Say, my fair Charmer, must I fall,
A Victim to your Cruelty?
And must I suffer as a Criminal?
Is it to Love offence enough to dye?
Is this the recompence at last,
Of all the restless hours I’ve past?
How oft my Awe, and my Respect,
Have fed your Pride and Scorn?
How have I suffered your neglect,
Too mighty to be born?
How have I strove to hide that flame
You seem’d to disapprove?
How careful to avoid the name
Of Tenderness or Love?
Least at that Word some guilty Blush shou’d own,
What your bright Eyes forbad me to make known.
Thus fill’d the neighbouring Eccho’s with my Cry,
Did nothing but reproach, complain and dye:
One day ——
All hopeless on the Rivers Brink I stood,
Resolv’d to plunge into the Rapid Floud,
That Floud that eases Lovers in despair,
And puts an end to all their raging care:
’Tis hither those betray’d by Beauty come,
And from this kinder stream receive their doom;
Here Birds of Ominous presages Nest,
Securing the forlorn Inhabitants from rest:
Here Mid-night-Owls, night-Crows, and Ravens dwell,
Filling the Air with Melancholy Yell:
Here swims a thousand Swans, whose doleful moan
Sing dying Loves Requiems with their own:
I gaz’d around, and many Lovers view’d,
Gastly and pale, who my design pursu’d;
But most inspir’d by some new hope, or won
To finish something they had left undone;
Some grand Important bus’ness of their Love,
Did from the fatal precipice remove:
For me, no Reason my designs disswade,
Till Love all Breathless hasted to my Aid;
With force m’ unfixing Feet he kindly graspt,
And tenderly reproacht my desperate hast,
Reproach’d my Courage, and condemn’d my Wit,
That meanly cou’d t’ a Womans scorn submit,
That cou’d to feed her Pride, and make her vain,
Destroy an Age of Life, for a short date of pain:
He wou’d have left me here, but that I made, }
So many friendships as did soon perswade }
The yielding Boy, who Smil’d, resolv’d and staid. }
He rais’d my Head, and did again renew,
His Flatteries, and all the Arts he knew:
To call my Courage to its wonted place.
What, cry’d he — (sweetly Angry) shall a Face
Arm’d with the weak resistance of a Frown,
Force us to lay our Claims and Titles down?
Shall Cruelty a peevish Woman prove,
Too strong to be overcome by Youth and Love?
No! rally all thy Vigor, all thy Charms,
And force her from the cruel Tyrants Arms;
Come, once more try th’ incens’d Maid to appease,
Death’s in our pow’r to grasp when ere we please;
He said —— And I the heavenly voice attend,
Whilst towards the Rock our hasty steps we bend,
Before the Gates with all our forces lye,
Resolv’d to Conquer, or resolv’d to dye;
In vain Love all his feeble Engines rears,
His soft Artillery of Sighs and Tears,
Were all in vain — against the Winds were sent,
For she was proof ‘gainst them and Languishment:
Repeated Vows and Prayers mov’d no Remorse,
And ’twas to Death alone I had Recourse:
Love in my Anguish bore a mighty part,
He pityed, but he cou’d not ease my Heart:
A thousand several ways he had assay’d,
To touch the Heart of this obdurate Maid;
Rebated all his Arrow’s still return,
For she was fortify’d with Pride and Scorn.
The useless Weapons now away he flung,
Neglected lay his Ivory Bow unstrung,
His gentle Azure Wings were all unprun’d,
And the gay Plumes a fading Tinct assum’d;
Which down his snowy sides extended lay,
And now no more in wanton Motions play.
He blusht to think he had not left one dart,
Of force enough to wound Aminta’s Heart;
He blusht to think she shou’d her freedom boast,
Whilst mine from the first Dart he sent was lost:
Thus tir’d with our Complaints; (whilst no relief
Rescu’d the fleeting Soul from killing Grief)
We saw a Maid approach, who’s lovely Face
Disdain’d the Beauties of the common race:
Soft were her Eyes, where unfeign’d Sorrow dwelt,
And on her Cheeks in pitying Show’rs they melt:
Soft was her Voice, and tenderly it strook,
The eager listening Soul, when e’re she spoke;
And what did yet my Courage more augment,
She wore this sadness for my languishment.
And sighing said, ah Gods! have you
Beheld this dying Youth, and never found
A pity for a Heart so true,
Which dyes adoring her that gave the Wound?
His Youth, his Passion, and his Constancy,
Merits, ye God’s, a kinder Destiny.
With pleasure I attended what she said,
And wonder’d at the friendship of the Maid.
Of LOVE I ask’d her name? who answer’d me,
’Twas Pity: Enemy to Cruelty:
Who often came endeavouring to abate,
The Languishments of the unfortunate;
And said, if she wou’d take my injur’d part,
She soon wou’d soften fair Aminta’s Heart;
For she knows all the subtillest Arts to move,
And teach the timorous Virgin how to love.
With Joy I heard, and my Address apply’d,
To gain the Beauteous Pity to my Side:
Nothing I left untold that might perswade,
The listening Virgin to afford her aid.
Told her my Passions, Sorrows, Pains and Fears,
And whilst I spoke, confirm’d ‘em with my Tears;
All which with down-cast Eyes she did attend,
And blushing said, my Tale had made a Friend;
I bow’d and thankt her with a chearful look,
Which being return’d by hers, her leave she took:
Now to Aminta all in haste she hyes, }
Whom she assail’d with sorrow in her Eyes, }
And a sad story of my Miseries, }
Which she with so much tenderness exprest,
As forc’d some Sighs from the fair Charmers Breast;
The subtil Pity found she should prevail,
And oft repeats th’ insinuating Tale,
And does insensibly the Maid betray,
Where Love and I, Panting and Trembling lay;
Where she beheld th’ effects of her disdain,
And in my languid Face she read my Pain.
Down her fair Cheeks some pitying drops did glide;
Which cou’d not be restrain’d by feebler Pride;
Against my anguish she had no defence,
Such Charms had grief, my Tears such Eloquence;
My Sighs and Murmurs she began t’ approve,
And listen’d to the story of my LOVE.
With tenderness, she did my Sufferings hear,
And even my Reproaches now cou’d bear:
At last my trembling Hand in hers she took,
And with a charming Blush, these Words she spoke:
I.
Faithful Lisander, I your Vows approve,
And can no longer hide.
My Sense of all your suffering Love,
With the thin Veil of Pride.
II.
’Twas long in Vain that Pity did assail,
My cold and stubborn Heart;
Ere on th’ insensible she cou’d prevail,
To render any Part.
III.
To her for all the tenderness,
Which in my Eyes you find,
You must your gratitude express,
’Tis Pity only makes me kind.
IV.
Live then, Lisander, since I must confess,
In spight of all my native modesty,
I cannot wish that you shou’d Love me less;
Live then and hope the Circling Sun may see
In his swift course a grateful change in me,
And that in time your Passion may receive
All you dare take, and all a Maid may give.
Oh, Lysidas, I cannot here relate,
The Sense of Joy she did in me create;
The sudden Blessing overcame me so,
It almost finisht, what Grief fail’d to do;
I wanted Courage for the soft surprize,
And waited re-enforcements from her Eyes:
At last with Transports which I cou’d not hide,
Raising my self from off the ground, I cry’d.