Who, wanting eyes thyfelf, refpecteft none,
And neither fpar'ft the laurel nor the crown!
O thou, whom all mankind in vain withstand,
Each of whofe blood muft one day stain thy hand!
O thou, who every eye that fees the light
Clofeft for ever in the fhades of night!
Goddefs, attend, and hearken to my grief,
To which thy power alone can give relief.
Alas! I afk not to defer my fate,
But with my hapless life a shorter date ;
And that the earth would in its bowels hide
A wretch, whom heaven invades on every fide :
That from the fight of day I could remove,
And might have nothing left me but my love.
Thou only comforter of minds opprest,
The port where wearied spirits are at rest;
Conductor to Elyfium, take my life,
My breaft I offer to thy facred knife;
So just a grace refuse not, nor despise
A willing, though a worthlefs facrifice.
Others (their frail and mortal ftate forgot)
Before thy altars are not to be brought
Without conftraint; the noise of dying rage,
Heaps of the flain of every fex and age,
The blade all reeking in the gore it shed,
With fever'd heads and arms confus'dly spread;
The rapid flames of a perpetual fire,
The groans of wretches ready to expire :
This tragic scene in terror makes them live,
Till that is forc'd which they should freely give;
Yielding unwillingly what heaven will have,
Their fears eclipfe the glory of their grave:
Before thy face they make indecent moan,
And feel a hundred deaths in fearing one:
Thy flame becomes unhallow'd in their breast,
And he a murderer who was a pricft.
But against me thy ftrongest forces call,
And on my head let all the tempest fall;
No mean retreat fhall any weakness show,
But calmly I'll expect the fatal blow;
My limbs not trembling, in my mind no fear,
Plaints in my mouth, nor in my eyes a tear.
Think not that Time, our wonted fure relief,
That univerfal cure for every grief,
Whofe aid fo many lovers oft' have found,
With like fuccefs can never heal my wound:
Too weak the power of nature or of art,
Nothing but death can ease a broken heart:
And that thou may'st behold my helpless state,
Learn the extremeft rigour of my fate.
Amidft th' innumerable beauteous train,
Paris, the queen of cities, does contain,
(The fairest town, the largest, and the best)
The fair Almeria fhin'd above the reft:
From her bright eyes to feel a hopeless flame,
Was of our youth the most ambitious aim;
Her chains were marks of honour to the brave,
She made a prince whene'er fhe made a slave.
Love, under whose tyrannic power I groan,
Shew'd me this beauty ere 'twas fully blown;
Her timorous charms, and her unpractis'd look,
Their first assurance from my conquest took;
By wounding me, she learn'd the fatal art,
And the first sigh she had was from my heart:
My eyes, with tears moistening her fnowy arms,
Render'd the tribute owing to her charms.
But, as I foonest of all mortals paid
My vows, and to her beauty altars made;
So, among all those flaves that figh'd in vain,
She thought me only worthy of my
chain :
Love's heavy burden my fubmiffive heart
Endur'd not long, before the bore her part;
My violent flame melted her frozen breast,
And in foft fighs her pity the express'd;
Her gentle voice allay'd my raging pains,
And her fair hands fuftain'd me in my chains;
Ev'n tears of pity waited on my moan,
And tender looks were caft on me alone.
My hopes and dangers were lefs mine than hers,
Those fill'd her foul with joys, and these with fears;
Our hearts, united, had the fame defires,
And both alike burn'd with impatient fires.
Too faithful Memory! I give thee leave
Thy wretched mafter kindly to deceive;
Oh, make me not poffeffor of her charms,
Let me not find her languish in my arms;
Past joys are now my fancy's mournful themes
Make all my happy nights appear but dreams :
Let not such blifs before my eyes be brought,
O hide thofe fcenes from my tormenting thought;
And in their place disdainful beauty show;
If thou would'st not be cruel, make her fo:
And, fomething to abate my deep despair,
O let her feem lefs gentle, or less fair.
But I in vain flatter my wounded mind;
Never was nymph fo lovely or fo kind :
No cold repulfes my defires fuppreft,
I feldom figh'd, but on Almeria's breast:
Of all the paffions which mankind destroy,
I only felt excefs of love and joy :
Unnumber'd pleasures charm'd my fenfe, and they
Were, as my love, without the leaft allay.
As pure, alas! but not fo fure to laft,
For, like a pleafing dream, they are all past.
From heaven her beauties like fierce lightnings came
Which break through darkness with a glorious flame ;
Awhile they fhine, awhile our minds amaze,
Our wondering eyes are dazzled with the blaze
But thunder follows, whofe refiftless rage
None can withstand, and nothing can affuage;
And all that light which thofe bright flashes gave,
Serves only to conduct us to our grave.
When I had just begun love's joys to taste,
(Thofe full rewards for fears and dangers paft)
A fever feiz'd her, and to nothing brought
The richeft work that ever nature wrought.
All things below, alas! uncertain ftand;
The firmeft rocks are fix'd upon the fand:
Under this law both kings and kingdoms bend,
And no beginning is without an end.
A facrifice to time, fate dooms to us all,
And at the tyrant's feet we daily fall:
Time, whose bold hand will bring alike to dust
Mankind, and temples too in which they trust.
Her wafted fpirits now begin to faint,
Yet patience ties her tongue from all complaint,
And in her heart as in a fort remains;
But yields at laft to her refistless pains.
Thus while the fever, amorous of his prey,
Through all her veins makes his delightful way,
Her fate 's like Semele's; the flames destroy
That beauty they too eagerly enjoy.
Her charming face is in its fpring decay'd,
Pale grow the roses, and the lilies fade;
Her fkin has loft that luftre which furpafs'd
The fun's, and well deferv'd as long to last ;
Her eyes, which us'd to pierce the hardest hearts,
Are now difarm'd of all their flames and darts ;
Those stars now heavily and flowly move;
And fickness triumphs in the throne of love.
The fever every moment more prevails,
Its rage her body feels,
She, whofe difdain fo
and tongue bewails : many lovers prove,
Sighs now for torment, as they figh for love,
And with loud cries, which rend the neighbouring air,
Wounds my fad heart, and weakens my defpair.
Both men and gods I charge now with my lofs,
And, wild with grief, my thoughts each other crofs,
My heart and tongue labour in both extremes,
This fends up humble prayers, while that blafphemes:
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