Classic Poem

An Account from Lisander to Lysidas his Friend

At last dear Lysidas , I'l set thee Free,
From the disorders of Uncertainty;
Doubt's the worst Torment of generous Mind,
Who ever searching what it cannot find,
Is roving still from wearied thought to thought,
And to no settled Calmness can be brought:
The Cowards Ill, who dares not meet his Fate,
And ever doubting to be Fortunate,
Falls to that Wretchedness his fears Create.
?I should have dy'd silent, as Flowers decay,
Had not thy Friendship stopt me on my way,
That friendship which our Infant hearts inspir'd,
E're them Ambition or false Love had fir'd:
Friendship! which still enlarg'd with years and sense
Till it arriv'd to perfect Excellence;
Friendship! Mans noblest bus'ness! without whom
The out-cast Life finds nothing it can own,
But Dully dyes unknowing and unknown,
Our searching thought serves only to impart
It's new gain'd knowledge to anothers Heart;
The truly wise, and great, by friendship grow,
That, best instruct 'em how they should be so,
That, only sees the Error of the Mind,
Which by its soft reproach becomes Refin'd;
Friendship! which even Loves mighty power controuls:
When that but touches; this Exchanges Souls.
The remedy of Grief, the safe retreat
Of the scorn'd Lover, and declining great.
?This sacred tye between thy self and me,
Not to be alter'd by my Destiny;
This tye, which equal to my new desires
Preserv'd it self amidst Loves softer Fires,
Obliges me, (without reserve) 't impart
To Lycidas the story of my Heart;
Tho' 'twill increase its present languishment,
To call to its remembrance past content
So drowning Men near to their native shore
(From whence they parted near to visit more)
Look back and sigh, and from that last Adieu,
Suffer more pain then in their Death they do,
That grief, which I in silent Calms have born,
It will renew, and rowse into a Storm. . . .
?Twelve times the Moon has borrow'd Rays; that Night
Might favour Lovers stealths by Glimmering Light:
Since I imbarqu'd on the inconstant Seas
With people of all Ages and Degrees,
All well dispos'd and absolutely bent,
To visit a far Country call'd Content .
The Sails were hoisted, and the Streamers spread,
And chearfully we cut the yielding Floud;
Calm was the Sea, and peaceful every Wind,
As if the Gods had with our Wishes joyn'd
To make us prosperous; All the whispering Air
Like Lovers Joys, was soft, and falsly fair.
The ruffling Winds were hush'd in wanton sleep,
And all the Waves were silenc'd in the deep:
No threatning Cloud, no angry Curl was found,
But bright, serene, and smooth, 'twas all around:
But yet believe false Iris if she weep,
Or Amorous Layis will her promise keep,
Before the Sea, that Flatters with a Calm,
Will cease to ruin with a rising Storm,
For now the Winds are rows'd, the Hemisphere
Grows black, and frights the hardy Mariner,
The Billows all into Dis-order hurl'd,
As if they meant to bury all the World;
And least the Gods on us should pity take,
They seem'd against them too, a War to make.
?Now each affrighted to his Cabin Flyes,
And with Repentance Load the angry Skyes;
Distracted Prayers they all to Heaven Address,
While Heaven best knows, they think of nothing less;
To quit their Interest in the World's their fear,
Not whether,—but to go,—is all their Care,
And while to Heav'n, their differing crimes they mount,
Their vast dis-orders doubles the account;
All pray, and promise fair, protest and weep,
And make those Vows, they want the pow'r to keep,
But sure with some, the angry Gods were pleas'd;
For by degrees their Rage and Thunder ceas'd:
In the rude War no more the Winds engage,
And the destructive Waves were tir'd with their own Rage;
Like a young Ravisher, that has won the day,
O're-toil'd and Panting, Calm and Breathless lay,
While so much Vigour in the Incounter's lost,
They want the pow'r a second Rape to Boast.
The Sun in Glory daignes again t' appear;
But we who had no Sense, but that of fear,
Cou'd scarce believe, and lessen our dispair.
Yet each from his imagin'd Grave gets out,
And with still doubting Eyes looks round about.
Confirm'd they all from Prayer to Praises hast,
And soon forgot the sense of dangers past;
And now from the recruited Top-mast spy'd,
An Island that discover'd Natures Pride:
To which was added, all that Art could do
To make it Tempting and Inviting too;
All wondering Gaz'd upon the happy place,
But none knew either where, or what it was:
Some thought, th' Inaccessible Land 't had been,
And others that Inchantment they had seen,
At last came forth a Man, who long before
Had made a Voyage to that fatal shoar,
Who with his Eyes declin'd, as if dismaid,
At sight of what he dreaded: Thus he said,
This is the Coast of Africa,
?Where all things sweetly move;
This is the Calm Atlantick Sea ,
? And that the Isle of Love;
To which all Mortals Tribute pay,
?Old, Young, the Rich and Poor;
Kings do their awful Laws obey,
?And Shepherds do Adore.
There's none its forces can resist,
?Or its Decrees Evince,
It Conquers where, and whom it list,
? The Cottager and Prince.
In entering here, the King resigns,
?The Robe and Crown he wore;
The Slave new Fetters gladly joyns
?To those he dragg'd before.
All thither come, early or late,
?Directed by desire,
Not Glory can divert their fate,
?Nor quench the Amorous fire.
The Enterances on every side,
? Th' Attracts and Beauties Guard ,
The Graces with a wanton Pride ,
?By turn secure the Ward.
The God of Love has lent 'em Darts,
?With which they gently Greet,
The heedless undefended Hearts
?That pass the fatal Gate.
None e're escapt the welcom'd blow,
?Which ner'e is sent in vain;
They Kiss the Shaft, and Bless the Foe,
?That gives the pleasing Pain.
Thus whilst we did this grateful story learn,
We came so near the Shoar, as to discern
The Place and Objects, which did still appear
More Ravishing, approaching 'em more near.
?There the vast Sea, with a smooth calmness flows,
As are the Smiles on happy Lovers Brows:
As peaceably as Rivulets it glides,
Imbracing still the shaded Islands sides;
And with soft Murmurs on the Margent flows,
As if to Nature it design'd Repose;
Whose Musick still is answer'd by the Breeze,
That gently plays with the soft rufl'd Trees.
Fragrant and Flowry all the Banks appear
Whose mixt dis-orders more delightful were,
Then if they had been plac'd with Artful care,
The Cowslip, Lilly, Rose and Jesamine,
The Daffodil, the Pink and Eglintine,
Whose gawdy store continues all the year,
Makes but the meanest of the Wonders here.
Here the young Charmers walk the Banks a-long,
Here all the Graces and the Beauties throng.
But what did most my Admiration draw,
Was that the Old and Ugly there I saw,
Who with their Apish Postures, void of shame
Still practice Youth, and talk of Darts and Flame.
I laught to see a Lady out of date,
A worn out Beauty, once of the first rate;
With youthful Dress, and more fantastick Prate,
Setting her wither'd Face in thousand forms,
And thinks the while she Dresses it in charms;
Disturbing with her Court: the busier throng
Ever Addressing to the Gay and Young;
There an old Batter'd Fop, you might behold,
Lavish his Love, Discretion, and his Gold
On a fair she, that has a Trick in Art,
To cheat him of his Politicks and Heart;
Whilst he that Jilts the Nation ore and ore,
Wants sense to find it in the subtiller W—re .
?The Man that on this Isle before had been,
Finding me so admire at what I'd seen;
Thus said to me.—
LOVE's Power.

