A LETTER FROM SEA.
FAIREST! if time and abfence can incline
Your heart to wand'ring thoughts no more than mine,
Then shall my hand, as changeless as my mind,
From your glad eyes a kindly welcome find;
Then, while this note my conftancy affures,
You'll be almost as pleas'd as I with your's:
And, trust me, when I feel that kind relief,
Abfence itself a while fufpends its grief:
So may it do with you, but straight return,
For it were cruel not fometimes to mourn
His fate who, this long time he keeps away,
Mourns all the night, and fighs out all the day;
Grieving yet more when he reflects that you
Muft not be happy, or must not be true:
But fince to me it feems a blacker fate
To be inconftant than unfortunate,
Remember all thofe vows between as past,
When I from all I value parted last;
May you alike with kind impatience burn,
And fomething mifs till I with joy return;
And foon may pitying Heav'n that blessing give,
As in the hopes of that alone I live.
WHEN I held out against your eyes
You took the fureft courfe;
A heart unwary to surprise
You ne'er could take by force.
However, tho' I strive no more,
The fort will now be priz'd,
Which if furrender'd up before
Perhaps had been despis'd.
But, gentle Amoretta! tho'
I cannot love refift,
Think not, when you have caught me fo,
To use me as you lift.
Inconftancy or coldness will
A heart by kindness only gain'd
Will a dear conquest prove,
And, to be kept, must be maintain'd
At vaft expense of love.
FROM wars and plagues come no fuch harms
As from a nymph fo full of charms;
So much sweetness in her face,
In her motions fuch a grace,.
In her kind inviting eyes
Such a foft enchantment lies,
That we please ourselves too foon,
And are with empty hopes undone.
After all her foftness, we
Are but flaves, while fhe is free;
Free, alas! from all defire,
Except to set the world on fire.
Thou, fair Diffembler! doft but thus
Deceive thyself as well as us.
Like a restless monarch, thou
Wouldft rather force mankind to bow,
And venture round the world to roam,
Than govern peaceably at home.
But, trust me, Celia, trust me, when
Apollo's felf inspires my pen,
One hour of love's delight outweighs
Whole years of universal praise;
And one adorer, kindly us'd,
Gives truer joys than crowds refus'd.
For what does youth and beauty serve?
Why more than all your sex deserve?
Why fuch foft alluring arts
To charm our eyes and melt our hearts?
By our lofs you nothing gain;
Unless you love you please in vain.
RETIRING INTO A MONASTERY.
WHAT breaft but your's can hold the double fire
Of fierce devotion and of fond defire?
Love would fhine forth were not your zeal so bright,
Whofe glaring flames eclipfe his gentler light:
Lefs feems the faith that mountains can remove, 5
Than this which triumphs over youth and love.
But shall some threat'ning priest divide us two?
What worse than that could all his curfes do?
Thus with a fright fome have refign'd their breath,
And poorly dy'd, only for fear of death.
Heav'n fees our paffions with indulgence ftill, And they who lov'd well can do nothing ill. While to us nothing but ourselves is dear,
Should the world frown, yet what have we to fear? 14
Fame, wealth, and pow'r, thofe high-priz'd gifts of
The low concerns of a less happy state,
Are far beneath us: Fortune's felf may take
Her aim at us, yet no impreffion make:
Let worldlings afk her help or fear her harms,
We can lie fafe, lock'd in each other's arms,
Like the blefs'd faints, eternal raptures know,
And flight thofe ftorms that vainly rest below.
Yet this, all this, you are refolv'd to quit; I fee my ruin, and I must submit: But think, O think! before you prove unkind, How loft a wretch you leave forlorn behind. Malignant envy, mix'd with hate and fear, Revenge for wrongs too burdenfome to bear, Ev'n zeal itself, from whence all mifchiefs fpring, Have never done fo barbarous a thing.
With fuch a fate the heav'ns decreed to vex
Armida once, tho' of the fairer sex :
Rinaldo fhe had charm'd with so much art,
Her's was his pow'r, his perfon, and his heart:
Honour's high thoughts nomore his mind could move,
She footh'd his rage, and turn'd it all to love;
When straight a guft of fierce devotion blows,
And in a moment all her joys o'erthrows:
The poor Armida tears her golden hair,
Matchlefs till now for love or for despair.
Who is not mov'd while the fad nymph complains?
Yet you now act what Taffo only feigns;
And after all our vows, our fighs, our tears,
My banifh'd forrows, and your conquer'd fears,
So many doubts, so many dangers, past,
Vifions of zeal must vanquish me at last.
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