His pinions he had sing'd; but with love's torch,
Which not so much his plumes as heart did scorch;
Drench'd too he bad, and wet his lighter wing,
Not in the sea's salt waves, but love's sweet spring.
And now seven times the Sun with quick'ning ray
Had lighted in the east the lamp of day;
As oft the humid night had wrapp'd the skies
In her black mantle, wrought with stars like
eyes;
And yet no day goes by, no night e'er passes,
But sees these lovers link'd in close embraces.
But from those arms (where long a pris'ner held)
The loit'ring god, now to return compell'd,
Unwillingly their dear embrace declin'd:
Yet left a growing pledge of love behind.
Nine times already had the Moon (constrain'd
By course) her orb into a crescent wan'd;
As oft (her horns spread to a round) had run
With light that seem'd to emulate the Sun;
When a sweet boy (so genial stars dispos'd)
Fair Cytherea's pregnant womb disclos'd.
In their warm laps new born the Graces laid him,
And with their softer arms a cradle made him.
Beauty first suckled him at her white breast
And her idea in his looks imprest.
About him did like little antics play,
Laughter, and Mirth, and smil'd his cries away.
No noise, but light breath'd from his lips of roses,
Such as the sky no thunder heard discloses,
Nor like to other children's, seem'd his eyes
Two springs of tears, but like two suns to rise:
Whence all presag'd that they in time should prove
No less the food than the sweet fire of love.
His beauty with his years did still increase;
Whilst his fair mother, longing to impress
The image of herself in his lov'd face,
Did every day add some celestial grace.
Now grown a youth, behold him, with the darts
Of his bright eyes, subduing female hearts:
The living picture of his parents; where
Their mixed beauties seem t' have equal share.
From father both and mother name he took,
From father both and mother his sweet look.
All the feign'd beauties of the world seem'd met
In him, as in their living counterfeit.
Where Nature (like Apelles) the best graces
(To add to his) cull'd from a thousand faces.
Upon his ivory front you might behold
His curled tresses flow like waves of gold,
And as enamoured on his lovely face,
That with their soft and twining arins embrace.
Then like loose wantons 'bout his neck to twist
Glad that they might by its warm snow be kist.
View his fair front, and thou'lt say that displays
A clear horizon deck'd with inorning rays;
And as we see beneath the dawning gleams
O'th' morn, the Sun shoot forth his brighter beams;
So here might you perceive alike to rise
In's front the morn, the Sun in his bright eyes.
His melting lips, speech's vermilion gate,
Soft seat of smiles, blushes so sweet dilate,
As seem at once to ravish the pleas'd sight,
And to a kiss the longing touch invite;
Through which a fragrant Zephyrus transpires,
That fans and kindles both love's flagrant fires.
Nor can one tell (no grace in either missing)
Which best becomes them, speaking, smiling,
kissing.
Look on his tender cheek, and there thou'lt spy The rose, as in a throne of majesty,
(Whose softer wing the flowers does ligtly brush)
Curls into trembling waves the field's green plush.
I'th' midst of this fair plain, the tumid earth
(As if impregnate with a fruitful birth)
Swells gently up into an easy hill:
Where crown'd with sweets the spring sits smiling
And, as from thence she sheds her balmy showers,
The ground with grass enamels, that with flowers:
Whose pregnant womb a chrystal issue teems;
Which, as it glides along with purling streams,
(That settle in a verdant vale) does make
Of a small rivulet, an ample lake;
In which no weeds their muddy dwelling have,
To stain the native clearness of the wave;
But as the Sun pure christal by its light
Transpierces, so the penetrating sight
May through the water here, the bottom spye
Chequer'd with pebbles of a various dye :
And see how the mute people of the flood,
With ebon backs, and silver bellies scud.
The flowers which on its fertile borders grow,
As if in love with their own beauties show:
Bending their fragrant tops, and slender stems
Narcissus-like, to gaze on the clear streams.
Where limn'd in water colours to the life
They see themselves; and raise a pleasing strife
In the deluded sense at the first view
To judge which flowers are counterfeit, which true.
On the left hand of this transparent flood,
Fringing the plain's green verge, there stands a wood
Where lovers' myrtles, and the poet's bays,
Their spreading tops to native arbours raise:
From whose tall crowns like a black vail the shade
Falling, the lake's clear bosom does invade.
So thick the trees are, they exclude Heaven's sight,
And make a leafy screen 'gainst the Sun's light.
