LOVE ELEGIES.
Virginibus puerisque canto.
ON HIS FALLING IN LOVE WITH NEERA.
AREWELL that liberty our fathers gave,
In vain they gave, their sons receiv'd in vain : I saw Neæra, and her instant slave, Though born a Briton, hugg'd the servile chain. Her usage well repays my coward heart, Meanly she triumphs in her lover's shame, No healing joy relieves his constant smart, No smile of love rewards the loss of fame. Oh, that to feel these killing pangs no more, On Scythian hills I lay a senseless stone, Was fix'd a rock amidst the watery roar, And in the vast Atlantic stood alone. Adieu, ye Muses, or my passion aid, Why should I loiter by your idle spring? My humble voice would move one only maid, And she contemns the trifles which I sing. I do not ask the lofty epic strain,
Nor strive to paint the wonders of the sphere; I only sing one cruel maid to gain, Adieu, ye Muses, if she will not hear, No more in useless innocence I'll pine, Since guilty presents win the greedy fair, I'll tear its honours from the broken shrine, But chiefly thine, O Venus! will I tear. Deceiv'd by thee, I lov'd a beauteous maid, Who bends on sordid gold her low desires: Nor worth nor passion can her heart persuade, But Love must act what Avarice requires. Unwise who first, the charm of nature lost, With Tyrian purple soil'd the snowy sheep; Unwiser still who seas and mountains crost, To dig the rock, and search the pearly deep: These costly toys our silly fair surprise, The shining follies cheat their feeble sight, Their hearts, secure in trifles, love despise, 'Tis vain to court them, but more vain to write. Why did the gods conceal the little mind, And earthly thoughts beneath a heavenly face; Forget the worth that dignifies mankind, Yet smooth and polish so each outward grace?
Hence all the blame that Love and Venus bear, Hence pleasure short, and anguish ever long, Hence tears and sighs, and hence the peevish fair, The froward lover-hence this angry song.
Unable to satisfy the covetous temper of Neæra, he intends to make a campaign, and try, if possible, to forget her.
ADIEU, ye walls, that guard my cruel fair,
No more I'll sit in rosy fetters bound,
My limbs have learnt the weight of arms to bear,
My rousing spirits feel the trumpet's sound.
Few are the maids that now on merit smile,
On spoil and war is bent this iron age :
Yet pain and death attend on war and spoil,
Unsated vengeance and remorseless rage.
To purchase spoil, even love itself is sold,
Her lover's heart is least Neæra's care,
And I through var must seek detested gold,
Not for myself, but for my venal fair :
That, while she bends beneath the weight of dress,
The stiffen'd robe may spoil her easy mien;
And art mistaken make her beauty less,
While still it hides some graces better seen.
But if such toys can win her lovely smile,
Hers be the wealth of Tagus' golden sand,
Hers the bright gems that glow in India's soil,
Hers the black sons of Afric's sultry land.
To please her eye let every loom contend,
For her be rifled Ocean's pearly bed.
But where, alas! would idle fancy tend,
And soothe with dreams a youthful poet's head?
Let others buy the cold unloving maid,
In fore'd embraces act the tyrant's part,
While I their selfish luxury upbraid,
And scorn the person where I doubt the heart.
Thus warm'd by pride, I think I love no more,
And hide in threats the weakness of my mind:
In vain, though Reason fly the hated door,
Yet Love, the coward Love, still lags behind.
He upbraids and threatens the avarice of Neæra,
and resolves to quit her.
SHOULD Jove descend in floods of liquid ore,
And golden torrents stream from every part,
That craving bosom still would heave for more,
Not all the gods could satisfy thy heart:
But may thy folly, which can thus disdain
My honest love, the mighty wrong repay,
May midnight fire involve thy sordid gain,
And on the shining heaps of rapine prey:
May all the youths, like me, by love deceiv'd,
Not quench the ruin, but applaud the doom;
And, when thou dy'st, may not one heart be griev'd,
May not one tear bedew the lonely tomb.
But the deserving, tender, generous maid,
Whose only care is her poor lover's mind,
Though ruthless age may bid her beauty fade,
In every friend to love, a friend shall find:
And, when the lamp of life will burn no more,
When dead she seems as in a gentle sleep,
The pitying neighbour shall her loss deplore,
And round the bier assembled lovers weep:
With flowery garlands, each revolving year,
The lover is at first introduced speaking to his servant, he afterwards addresses himself to his mistress, and at last there is a supposed interview between them.
