Classic Poem

In a solitary Grove,
The sad witness of his Love,
Poor Siringo (vainly who
Did Licoris long pursue)
Here his weary steps restrain'd:
And so sweetly he complain'd,
That the water, and the air,
Wept, and sigh'd, his plaints to hear.
Silvio overheard his speech,
And engrav'd it on a Beech.

Nymph said he, a Nymph thou wert,
Now a naked voice thou art;

Who words followst, though thy hast
Onely can o'retake the last;
Thou, who with this murmuring source,
Birds, and Beasts, maintainst discourse,
To these ruggid cliffs confin'd;
Thou (ah none but thou) art kind:
Who in pitty of my mone,
Often dost forget thine own.

Oracle of rural loves!
Speaking shade! soul of the Groves!
Who, through each deserted place,
Dost thy savage Lover trace;
Aery spirit! wandring noise!
Unseen Image of the voice!
Wilde inhabitant that dwels,
In inhospitable Cells!
If thou canst thy passion share,
Hear, and pitty my despair.

To the sad complaints I send,
From thy hollow Grot attend:
But my grief when I have told,
To no other ear unfold;
If thy own unhappy fate
Teach thee pitty to my state,
Carefully this secret lock,
In the caverns of that Rock.
And let its rude breast become,
To my woes, and thee, a tomb.

Not that I fear to complain,
Of my wrongs, and her disdain;
But, I would not, at their story,
The unpitying heavens should glory:
Nor that this unhappy noise,
Should disturb anothers joyes.
Come then; to this dismal shade,
Never by the sun betraid,
We together will retire:
And our griefs alone expire.

Thou our Destinies wilt finde
If compar'd, alike unkinde.
Equal Beauty crowns both them
Who our amorous suits contemn.
Thou to empty air didst turn,
I in sighs dissolving mourn:
Thou retir'st from humane sight,
Courting loneness, flying light;
I the deserts seeking, shun
Equally, the World, the Sun.

Hither often comes my Coy
Fair one, like thy cruel Boy,
And in this Brooks fluid glass,
With delight surveys her face.

But if she, like him, to none
Save her self must kindness own,
Why my heart will she not view;
Where her form Loves Pencil drew?
And if pleas'd with that she be,
Love her self in loving me?

If my sorrows, thus displai'd,
Thy compassion may perswade;
Quit these Beasts, and Forests wilde,
To seek one then these less milde.
Leave thy dwelling in this Stone,
To finde out a living one.
On thy wing my soft sighs bear,
Breath them gently in her ear;
That she thus may learn to prove
Grief, though ignorant of Love.

Or when day's bright Star the fields
With meridian lustre guilds,
If she seek out this retreat,
To defend her from the heat;
And upon this smooth bank ly,
Teaching the birds harmony;
Or discourse with thee: o'recome
With her voice, oh be not dumb:
Tell her what my grief affords,
In entire, not broken words.

Tell her, Thou, that to my Woe
Both companion art, and Foe;
The deep plaints my sorrows vent,
In this hapless Languishment.
Say how often I to thee
Have accus'd her cruelty;
Taught thee her lov'd name t'invoke,
Carv'd it upon every Oak;
Trees Licoris onely bear
To the Eye, Rocks to the Ear.

Nymph, if thus thou wilt relieve me,
Thousand Garlands I will give thee:
Juno shall prove harsh no more,
And thy humane vail restore:
Heaven thy speech return, appeas'd,
To thy Arms thy Lover pleas'd.
And this Cave, which hath so long
Been acquainted with thy wrong;
Shall a faithful witness be
Of the love 'twixt him, and thee.

Fool! who vainly doth deceive thee?
Or of Reason thus bereave thee?
Why dost thou thy sad estate
To the sportive streams relate?
Comfort who, or pitty finds,
In dumb Rocks, or in deaf Winds?
And thou aid of all my Grief,
Where I onely found Relief,
My last accents who dost ease,
Art as silent now, as these.

Cruel Nymph! to rob my Joyes,
Voice it self is without Noyse.
She, who did some speech retain,
Her own sorrows to complain;
Now in silence drowns her Grief,
Lest she should give mine Relief.
Wanton daughter of the Air!
Who regard'st not my dispair,
Know I can grieve inward too,
And be dumb as well as you.