Whose close weav'd branches a new heaven present
And to the sight form a green firmament:
In which like fixed stars one might espy
Gold-colour'd apples glitter to the eye;
Which, though no motion circular they run,
Want not yet that of trepidation.
No vulgar birds there make their mean abodes,
But winged heroes, music's demigods,
Whose plumes, like gems, with various colours shine,
Their beaks of orient hue, their notes divine:
Whilst this sweet place seems a retired cell,
Where Love and Flora with the Muses dwell.
Within these dark, yet pleasant coverts bred,
Close by the lake, a nymph inhabited:
A nymph; her breast more snowy, looks more fair,
Her eyes more diamonds, and more gold her hair,
Than ever nymph could boast that hath been seen
To haunt the woods, or press the flow'ry green.
The chase she lov'd not, nor with hound or spear
Would charge the tusked bore, or savage bear.
Nor at a mark or quarry bow would bend:
Nor in a race with other nymphs contend.
To her the Naiades would often say,
"Fair Salmacis, fair Cynthia's laws obey:
Her sports pursue; and in thy hand a spear,
Or at thy side a painted quiver bear."
But she who other pleasures had in chase,
As the proud mistress of so proud a place,
Disdains to set a foot beyond the bounds
Of those lov'd shades, or tread on meaner grounds.
There with its liquid streams the neighbouring lake
A lukewarm bath for her fair limbs did make.
The neighbouring lake, which oft itself discovers,
Swell'd by the tears of her forsaken lovers;
And though her heart did fly, her pace did slack. Yet she observ'd to lighten in his look
I know not what majestic grace, which struck Her eye not with more terror than delight, And less did dazzle than it did invite. Whence fir'd with hope, yet freezing with despair, She nearer fearfully approach'd; and there Sent him by the light waftage of the wind, A sigh, an Ah me," nuncios of her mind. And now her passion gaining vent, affords Her tongue the liberty and use of words: But lame, and broken; yet that serve t' imply, 'I'was this she meant, "Be kind, or else I die. Sweet stranger! if a soul lodge in thy breast Fair as thy outside, hear a nymph's request: That begs thou'lt take thy inn up in this shade, (And gods their daellings in the woods have made.) Here on this bank may'st thou repose thy head, Or on my bosom make thy softer bed: The air here still is sweet, still cool; if by My sighs iußam'd it be not, or thy eye: That eye which quick as light'uing dames does dart; And sooner than I saw it, scorch'd my heart, more than happy wert th u. Salmacis! if he (but dream not of so great a bliss) Should prove so kind to lay thee by his side, Not as his mistress only, but his bride. But if that joy another do possess, O let me, as her rival ne'ertheless (Since here is none that may the theft reveal) From thy sweet lips a kiss in private steal.
But should some goddess nourish in thy breast
A nobler fire; deny not a request
To one that dies; if more I cannot move,
A kiss for pity grant, if not for love.
Or if too much that se m; pray let me have
What sisters yet may from their brothers crave.”
Here ceas'd to speak; and with that forward press'd
To have join'd hip to lip, and breast to breast.
But the shy youth coily repuls'd ber still,
As cold in love, as deaf unto her will,
Dying with blushes of a deeper stain,
The native crimson of his cheeks, in grain.
(For a bold suitor, of a cold denier
When he the heart cannot, the face will fire.)
At last with a coy lock, thus mov'd, he spake :
"Fair nymph, be gone, or 1 the place forsake.
You but deceive yourself to think my mind
Will to such wanton follies be inclin'd."
At which (with his desires glad to comply,
Yet loath to lose the pleasure of her eye)
She sadly cr eps behind a bushy skreen,
There closely skulks to see, and not be seen.
Ad now the planet worshipp'd in the east
Rid on the back of the Nemean beast;
And from the inflam'd meridian, that bends
Like to a bow, his beams like arrows sends,
When this fair traveller, with heat opprest,
And the day's toils, here laid him down to rest,
Where the soft grass, and the thick trees, display'd
A flow'ry couch, and a cool arbour made.
About him round the grassy spires (in hope
To gain a kiss) their verdant heads perk'd up.
The lily, the field's candidate, there stands
A suitor for the favour of his hands:
And here the blush-dy'd amaranthus seeks,
And finds itself outrivall'd in his checks:
Whilst the enamoured trees, t' embrace him, bend
Their shady crowns, and leavy arms extend.
