Classic Poem

While Summer's scorching Heat infests the Plains,
And the Icarian Star malignant reigns,
In Sulmo 's cool, refreshing Shades I stray,
And in a Maze of Pleasures lose the Day.
Here silver Streams my flow'ry Meads surround,
And trickling Rills refresh the mossy Ground:
A plenteous Harvest loads the pregnant Soil,
O'er-grown with Vineyards, and profuse of Oil;
Clear, laving Springs the opening Flow'rs regale,
And grassy Turfs o'ershade each moisten'd Vale.
But the soft Fire that once my Heart possess'd,
Is now unkindly absent from my Breast — —
Ah! I mistake, the fatal Heart remains,
And only she retir'd, who caus'd my Pains.
Had Jove for me a starry Throne decreed,
High rais'd between his own aetherial Seed,
Depriv'd of thee, I would despise the Grace,
And chuse the richer Bliss of thy Embrace.

Ah! why should Distance cause thy mourn'd Delay,
Has Love no Charms to sooth the tedious Way?
Hapless the Wretch, who travers'd first the Ground,
And thro' the Meads the length'ning Passage found,
Unless his Toils kind Venus had repaid,
And to the Lover join'd the social Maid.
O'er the rough Alps with thee I'd gladly go,
Climb the steep Cliffs, and press th' eternal Snow;
Thy Presence would alleviate ev'ry Toil,
Soften the Rocks, and smooth the rugged Soil.
When from the Southern Pole loud Tempests rise,
When Winds and Waves contend to storm the Skies,
With thee o'er foamy Gulphs I'd urge my Way,
Or pass where monstrous Scylla barks for Prey,
Where the dire Syrtes lurk beneath the Tide,
And spread a sure, unseen Destruction wide.
Doom me near Malea 's fatal Cape to steer,
Or where Charybdis strikes the Soul with Fear,
Whose glutted Jaws devour the Wretch in vain,
And cast him back, o'er-fated, to the Main;
Inspir'd by thee, I wou'd the Danger brave,
Thy Eyes direct me, and thy Smiles can save.
But if fierce Storms, and adverse Seas prevail,
And all our guardian Gods Assistance fail,
With thy soft, snowy Arms around me seize,
So sweet a Burthen I shou'd bear with ease.
Leander safely stem'd the boist'rous Tide,
While Hero 's Lamp its wonted Light supply'd,
But when no more its kindly Blaze he view'd,
Fear seiz'd him first, and instant Fate ensu'd.

O lovely Maid! depriv'd of thee, the Place
Forgets its Charms, and ev'ry wonted Grace:
My Country Villa wears a mournful Gloom;
And ev'ry Moment I resolve for Rome .
Tho' here surrounding Vines their Clusters yield,
And murmuring Riv'lets wind thro' ev'ry Field,
(Obedient to the Rustic's rural Care,)
And cooling Breezes fill the healthful Air,
My native Sulmo I no longer prize,
Its rich, luxuriant Soil, and clement Skies;
As grateful seems Cilicia 's barb'rous Strand,
Or the drear Wastes of Scythia 's dolesom Land;
Or rocky Ceucasus' abandon'd Shore,
For ever crimson'd with Prometheus' Gore.
Vines round the fost'ring Elm delight to twine,
Nor does the Elm forsake the clinging Vine.
Can then Corinna quit these dearer Arms?
Have I no Int'rest? or has Love no Charms?
Ah! I remember when she fondly swore,
(Shall I believe the dear Deceiver more!)
By Love she swore, an Oath divinely great,
And by her Eyes, the Stars that rule my Fate,
No Distance shou'd the willing Fair detain,
Nor tedious Absence e'er create me Pain.
She swore — But what can faithless Woman bind?
Wav'ring their Oaths, and fleeting as the Wind,
Lighter than falling Leaves by Tempests tost,
Driv'n thro' the Air, and in the Ocean lost.
Yet if thy Breast a gen'rous Care reveals,
For all the Pains thy anxious Lover feels,
With Shame thy slighted Promises review,
And let thy future Actions prove 'em true.
Rein thy swift Steeds, and urge with utmost Force,
To these expecting Walls, thy eager Course.
And you, ye tow'ring Mountains, who oppose
Her readier Path, and lengthen out my Woes,
Obsequious sink before her sov'reign Charms,
And speed my Fair to these impatient Arms.