WITH wine, more wine, deceive thy master's care,
Till creeping slumber soothe his troubled breast,
Let not a whisper stir the silent air,
If hapless love a while consent to rest.
Untoward guards beset my Cynthia's doors,
And cruel locks th' imprison'd fair conceal,
May lightnings blast whom love in vain implores,
And Jove's own thunder rive those bolts of steel.
Ah, gentle door, attend my humble call,
Nor let thy sounding hinge our thefts betray,
So all my curses far from thee shall fall,
We angry lovers mean not half we say.
Remember now the flowery wreaths I gave,
When first I told thee of my bold desires,
Nor thou, O Cynthia, fear the watchful slave,
Venus will favour what herself inspires.
She guides the youth who see not where they tread,
She shows the virgin how to turn the door,
Shall strow the grave where truth and softness rest, Softly to steal from off her silent bed,
Then home returning, drop the pious tear,
And bid the turf lie easy on her breast.
And not a step betray her on the floor.
The fearless lover wants no beam of light,
The robber knows him, nor obstructs his way,
Sacred he wanders through the pathless night,
To his friend, written under the confinement of a Belongs to Venus, and can never stray.
WHILE calm you sit beneath your secret shade,
And lose in pleasing thought the summer-day,
Or tempt the wish of some unpractis'd maid,
Whose heart at once inclines and fears to stray:
The sprightly vigour of my youth is fled,
Lonely and sick, on death is all my thought,
Oh, spare, Persephone, this guiltless head,
Love, too much love, is all thy suppliant's fault.
No virgin's easy faith I c'er betray'd,
My tongue ne'er boasted of a feign'd embrace;
No poisons in the cup have I convey'd,
Nor veil'd destruction with a friendly face:
No secret horrours gnaw this quiet breast,
This pious hand ne'er robb'd the sacred fane,
I ne'er disturb'd the gods' eternal rest
With curses loud,-but oft have pray'd in vain.
No stealth of Time has thinn'd my flowing hair,
Nor Age yet bent me with his iron hand :
Ah! why so soon the tender blossom tear!
Ere autumn yet the ripen'd fruit demand?
Ye gods, whoe'er in gloomy shades below,
Now slowly tread your melancholy round;
Now wandering view the paleful rivers flow,
And musing hearken to their solemn sound:
O, let me still enjoy the chearful day,
Till, many years unheeded o'er me roll'd,
Pleas'd in my age, I trifle life away,
And tell how much we lov'd, ere I grew old.
But you, who now, with festive garlands crown'd,
In chase of pleasure the gay moments spend,
Py quick enjoyment heal love's pleasing wound,
And grieve for nothing but your absent friend.
I scorn the chilling wind, and beating rain,
Nor heed cold watchings on the dewy ground,
If all the hardships I for love sustain,
With love's victorious joys at last be crown'd:
With sudden step let none our bliss surprise,
Or check the freedom of secure delight—
Rash man beware, and shut thy curious eyes,
Lest angry Venus snatch their guilty sight.
But shouldst thou see, th' important secret hide,
Though question'd by the powers of Earth and
Heaven,
The prating tongue shall love's revenge abide,
Still sue for grace, and never be forgiven.
A wizard-dame, the lover's ancient friend,
With magic charm has deaft thy husband's ear,
At her command I saw the stars descend,
And winged lightnings stop in mid career.
I saw her stamp, and cleave the solid ground,
While gastly spectres round us wildly roam;
I saw them hearken to her potent sound,
Till, scar'd at day, they sought their dreary home.
At her command the vigorous summer pines,
And wintery clouds obscure the hopeful year;
At her strong bidding, gloomy winter shines,
And vernal roses on the snows appear.
She gave these charms, which I on thee bestow,
They dim the eye, and dull the jealous mind,
For me they make a husband nothing know,
For me, and only me, they make him blind:
But what did most this faithful heart surprise,
She boasted that her skill could set it free:
This faithful heart the boasted freedom flies;
How could it venture to abandon thee?
He adjures Delia to pity him, by their friendship with Calia, who was lately dead.
THOUSANDS Would seek the lasting peace of death,
And in that harbour shun the storm of care,
Officious hope still holds the fleeting breath,
She tells them still,-To-morrow will be fair.
She tells me, Delia, I shall thee obtain,
But can I listen to her syren song,
Who seven slow months have dragg'd my painful
So long thy lover, and despis'd so long?
By all the joys thy dearest Cælia gave,
Let not her once-lov'd friend unpitied burn;
So may her ashes find a peaceful grave,
And sleep uninjur'd in their sacred urn.