Mean time from his fair front he rains a shower Of shining pearl drops, whilst his bright eyes pore On the nymph's heart, (that melts through hot desire
T' enjoy what she beholds) a flood of fire.
This place at length he leaves, rous'd by the call
Of the near waters' sweetly murmuring fall;
Where, on the bank his sandals off he slips,
And in the christal streams his ancles dips;
Whilst the clear lake, as his pure fect he laves,
Feels love's warm fire mix with its colder waves:
And now, not his fair feet content alone
To kiss, desires (an amorous wanton grown)
(That she might nearer to her wish aspire)
Her bottom deeper, or her waters higher;
Which (to their power) to rise when moved
As if they long'd to bathe ench curious limb.
The youth with pleasure on the flood doth gaze,
And in that watery glass his face surveys,
Admiring, with a look stedfastly set,
His real beauty in his counterfeit.
And sure he with himself in love had fell,
Had he not heard of fond Narcissus tell,
Who from cold streams attracting fatal fire,
Did, to enjoy what he possest, expire.
Then stooping, he with hands together clos'd,
Hollowing their joined palmis, a cup compos'd
Of living alabaster; which when fill'd
With the sweet liquor the clear spring distill'd,
He gently lifts it to his head, then sips,
Both bath and beverage to his looks and lips.
Mean time with ravish'd thoughts the nymph
doth view
The sportive lad, and whilst he drinks, drinks too,
But in a different manner, from the lake
He his, her draught she from his eyes doth take.
His slacks his thirst, hers more inflames desire,
He sucks in water, but she dricks in fire.
And now, invited by the heat, and took
With the alluring temper of the brook,
Himself disrobing, the rich spoil he throws
Away, and his pure limbs all naked shows.
And like a new Sun with a darkening cloud
Invested, casting off the envious shroud,
He round about his beauteous light displays,
And makes the Earth a Heaven with his bright rays.
The nymph at this freezes at once and burns,
And fire with love and ice with wonder turns.
At length cries out: "Ah me! what see I here?
What deity leaving his heavenly sphere
Is come to sport him in these shades? sure by
His wounding look, and his inflaming eye
It should be Love; but no light wings appear
On his fair shoulders; strange he none should wear!
No; those he lent my heart; which from my breast
Its tight hath took, and now in his doth rest.
"Ah me, thou living Ætna! cloth'd in snow, Yet breathing flames, how lovely dost thou show! Cruell, yet cunning archer! that my heart
| Thou sure might'st hit, t' allure me with the dart."
But now from the green bank on which he stood,
Fetching his rise, he leaps into the flood;
Whose fall (as him the breaking waters take)
With a white foam all silvers o'er the lake ;
Where, as he swims, and his fair arms now bends,
Now their contracted nerves again extends,
He the nymph's heart (that peeps behind an oak)
Wounds from that ivory bow at every stroke.
Into another form he then converts
The motion of his arms, and like to darts, [shoot,
Now this, now that, through the clear waves does
His hand in motion answer'd by his foot;
For as he this contracts, he that extends,
And when this forward, that he backward sends ;
Whilst through the streams his purer limbs, like
Or lilies through transparent chrystal show ; [snow
His flowing hair, floating like that rich fleece
Which the first ship from Colchos brought to Greece.
The nymph at this stands as of sense quite void,
Or as no sense but seeing she enjoy'd.
At last from her full breast (of its close fire
The sparks) these broken accents did expire.
"Oh why (as Arethusa, or the joy ́
Of Galatea) cannot I (sweet boy)
Melt to a flood for thee? then (my fair sun!)
Thou might'st (to bathe thee) to my bosom run.”
More would sh' have said: but her full passion stopt
Her door of speech, and her eye's floodgates op't.
Struck with despair so dead, she scarce appears
To breathe, or live, but by her sighs and tears;
Yet though her silent tongue no words impart,
Her speaking thoughts discours'd thus with her
heart.
"Fond Satmacis! why flag thy hopes? thy mind
What fears deject? on; nor be e'er declin'd;
But boldly thy fair enemy assail.
See! thy desired prey's within the pale:
And love (perhaps in pity of thy pain,)
Offers what was deny'd thee by disdain.
Be resolute; and him, whose conquering eyes
Made thee his captive late, now make thy prize.
Fear not for pardon justly hope be may
Who plunders him that does deny to pay."
