Classic Poem

ST. AMANT

Far from the Courts ambitious noise
Retir'd, to those more harmlesse Joys
Which the sweet Country, pleasant fields,
And my own Court, a Cottage, yields;
I liv'd from all disturbance free,
Though Prisoner (Sylvia) unto Thee ;
Secur'd from fears, which others prove,
Of the inconstancie of Love;
A life, in my esteem, more blest,
Then e're yet stoopt to deaths Arrest.

My senses and desires agreed,
With joynt delight each other feed:
A bliss, I reach'd, as far above
Words, as her Beauty, or my Love;
Such as compar'd with which, the Joyes
Of the most happie seem but Toyes:
Affection I receive and pay,
My pleasures knew not griefs allay:
The more I tasted I desir'd,
The more I quencht my Thirst was fir'd.

Now in some place where Nature showes
Her naked Beauty we repose;
Where she allures the wandring eye
With colours, which faint Art out-vye;
Pearls scatter'd by the weeping Morn,
Each where the glitt'ring Flowres adorn;
The Mistresse of the youthful year
(To whome kind Zephyrus doth bear
His amorous Vows and frequent Prayer)
Decks with these Gems her Neck and Hair.

Hither, to quicken Time with sport,
The little sprightly Loves resort,
And dancing o're th'enamel'd Mead,
Their Mistresses the Graces lead;
Then to refresh themselves, repaire
To the soft Bosome of my faire;
Where from the Kisses they bestow
Upon each other, such sweets flow
As carrie in their mixed Breath
A mutual Power of Life and Death.

Next in an Elms dilated shade
We see a rugged Satyre laid,
Teaching his Reed in a soft strain
Of his sweet Anguish to complain;
Then to a lonely Grove retreat,
Where day can no admittance get,
To visit peaceful solitude;
Whom seeing by Repose pursu'd,
All busie Cares, for fear to spoile
Their calmer Courtship, we exile.

There underneath a Myrtle, thought
By Fairies sacred, where was wrought
By Venus hand Loves Mysteries ,
And all the Trophies of her eyes,
Our Solemn Pray'rs to Heaven we send,
That our firm Love might know no End;
Nor time its Vigor e're impaire:
Then to the winged God we sware,
And grav'd the Oath in its smooth Rind,
Which in our Hearts we deeper find.

Then to my Dear (as if afraid,
To trie her doubted faith) I said,
Would in thy Soul my Form as cleer
As in thy Eyes I see it, were.
She kindly angry saith, Thou art
Drawn more at large within my Heart;
These Figures in my Eye appear
But small, because they are not near,
Though through these Glasses seest thy Face,
As Pictures through their Chrystal Case.

Now with delight transported, I
My wreathed Arms about her tie;
The flatt'ring Ivie never holds
Her Husband Elme in stricter Folds:
To cool my fervent Thirst, I sip
Delicious Nectar from her lip.
She pledges, and so often past
This amorous health, till Love at last,
Our Souls did with these pleasures sate,
And equally inebriate.

A while, our senses stoln away,
Lost in this Extasie we lay,
Till both together rais'd to Life,
We reingage in this kind strife.
Cythaera with her Syrian Boy ,
Could never reach our meanest Joy.
The Childish God of Love ne're try'd
So much of Love with his cold Bride,
As we in one embrace include,
Contesting each to be subdu'd.