His rage can in my smiles alone relent,
And all his joys solicit my consent.
'Soft love, spontaneous tree, its parted root
Must from two hearts with equal vigour shoot,
Whilst each delighted, and delighting, gives
The pleasing ecstasy which each receives:
Cherish'd with hope, and fed with joy, it grows,
Its cheerful buds their opening bloom disclose,
And round the happy soil diffusive odour flows.
If angry fate that mutual care denies,
The fading plant bewails its due supplies:
Wild with despair, or sick with grief, it dies.
"By force beasts act, and are by force restrain'd;
The human mind by gentle means is gain'd.
Thy useless strength, mistaken King, employ :
Sated with rage, and ignorant of joy,
Thou shalt not gain what I deny to yield,
Nor reap the harvest, though thou spoil'st the field.
Know, Solomon, thy poor extent of sway;
Contract thy brow, and Israel shall obey;
But wilful Love thou must with smiles appease,
Approach his awful throne by just degrees,
And, if thou wouldst be happy, learn to please. S
'Not that those arts can here successful prove,
For I am destin'd to another's love.
Beyond the cruel bounds of thy command,
To my dear equal, in my native land,
My plighted vow I gave; I his receiv'd:
Each swore with truth, with pleasure each believ'd:
The mutual contract was to heaven convey'd;
In equal scales the busy angels weigh'd
Its solemn force, and clapp'd their wings and spread
The lasting roll, recording what we said.
Now in my heart behold thy poniard stain❜d: Take the sad life which I have long disdain'd; End, in a dying virgin's wretched fate,
Thy ill-star'd passion and my stedfast hate:
For long as blood informs these circling veins,
Or fleeting breath its latest pow'r retains,
Hear me to Egypt's vengeful gods declare
Hate is my part; be thine, O King, despair.
'Now strike, (she said, and open'd bare her
Stand it in Judah's Chronicles confess'd,
[breast)
That David's son, by impious passion mov'd,
Smote a she-slave, and murder'd what he lov'd.'
Asham'd, confus'd, I started from the bed,
And to my soul, yet uncollected, said,
'Into thyself, fond Solomon, return;
Reflect again, and thou again shalt mourn. [sought,
When I through number'd years have pleasure
And in vain hope the wanton phantom caught,
To mock my sense and mortify my pride,
'Tis in another's power, and is denied.
Am I a king, great Heaven! does life or death
Hang on the wrath or mercy of my breath,
While kneeling I my servant's smiles implore,
And one mad damsel dares dispute my pow'r?
To ravish her? that thought was soon depress❜d,
Which must debase the monarch to the beast.
To send her back? O whither, and to whom?
To lands where Solomon must never come?
To that insulting rival's happy arms
For whom, disdaining me, she keeps her charms?
Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart,
How hard thy yoke! how cruel is thy dart!
Those 'scape thy anger who refuse thy sway,
And those are punished most, who most obey.
See Judah's king revere thy greater pow'r;
What canst thou covet, or how triumph more?
Why then, O Love, with an obdurate ear
Does this proud nymph reject a monarch's pray'r?
Why to some simple shepherd does she run,
From the fond arms of David's favourite son?
Why flies she from the glories of a court,
Where wealth and pleasure may thy reign support,
To some poor cottage on the mountain's brow,
Now bleak with winds, and covered now with snow,
Where pinching want must curb her warm desires,
And household cares suppress thy genial fires?
Too aptly the afflicted heathens prove
The force, while they erect the shrines of Love.
His mystic form the artizans of Greece
In wounded stone or molten gold express;
And Cyprus to his godhead pays her vow,
Fast in his hand the idol holds his bow;
A quiver by his side sustains his store
Of pointed darts, sad emblems of his pow'r;
A pair of wings he has, which he extends
Now to be gone, which now again he bends,
Prone to return, as best may serve his wanton
ends.
Entirely thus I find the fiend pourtray'd,
Since first, alas! I saw the beauteous maid;
I felt him strike, and now I see him fly:
Curs'd demon: O! for ever broken lie
Those fatal shafts by which I inward bleed!
O! can my wishes yet o'ertake thy speed!
Tir'd may'st thou pant, and hang thy flagging
Except thou turn'st thy course, resolv'd to bring The damsel back, and save the love-sick king.
My soul thus struggling in the fatal net,
Unable to enjoy or to forget,
I reason'd much, alas! but more I lov'd,
Sent and recall'd, ordain'd and disapprov'd,
Till, hopeless, plung'd in an abyss of grief,
I from necessity receiv'd relief;
Time gently aided to assuage my pain,
And Wisdom took once more the slacken'd rein.
But O how short my interval of woe!
Our griefs how swift, our remedies how slow!
Another nymph (for so did Heaven ordain,
To change the manner, but renew the pain)
Another nymph, amongst the many fair
That made my softer hours their solemn care,
Before the rest affected still to stand,
And watch'd my eye, preventing my command.
Abra, she so was call'd, did soonest haste
To grace my presence; Abra went the last :
Abra was ready ere I call'd her name,
And though I call'd another, Abra came.
Her equals first observ'd her growing zeal,
And laughing gloss'd, that Abra serv'd so well.
To me her actions did unheeded die,
Or were remark'd but with a common eye,
Till more appriz'd of what the rumour said,
More I observ'd peculiar in the maid.
The sun declin'd had shot his western ray,
When, tir'd with business of the solemn day,
I purpos'd to unbend the evening hours,
And banquet private in the women's bowers.
I call'd before I sat to wash my hands,
For so the precept of the law commands:
Love had ordain'd that it was Abra's turn
To mix the sweets and minister the urn.
With awful homage and submissive dread The maid approach'd, on my declining head To pour the oils: she trembled as she pour'd; With an unguarded look she now devour'd My nearer face: and now recall'd her eye, And heav'd, and strove to hide a sudden sigh. * And when (said I) canst thou have dread or pain? What can thy imagery of sorrow mean? Secluded from the world and all its care, Hast thou to grieve or joy, to hope or fear? For sure, I added, sure thy little heart Ne'er felt Love's anger, or receiv'd his dart.' Abash'd she blush'd, and with disorder spoke; Her rising shame adorn'd the words it broke. 'If the great master will descend to hear The humble series of his handmaid's care, O! while she tells it, let him not put on The look that awes the nations from the throne: O! let not death severe in glory lie
In the King's frown, and terror of his eye.
'Mine to obey, thy part is to ordain;
And though to mention be to suffer pain,
If the King smiles whilst I my woe recite,
If weeping I find favour in his sight,
Flow fast my tears, full rising his delight.
'O! witness earth beneath and heaven above, For can I hide it? I am sick of love;
If madness may the name of passion bear,
Or love be call'd what is indeed despair.
"Thou sovereign Power, whose secret will con-
trols
The inward bent and motion of our souls!
Why hast thou plac'd such infinite degrees
Between the cause and cure of my disease?
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