Thus she, rekindling her half-quench'd desires,
Her cheeks with blushes, heart with boldness fires.
Then forward moves a little; and anon,
Full speed, unto the lake does madly run.
But in the midst of her career repents,
And stops; suspended 'twixt two cross intents,
Like to a wavering balance: on, afraid;
Back, loath to go; and yet to either sway'd.
Now she advances; then again retreats:
Her fears now conquers, then her hopes defcats.
Struck with love's powerful thyrsus, at the last
(True Mænad like) her lighter robes off cast,
She hurries to the lake, then in she skips;
And in her wanton arms th' unwilling clips,
He, who love's fires ne'er felt in his coid breast, With fear at such a strange surprise possess'd, For help began to cry when she at this, "Ah, peace!" says, and his mouth stopp'd with a kiss.
Yet struggling, he her wishes did deny,
And from her shunn'd embraces strove to fly.
But whilst he labours to get loose, t' his breast
She faster cleayes; and his lips harder prest.
So when Jove's bird a snake hath truss'd, his wings
The more that plies, the more that 'bout 'em clings;
And leaves it doubtful to the gazer's view,
To tell which more is pris'ner of the two.
Fearful to lose yet her new-gotten prize,
The nymph to Heaven (sighing) erects her eyes:
"And shall my love" (says she) "triumph in vain,
Nor other trophy than a bare kiss gain?
O Jove! if what Fame sings of thee be true,
If e'er thou didst a bull's fierce shape indue,
And on thy back from the Phænician shore,
Thro' seas thy amorous theft in triumph bore,
Assist my vows; and grant that I may prove
As happy in this conquest of my love:
No force let our embraces e'er disjoin;
Breast unto breast unite; our souls entwine;
Tie heart to heart; and let the knitting charms
Sweet kisses be; the fetters, our soft arins.
Or if thou hast decreed that we must part,
Let that divorce divide life from my heart."
Jove heard her prayers; and, suddenly as strange,
Made of them both a mutual interchange;
And by an undiscern'd conjunction,
Two late divided bodies kait in one:
Her body straight a manly vigour felt,
And his did to a female softness melt.
Yet thus united, they with difference
Retain'd their proper reason, speech, and sence.
He liv'd and she apart, yet each in either;
Both one might well be said, yet that one neither.
This story by a river's side (as they
Sat and discours'd the tedious hours away)
Amintas to the coy Iole told:
Then adds: "O thou more fair, in love more cold
Than he! Heaven yet may make thee mine in spite,
That can such difference, ice and fire, unite."
This with a sigh the shepherd spake; whilst she
With a coy smile mock'd his simp'icity.
But now the setting Sun posting away,
Put both an end to their discourse and day.
Not that (said he) he murmur'd at his chains,
But pleas'd, sat down and blest his rigorous pains,
Not but his yoke so willingly he bare,
That liberty a greater bondage were.
Not but in spite of his maliciors fate,
(In crossing all his joys so obstinate)
He should unfore'd, ev'n to the grave, affect
That beauty, which his love did so neglect.
Yet those his reasons, so well urg'd, so fair,
With her that will hear none, no reasons are.
They more incense her: yet for fear she might
Be softened, she betook herself to flight.
Such were the winning graces of his tongue,
Proving his love did not her beauty wrong.
How oft, since that, by all fair means he try'd
(Whilst he the gods with sacrifices ply'd)
To bring the humourous nymph unto his bent,
And make her too obdurate heart relent!
His passions, sighs, and tears, were ready still,
As the officicus agents of his will,
To work her to a sense of his hard state;
But, 'las! his hopes grew still more desperate.
Nay, ev'n his voice, of so divine a strain,
So moving! mov'd in her nought but disdain.
Six years he liv'd perplex'd in this distress,
Without the least appearance of success,
When he by chance (as she a stag pursu'd)
Encounter'd her: whoe'er the queen hath view'd
Of wood-nymphs (Cynthia) a hunting go
After the boar, arm'd with her shafts and bow,
May then imagine the diviner grace,
The looks, the habit, stature, and the pace
Of beauteous Syivia, as she tripping came
Into the woods, pursuing of her game.
Soon as poor Lyrian, half dead with love,
Had spy'd her in that solitary grove,
For whom his wounded heart so long had bled,
He with these words pursues her as she fled.
"Art thou resolv'd then (Sylvia) 'gainst my cries
Thine ears to close, and 'gainst my verse thine eyes?
