Classic Poem

DAPHNE .

S ICILIAN muse, my humble voice inspire,
To sing of Daphne's charms, and Damon's fire.
Long had the faithful swain supprest his grief,
And since he durst not hope, ne'er ask'd relief.
But at th' arrival of the fatal day
That took the nymph and all his joys away;
With dying looks he gaz'd upon the fair,
And what his tongue could not, his eyes declare:
Till with deep sighs, as if his heart-strings broke,
Pressing her hand, these tender things he spoke.

DAMON .

Ah! lovely nymph, behold your lover burn,
And view that passion which you'll not return.
As no nymphs charms did ever equal thine,
So no swain's love did ever equal mine:
How happy, fair, how happy should I be,
Might I but sacrifice myself for thee!
Could I but please thee with my dying verse,
And make thee shed one tear upon my hearse!

DAPHNE .

Too free an offer of that love you make,
Which now, alas! I have not power to take:
Your wounds I cannot, though I would, relieve?
Phaon has all the love that I can give.
Had you among the rest at first assail'd
My heart, when free, you had, perhaps, prevail'd.
Now if you blame, oh! blame not me, but Fate,
That never brought you 'till 'twas grown too late.

DAMON .

Had the sates brought me then, too charming fair,
I could not hope, and now I must despair.
Rul'd by your friends, you quit the lover's flame,
For flocks, for pastures, for an empty name.
Yet though the best possession fate denies,
Oh let me gaze for ever on those eyes:
So just, so true, so innocent's my flame,
That Phaon, did he see it, could not blame.

DAPHNE .

Such generous ends I know you still pursue,
What I can do, be sure I will, for you.
If on esteem or pity you can live,
Or hopes of more, if I had more to give,
Those you may have, but cannot have my heart:
And since we now perhaps for ever part,
Such noble thoughts through all your life express,
May make the value more, the pity less.

DAMON .

Can you then go? can you for ever part,
(Ye gods what shivering pains surround my heart!
And have one thought to make your pity less?
Ah, Daphne, could I half my pangs express,
You could not think, though hard as rocks you were,
Your pity ever could too great appear.
I ne'er shall be one moment free from pain,
'Till I behold those charming eyes again.
When gay diversions do your thoughts employ,
I would not come to interrupt the joy;
But when from them you some spare moment find,
Think then, oh think on whom you leave behind!
Think with what heart I shall behold the green,
Where I so oft those charming eyes have seen!
Think with what grief I walk the groves alone,
When you, the glory of them all, are gone!
Yet, oh! that little time you have to stay,
Let me still speak, and gaze my soul away!
But see my passion that small aid denies;
Grief stops my tongue, and tears o'erflow my eyes.