Love when he Shoots abroad his Darts,
?Regards not where they light:
The Aged to the Youthful Hearts,
?At random they unite.
The soft un-bearded Youth, who never found
?The Charms in any Blooming Face,
?From one of Fifty takes the Wound;
And eagerly persues the cunning Chase:
?While she an Arted Youth puts on;
Softens her Voice, and languishes her Eyes;
?Affects the Dress, the Mean, the Tone.
Assumes the noysy Wit, and ceases to be Wise;
The tender Maid to the Rough Warrier yields;
?Unfrighted at his Wounds and Scars,
?Pursues him through the Camps and Fields,
And Courts the story of his dangerous Wars,
With Pleasure hears his Scapes, and does not fail,
To pay him with a Joy for every Tale.
?The fair young Bigot, full of Love and Prayer,
?Doats on the lewd and careless Libertine;
The thinking States-man fumbles with the Player,
?And dearly buys the (barely wishing) Sin.
The Peer with some mean Damsel of the trade,
Expensive, common, ugly and decay'd:
The gay young Squire, on the blouz'd Landry Maid.
All things in Heaven, in Earth, and Sea,
?Love give his Laws unto;
Tho' under different Objects, they
?Alike obey, and bow;
Sometimes to be reveng'd on those,
?Whose Beauty makes 'em proudly nice,
He does a Flame on them impose,
?To some unworthy choice.
Thus rarely equal Hearts in Love you'l find,
Which makes 'em still present the God as Blind. . . .
[Lysander falls in love with Aminta but is unsure that his love is returned]