To her I first avow'd my timorous flame,
She nurs'd my hopes, and taught me how to sue,
She still would pity what the wise might blame,
And feel for weakness which she never knew:
Ah, do not grieve the dear lamented shade,
That hovering round us all my sufferings hears,
She is my saint,-to her my prayers are made,
With oft repeated gifts of flowers and tears:
To her sad tomb at midnight I retire,
And lonely sitting by the silent stone,
I tell it all the griefs my wrongs inspire,
The marble image seems to hear my moan:
O, Ceres! in your golden fields no more,
With harvest's chearful pomp, my fair detain,-
Think what for lost Proserpina you bore,
And in a mother's anguish feel my pain.
Our wiser fathers left their fields unsown,
Their food was acorns, love their sole employ,
They met, they lik'd, they staid but till alone,
And in each valley snatch'd the honest joy.
No wakeful guard, no doors to stop desire,
Thrice happy times!--But, oh! I fondly rave,
Lead me to Delia, all her eyes inspire
I'll do. I'll plough, or dig as Delia's slave.
He despairs that he shall ever possess Delia. An, what avails thy lover's pious care? His lavish incense clouds the sky in vain, Nor wealth nor greatness was his idle prayer, For thee alone he pray'd, thee hop'd to gain: With thee I hop'd to waste the pleasing day, Till in thy arms an age of joy was past, Then, old with love, insensibly decay, And on thy bosom gently breathe my last. I scorn the Lydian river's golden wave. And all the vulgar charms of human life,
I only ask to live my Delia's slave,
And, when I long have serv'd her, call her wife :
I only ask, of her I love possest,
Thy friend's pale ghost shall vex thy sleepless bed, To sink, o'ercome with bliss, in safe repose,
And stand before thee all in virgin white;
That ruthless bosom will disturb the dead,
And call forth pity from eternal night:
Cease, cruel man, the mournful theme forbear,
Though much thou suffer, to thyself complain:
Ah, to recal the sad remembrance spare,
One tear from her is more than all thy pain.
To strain her yielding beauties to my breast,
And kiss her wearied eye-lids till they close.
Attend, O Juno! with thy sober ear,
Attend, gay Venus, parent of desire;
This one fond wish, if you refuse to hear,
Oh, let me with this sigh of love expire.
ELEGY IX.
On Delia's being in the country, where he supposes HE who could first two gentle hearts unbind, she stays to see the harvest.
Now Delia breathes in woods the fragrant air,
Dull are the hearts that still in town remain,
Venus herself attends on Delia there,
And Cupid sports amid the sylvan train.
Oh, with what joy, my Delia to behold,
I'd press the spade, or wield the weighty prong,
Guide the slow plough-share thro' the stubborn mold,
And patient goad the loitering ox along :
The scorching heats I'd carelessly despise,
Nor heed the blisters on my tender hand;
The great Apollo wore the same disguise,
Like me subdued to love's supreme command.
No healing herbs could sooth their master's pain,
The art of physic lost, and useless lay,
To Peneus' stream, and Tempe's shady plain,
He drove his herds beneath the noon-tide ray:
Oft with a bleating lamb in either arm,
His blushing sister saw him pace along;
Oft would his voice the silent valley charm,
Till lowing oxen broke the tender song.
Where are his triumphs? where his warlike toil?
Where by his darts the crested Pithon slain?
Where are his Delphi? his delightful isle?
The god himself is grown a cottage swain.
Aud rob a lover of his weeping fair,
Hard was the man, but harder, in my mind,
The lover still, who dy'd not of despair:
With mean disguise let others nature hide,
And mimic virtue with the paint of art,
I scorn the cheat of reason's foolish pride,
And boast the graceful weakness of my heart.
The more I think, the more I feel my pain,
And learn the more each heavenly charm to prize ;
While fools, too light for passion, safe remain,
And dull sensation keeps the stupid wise.
Sad is my day, and sad my lingering night,
When, wrapt in silent grief, I weep aloue,
Delia is lost, and all my past delight
Is now the source of unavailing moan.
Where is the wit that heighten'd beauty's charms?
Where is the face that fed my longing eyes?
Where is the shape that might have blest my arms?
Where are those hopes relentless Fate denies ?
When spent with endless grief I die at last,
Delia may come, and see my poor remains,—
Oh, Delia ! after such an absence past,
Canst thou still love, and not forget my pains?
Wilt thou in tears thy lover's corse attend,
With eyes averted light the solemn pyre,
Till all around the doleful flames ascend,
Then, slowly sinking, by degrees expire?
