Part 18

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.

_’.was 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,_ _’.is_ 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.

The TRANSPORT.

_Rejoyce! my new made happy Soul, Rejoyce!_ _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._