That verse which fame unto thy life does give;
And mu t I die, 'cause I have made thee live
Eternally? Seven years expired be
Since I've been tortur'd by thy cruelty;
And dost thou think that little strength supplies
My heart, for everlasting torments will suffice?
Shall I for ever only see thee stray [they?
'Mongst these wild woods, more senseless yet than
"Alas! how weak I'm grown with grief! I feel
My feeble legs beneath their burden reel!
O stay! I faint, nor longer can pursue,
Stay, and since sense thou lack'st, want motion too.
Stay, if for nothing else, to see me die!
At least vouchsafe, stern nymph, to tell me why
Thou cam'st into this dark and gloomy place?
Where Heaven with all its eyes can never trace
Or find thee out. Was't thy intent, the light
Of thy fair stars thus to obscure in night?
Or seek'st thou these cool shades, the ice and snow
That's 'bout thy heart to keep unmelted so?
In vain, coy nymph, thou light and heat dost shun:
Who e'er knew cold or shade attend the Sun?
Ah, cruel nymph! the rage dost thou not fear
Of those wild beasts, that in these woods appear?
No, no, thou art secure; and mayst out-vie
Both them and all the world for cruelty!
"Oh, thou that gloriest in a heart of stone!
Wilt thou not stay? yet seest (as if my moan
They pitied) each rough bramble 'bout thy foot
Does cling, and seems t' arrest thee at any suit?
Ye gods! what wonders do you here disclose?
The bramble hath more sweetness than the rose.
"But whither fly these idle words? In vain,
Poor, miserable wretch, thou dost complain,
After so many ills, (of which I bear
The sadder marks yet in my heart.) Now hear,
Ye gods, at last! and by a welcome death
A period put unto my wretched breath.
Ah, me! I faint! my spirits quite decay!
And yet I cannot move her heart to stay.
Ye hellish deeps! black gulphs, where horrour lies,
Open, and place yourselves before her eyes.
Had I Hippomenes' bright fruit, which stay'd
The swifter speed of the Schenæian maid,
They would not profit me; the world's round ball
Could not my cruel fugitive recall.
She is all rock, and I, who am all fire,
Pursue her night and day with vain desire.
O Nature! is it not a prodigy
To find a rock than fire more light to be?
But 1 mistake: for if a rock she were,
She'd answer me again as these do here."
Thus tir'd with running, and o'ercome with woe,
To see his mistress should out-strip him so,
Poor Lyrian yields himself as sorrow's prize,
His constancy aud amorous fervour dies,
Bloody despair ent'ring his captiv'd soul,
Does like a tyrant all his powers control.
Then, in the height of woe, to his relief
He calls the gods; yet, in the midst of grief,
All fair respect does still to Sylvia give,
To show that ev'n in death his love should live.
He who for Daphne like regret did prove, [love,
And the horn'd god (who, breathless, thought his
The fair-hair'd Syrinx, in his arms he clasp'd,
And slender reeds for her lov'd body grasp'd)
So far (rememb'ring their like amorous fate)
His unjust sufferings commiserate,
That both straight swore in passion, and disdain,
To punish the proud author of his pain:
Their powerful threats a like effect pursues;
See! that proud beauty a tree's shape endues!
Each of her hairs does sprout into a bough,
And she that was a nymph, an elm is now.
Whilst thus transform'd, her feet (to roots spread)
Fast in the ground, she was at last o'ertook [stuck
By panting Lyrian; happy yet, to see
Her he so priz'd within his power to be:
"Ye gods!" then says he, "who by this sad test
Have 'fore mine eyes Nature's great power exprest,
Grant that to this fair trunk, which love ne'er knew,
My heart may yet a love eternal shew."
This having said, unto the yet warm bole
He clings, (whilst a new form invests his soul)
Winding in thousand twines about it, whence
He's call'd of love the perfect symbol since.
In brief, this faithful lover now is found
An ivy stock; which, creeping from the ground
About the loved stem, still climbing is,
As if he sought her mouth to steal a kiss :
Each leaf's a heart, whose colour does imply
His wish obtain'd, love's perpetuity;
Which still his strict embraces evidence.
For all of him is lost but only sense,
And that you'd swear remains; and say (to see
The elm in his embraces hugg'd) that he,
Willing to keep what he had gain'd at last,
For fear she should escape, holds her so fast.
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