To soothe the hovering soul, be thine the care,
With plaintive cries to lead the mournful band,
In sable weeds the golden vase to bear,
And cull my ashes with thy trembling hand!
Panchaia's odours be their costly feast,
And all the pride of Asia's fragrant year;
Give them the treasures of the farthest East,
And, what is still more precious, give thy tear.
Dying for thee, there is in death a pride,
Let all the world thy hapless lover know,
No silent urn the noble passion hide,
But deeply graven thus my sufferings show:
"Here lies a youth, borne down with love and care,
He could not long his Delia's loss abide,
Joy left his bosom with the parting fair,
And when he durst no longer hope, he dy'd."
THIS day, which saw my Delia's beauty rise,
Shall more than all our sacred days be blest,
The world enamour'd of her lovely eyes,
Shall grow as good and gentle as her breast.
By all our guardied sighs, and hid desires,
Oh, may our guiltless love be still the same!
I burn, and glory in the pleasing fires,
If Delia's bosom share the mutual flame.
Thou happy genius of her natal hour,
Accept her incense, if her thoughts be kind;
But let her court in vain thy angry power,
If all our vows are blotted from her mind.
And thou, O Venus, hear my righteous prayer,
Or bind the shepherdess, or loose the swain,
Yet rather guard them both with equal care,
And let them die together in thy chain:
What I demand, perhaps her heart desires,
But virgin fears her nicer tongue restrain;
The secret thought, which blushing love inspires,
The conscious eye can full as well explain.
Against lovers going to war, in which he philosophically prefers love and Delia to the more serious vanities of the world.
THE man who sharpen'd first the warlike steel,
How fell and deadly was his iron heart,
He gave the wound encountering nations feel,
And Death grew stronger by his fatal art:
Yet not from steel debate and battle rose,
'Tis gold o'erturns the even scale of life,
Nature is free to all, and none were foes,
Till partial luxury began the strife.
Let spoil and victory adorn the bold,
While I inglorious neither hope nor fear,
Perish the thirst of honour, thirst of gold,
Ere for my absence Delia lose a tear :
Why should the lover quit his pleasing home,
In search of danger on some foreign ground;
Far from his weeping fair ungrateful roam,
And risk in every stroke a double wound?
Ah, better far, beneath the spreading shade,
With chearful friends to drain the sprightly bowl,
To sing the beauties of my darling maid,
And on the sweet idea feast my soul:
Then full of love to all her charms retire,
And fold her blushing to my eager breast,
Till, quite o'ercome with softness, with desire,
Like me she pants, she faints, and sinks to rest.
ELEGY XII.
No second love shall e'er my art surprize,
This solemn league did first our passion bind:
Thou, only thou, canst please thy lover's eyes,
Thy voice alone can soothe his tro bled mind.
Oh, that thy charms were only fair to me,
Displease all others, and secure my rest,
No need of envy,-let me happy be,
I little care that others know me blest.
With thee in gloomy deserts let me dwell,
Where never human footstep mark'd the ground;
Thou, light of life, all darkness canst expel,
And seem a world with solitude around.
say too much-my heedless words restore,
My tongue undoes me in this loving hour;
Thou know'st thy strength, and thence insulting more,
Will make me feel the weight of all thy power:
Whate'er I feel, thy slave I will remain,
Nor fly the burthen I am form'd to bear,
In chains I'll sit me down at Venus' fane,
She knows my wrongs, and will regard my prayer.
He imagines himself married to Delia, and that, content with each other, they are retired into the country.
LET others boast their heaps of shining gold,
And view their fields, with waving plenty crown'd,
Whom neighbouring foes in constant terrour hold,
And trumpets break their slumbers, never sound:
While calmly poor I trifle life away,
Enjoy sweet leisure by my chearful fire,
No wanton hope my quiet shall betray,
But, cheaply blest, I'll scorn each vain desire.
With timely care I'll sow my little field,
And plant my orchard with its master's hand,
Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield,
Or range my sheaves along the sunny land.
If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam,
I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb,
Under my arm I'll bring the wanderer home,
And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.
What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain,
And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast?
Or lull'd to slumber by the beating rain,
Secure and happy, sink at last to rest?
Or, if the Sun in flaming Leo ride,
By shady rivers indolently stray,
And with my Delia, walking side by side,
Hear how they murmur, as they glide away?
What joy to wind along the cool retreat,
To stop, and gaze on Delia as I go?
To mmgle sweet discourse with kisses sweet,
And teach my lovely scholar all I know?
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