,_
_Love Secrets which by torturing ‘two’d reveal._
Restless and wild, ranging each Field and Grove;
I meet the Author of my painful Love;
But still surrounded with a numerous Train
Of Lovers, whom _Love_ taught to Sigh and Fawn,
At my approach, my Soul all Trembling flies,
And tells its soft Resentment at my Eyes:
My Face all pale, my steps unsteady fall,
And faint Confusion spreads it self o’re all.
I listen to each low breath’d Word she says,
And the returns the happy Answerer pays:
When catching half the Sense, the rest Invent,
And turn it still to what will most Torment;
If any thing by Whispers she impart,
‘Tis Mortal, ‘tis a Dagger at my Heart;
And every Smile, each Motion, Gesture, Sign,
In favour of some Lover I explain:
When I am absent, in some Rivals Arms,
I Fancy she distributes all her Charms,
And if alone I find her; sighing cry,
_Some happier Lover she expects than I._
So that I did not only Jealous grow,
Of all I saw; but all I fancy’d too.
The COMPLAINT.
I.
_Oft in my Jealous Transports I wou’d cry,_
_Ye happy shades, ye happy Bow’rs,_
_Why speaks she tenderer things to you than me?_
_Why does she Smile, carress and praise your Flowers?_
_Why Sighs she (opening Buds) her Secrets all_
_Into your fragrant Leaves?_
_Why does she to her Aid your sweetness call,_
_Yet take less from you than she gives?_
_Why on your Beds must you be happy made,_
_And be together with_ Aminta _laid?_
_You from her Hands and Lips may KISSES take,_
_And never meet Reproaches from her Pride;_
_A thousand Ravishing stealths may make,_
_And even into her softer Bosome glide._
_And there expire! Oh happy Rival flowers,_
_How vainly do I wish my Fate like that of Yours?_
II.
_Tell me, ye silent Groves, whose Gloom invites,_
_The lovely Charmer to your Solitudes?_
_Tell me for whom she languishes and sighs?_
_For whom she feels her soft Inquietudes?_
_Name me the Youth for whom she makes her Vows,_
_For she has breath’d it oft amongst your listening Boughs?_
_Oh happy confidents of her Amours,_
_How vainly do I wish my Fortune blest as Yours._
III.
_Oh happy Brooks, oh happy Rivulets,_
_And Springs that in a thousand Windings move;_
_Upon your Banks how oft_ Aminta _sits,_
_And prattles to you all her Tale of Love:_
_Whilst your smooth surface little Circles bears,_
_From the Impressions of her falling Tears,_
_And as you wantonly reflecting pass,_
_Glide o’re the lovely Image of her Face;_
_And sanctifies your stream, which as you run,_
_You Boast in Murmurs to the Banks along._
_Dear Streams! to whom she gives her softest hours,_
_How vainly do I wish my happiness like yours._
Sometimes I rail’d again, and wou’d upbraid,
Reproachfully, the charming fickle Maid:
Sometimes I vow’d to do’t no more,
But one, vain, short-liv’d hour,
Wou’d Perjure all I’d Sworn before,
And Damn my fancy’d Pow’r.
Sometimes the sullen fit wou’d last,
A teadious live-long day:
But when the wrecking hours were past,
With what Impatience wou’d I hast,
And let her Feet weep my neglect away.
Quarrels are the Reserves Love keeps in store,
To aid his Flames and make ‘em burn the more.
The PENITENT.
I.
_With Rigor Arm your self, (I cry’d)_
_It is but just and fit;_
_I merit all this Treatment from your Pride,_
_All the reproaches of your Wit;_
_Put on the cruel Tyrant as you will,_
_But know, my tender Heart adores you still._
II.
_And yet that Heart has Murmur’d too,_ }
_And been so insolent to let you know,_ }
_It did complain, and rave, and rail’d at you;_ }
_Yet all the while by every God I swear,_
_By every pitying Pow’r the wretched hear;_
_By all those Charms that dis-ingage,_
_My Soul from the extreams of Rage;_
_By all the Arts you have to save and kill,_
_My faithful tender Heart adores you still._
III.
_But oh you shou’d excuse my soft complaint,_
_Even my wild Ravings too prefer,_
_I sigh, I burn, I weep, I faint,_
_And vent my Passions to the Air;_
_Whilst all my Torment, all my Care_
_Serves but to make you put new Graces on,_
_You Laugh, and Rally my despair,_
_Which to my Rivals renders you more fair;_
_And but the more confirms my being undone:_
_Sport with my Pain as gayly as you will,_
_My fond, my tender Heart adores you still._
My differing Passions thus, did never cease,
Till they had touch’d her Soul with tenderness;
My _Rivals_ now are banish’d by degrees, }
And with ‘em all my Fears and Jealousies; }
And all advanc’d, as if design’d to please. }
The City of LOVE.
In this vast Isle a famous _City_ stands,
Who for its Beauty all the rest Commands,
Built to delight the wondering Gazers Eyes,
Of all the World the great _Metropolis_.
Call’d by LOVE’s name: and here the Charming God,
When he retires to Pleasure, makes abode;
‘Tis here both Art and Nature strive to show, }
What Pride, Expence, and Luxury, can do, }
To make it Ravishing and Awful too: }
All Nations hourly thither do resort,
To add a splendour to this glorious Court;
The Young, the Old, the Witty, and the Wise,
The Fair, the Ugly, Lavish, and Precise;
Cowards and Braves, the Modest, and the Lowd,
Promiscuously are blended in the Crowd.
From distant Shoars young Kings their Courts remove,
To pay their Homage to the God of Love.
Where all their sacred awful Majesty,
Their boasted and their fond Divinity;
Loose their vast force; as lesser Lights are hid,
When the fierce God of Day his Beauties spread.
The wondering World for _Gods_ did _Kings_ adore,
Till _LOVE_ confirm’d ‘em Mortal by his Pow’r;
And in _Loves Court_, do with their Vassals live,
Without or _Homage_, or _Prerogative_:
Which the young _God_, not only Blind must show,
But as Defective in his Judgment too.
LOVE’s Temple.