Chapter 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._