INQUIETUDE.

A Neighbouring Villa which derives its name ,
From the rude sullen Mistress of the same;
A Woman of a strange deform'd Aspect;
Peevishly pensive, fond of her neglect;
She never in one posture does remain,
Now leans, lyes down, then on her Feet again;
Sometimes with Snails she keeps a lazy pace,
And sometimes runs like Furies in a Chase;
She seldom shuts her watchful Eyes to sleep,
Which pale and languid does her Visage keep;
Her loose neglected Hair disorder'd grows;
Which undesign'd her Fingers discompose;
Still out of Humour, and deprav'd in Sense,
And Contradictive as Impertinence;
Distrustful as false States-men, and as nice
In Plots, Intrigues, Intelligence and Spies. . . .
[Aminta accepts his suit but the lovers are later parted by her scruples]

ABSENCE.

Her mourning languid Eyes are rarely shown,
Unless to those afflicted like her own;
Her lone Apartment all obscure as Night,
Discover'd only by a glimmering Light:
Weeping she sate her Face with Grief dismaid,
Which all its natural sweetness has decaid;
Yet in despight of Grief there does appear,
The ruin'd Monuments of what was fair,
E'r cruel Love and Grief had took possession there
These made her old without the aid of Years;
Worn out, and faint with lingring hopes and fears,
She seldom answers ought but with her Tears.
No Train attends, she only is obey'd
By Melancholy, that soft, silent Maid:
A Maid that fits her Humour every way,
With whom she passes all the tedious day:
No other object can her Mind content,
She Feeds and Flatters all her languishment;
The noisy Streams that from high Mountains fall;
And water all the Neighbouring flowry Vale:
The Murmurs of the Rivulets that glide,
Against the bending Seges on the side;
Of mournful Birds the sad and tuneful Noats,
The Bleats of straggling Lambs, and new yean'd Goats:
The distant Pipe of some lone Mountain Swain,
Who to his injur'd Passion fits his strain;
Is all the Harmony, her Soul can entertain. . . .
To LOVE.

I

Fond Love thy pretty Flatteries cease ,
?That feeble Hope you give;
?Unless 'twoud make my happiness,
?In vain dear Boy; in vain you strive,
It cannot keep my tortur'd Heart alive.
II

?Tho' thou shou'dst give me all the Joys,
?Luxurious Monarch's do possess,
Without Aminta 'tis but empty noise ,
?Dull and insipid happiness;
And you in vain invite me to a Feast,
Where my Aminta cannot be a Guest .
III

?Ye glorious Trifles, I renounce ye all,
Since she no part of all your splendour makes
Let the Dull unconcern'd obey your call,
Let the gay Fop, who his Pert Courtship takes;
For Love, whilst he Profanes your Deity ,
Be Charm'd and Pleas'd with all your necessary vanity.
IV

?But give me leave, whose Soul's inspir'd,
?With sacred, but despairing Love.
?To dye from all your noise retir'd,
And Buried lie within this silent Grove.
?For whilst I Live, my Soul's a prey,
?To insignificant desires,
?Whilst thou fond God of Love and Play,
With all thy Darts, with all thy useless Fires,
With all thy wanton flatteries cannot charm,
Nor yet the frozen-hearted Virgin warm.
V

?Others by absence Cure their fire,
?Me it inrages more with pain;
Each thought of my Aminta blows it higher ,
?And distance strengthens my desire;
?I Faint with wishing, since I wish in vain;
? Either be gone fond Love, or let me dye ,
Hopeless desire admits no other remedy. . . .
JEALOUSIE.

