SONG. Nor the phoenix in his death, Nor those banks where violets grow, Yield a perfume like her breath. But, O! marriage, makes the spell, The twin beauties of the skies, (When the half-sunk sailors haste To rend sail and cut their mast) Shine not welcome as her eyes; But those beams, than storms more black, Then for fear of such a fire, Which kills worse than the long night Which benumbs the Moscovite, I must from my life retire. But, oh no, for if her eye Warm me not, I freeze and die. THE DESCRIPTION OF CASTARA. [Abridged from 7 stanzas.] LIKE the violet, which alone My Castara lives unknown, Such is her beauty, as no arts Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace; Her high birth no pride imparts, She her throne makes reason climb, And, each article of time, Her pure thoughts to heaven fly. All her vows religious be, And her love she vows to me. OF TRUE DELIGHT. WHY doth the ear so tempt the voice As soon as I my ear obey, The echo's lost ev'n with the breath; And when the sewer takes away, I'm left with no more taste than death. Be curious in pursuit of eyes, To procreate new loves with thine ;Satiety makes sense despise What superstition thought divine. Quick fancy how it mocks delight! The rose yields her sweet blandishment, Lost in the folds of lovers' wreaths: The violet enchants the scent, When early in the spring she breathes. But winter comes, and makes each flower Shrink from the pillow where it grows; Or an intruding cold hath power To scorn the perfume of the rose. Our senses, like false glasses, show TO CASTARA. GIVE me a heart, where no impure Nor vanity t' expence engage; Which not the softness of the age To vice or folly doth decline: Give me that heart, Castara-for 'tis thine. Take thou a heart, where no new look Provokes new appetite; With no fresh charm of beauty took, Aiming each beauteous mark to hit; Take thou that heart, Castara-for 'tis mine. |