I

A Palace that is more un-easy far ,
Then those of cruelty and absence are,
There constant show'rs of Hail and Rains do flow,
Continual Murmuring Winds a-round do blow,
Eternal Thunder rowling in the Air,
And thick dark hanging Clouds the day obscure;
Whose sullen dawn all Objects multiplies,
And render things that are not, to the Eyes.
Fantoms appear by the dull gloomy light,
That with such subtil Art delude the sight,
That one can see no Object true or right.
I here transported and impatient grow,
?And all things out of order do;
Hasty and peevish every thing I say,
Suspicion and distrust's my Passions sway,
And bend all Nature that un-easy way.
II

A thousand Serpents gnaw the Heart;
A thousand Visions fill the Eyes,
And Deaf to all that can relief impart,
?We hate the Counsel of the Wise,
And Sense like Tales of Lunaticks despise:
Faithless, as Couzen'd Maids, by Men undone,
And obstinate as new Religion,
As full of Error, and false Notion too,
?As Dangerous, and as Politick;
As Humerous as a Beauty without Wit;
As Vain and Fancyful in all we do:
Thus Wreck the Soul, as if it did conceal,
Love Secrets which by torturing 'two'd reveal. . . .
[Lysander and Aminta finally overcome all obstacles to their love and are united]

Thus to my Arms Love brought the trembling Maid;
Who on my Bosom sighing, softly, said:
Take charming Victor—what you must—subdue—
'Tis Love— and not Aminta gives it you ,
Love that o're all, and every part does reign ,
And I shou'd plead—and struggle—but in vain;
Take what a yielding Virgin—can bestow,
I am—disarm'd—of all resistance now.—
Then down her Cheeks a tender shower did glide,
The Trophies of my Victory, Joy, and Pride:
She yields ye Gods (I cry'd) and in my Arms ,
Gives up the wonderous Treasure of her Charms.
—Transported to the Bower of Bliss we high,
But once more met Respect upon the way,
But not as heretofore with Meen and Grace,
All formal, but a gay and smiling Face;
A different sort of Air his looks now wears,
Galliard and Joyful every part appears.
And thus he said—
Go happy Lovers, perfect the desires,
That fill two Hearts that burn with equal Fires;
Receive the mighty Recompence at last,
?Of all the Anxious hours you've past,
Enter the Bower where endless Pleasures flow,
?Young Joys, new Raptures all the year,
?Respect has nothing now to do,
?He always leaves the Lover here.
Young Loves attend and here supply all want ,
In secret Pleasures I'm no confident.
Respect here left me: and He scarce was gone,
But I perceiv'd a Woman hasting on,
Naked she came; all lovely, and her Hair,
Was loosely flying in the wanton Air:
Love told me 'twas Occasion , and if I,
The swift pac'd Maid shou'd pass neglected by
My Love, my Hopes, and Industry were vain,
For she but rarely e're return'd again.
I stopt her speed, and did implore her Aid,
Which granted, she Aminta did perswade.
Into the Palace of true Joys , to hast,
And thither 'twas, we both arriv'd at last.
?Oh Lysidas , no Mortal Sense affords,
No Wit, no Eloquence can furnish Words;
Fit for the soft Discription of the Bower ,
Some Love-blest God in the Triumphing hour ,
Can only guess, can only say what 'tis;
Yet even that God but faintly wou'd express,
Th' unbounded pleasures of the Bower of Bliss .
A slight, a poor Idea may be given,
Like that we fancy when we paint a Heav'n,
As solid Christal, Diamonds, shining Gold,
May fancy Light, that is not to be told.
To vulgar Senses, Love like Heaven shou'd be
(To make it more Ador'd) a Mystery:
Eternal Powers! when ere I sing of Love,
And the unworthy Song immortal prove;
To please m