Classic Poem

NO sooner had the shepherd Phil'arete
To this description his last period set,
But instantly, descending from a wood
(Which on a rising ground adjoining stood)
A troop of satyrs, to the view of all,
Came dancing of a new-devised brawl.
The measures they did pace by him were taught them,
Who, to so rare a gentleness had brought them,
That he had learned their rudeness, and observing
Of such respect unto the well-deserving,
As they became to no men else a terror,
But such as did persist in wilful error;
And they the ladies made no whit afraid,
Though since that time they some great men have scared.

Their dance, the " Whipping of Abuse, " they named;
And though the shepherd, since that, hath been blamed,
Yet now 'tis daily seen in every town,
And there's no country-dance that's better known;
Nor that hath gained a greater commendation
" Mongst those that love an honest recreation.

This scene presented, from a grove was heard
A set of viols; and there was prepared
A country banquet, which this shepherd made,
To entertain the ladies in the shade,
And 'tis supposed his song prolonged was
Of purpose, that it might be brought to pass.
So well it was performed, that each one deemed
The banquet might the city have beseemed.
Yet better was their welcome than their fare;
Which they perceived, and the merrier were.

One beauty though there sat among the rest,
That looked as sad, as if her heart opprest
With love had been. Whom Phil'arete beholding
Sit so demurely, and her arms enfolding;

" Lady, " quoth he, " am I, or this poor cheer,
The cause that you so melancholy are?
For if the object of your thoughts be higher,
It fits not me to know them, nor inquire.
But if from me it cometh that offends,
I seek the cause, that I may make amends. "

" Kind swain, " said she, " it is nor so, nor so,
No fault in you, nor in your cheer, I know.
Nor do I think there is a thought in me
That can too worthy of your knowledge be.
Nor have I, many a day, more pleasure had
Than here I find, though I have seemed sad.

" My heart is sometime heavy when I smile;
And when I grieve I often sing the while.
Nor is it sadness that doth me possess,
But rather musing, with much seriousness,
Upon that multitude of sighs and tears,
With those innumerable doubts and fears
Through which you passed, ere you could acquire
A settled hope of gaining your desire.
For you dared love a nymph so great and fair
As might have brought a prince unto despair,
And sure, the excellency of your passions
Did then produce as excellent expressions.

" If, therefore, me the suit may well become,
And if to you it be not wearisome,
In name of all these ladies, I entreat
That one of those sad strains you would repeat
Which you composed when greatest discontent
Unsought-for help to your invention lent. "

" Fair nymph, " said Phil'arete, " I will do so;
For though your shepherd doth no courtship know,
He hath humanity; and what's in me
To do you service, may commanded be. "

So taking down a lute that near him hung,
He gave't his boy, who played, whilst this he sung: —
Ah me!
Am I the swain
That late from sorrow free
Did all the cares on earth disdain?
And still untouched, as at some safer games,
Played with the burning coals of love, and beauty's flames?
Was't I could dive, and sound each passion's secret depth at will?
And from those huge o'erwhelmings rise, by help of reason still?
And am I now, O heavens! for trying this in vain,
So sunk that I shall never rise again?
Then let despair set sorrow's string,
For strains that doleful be;
And I will sing,
Ah me!
But why,
O fatal time,
Dost thou constrain that I
Should perish in my youth's sweet prime?
I, but awhile ago, (you cruel powers!)
In spite of fortune, cropped contentment's sweetest flowers.
And yet unscorned, serve a gentle nymph, the fairest she.
That ever was beloved of man, or eyes did ever see!
Yea, one whose tender heart would rue for my distress;
Yet I, poor I! must perish ne'ertheless.
And (which much more augments my care)
Unmoaned I must die,
And no man e'er
Know why.
Thy leave,
My dying song.
Yet take, ere grief bereave
The breath which I enjoy too long.
Tell thou that fair one this: my soul prefers
Her love above my life; and that I died her's:
And let him be, for evermore, to her remembrance dear,
Who loved the very thought of her whilst he remained here.
And now farewell! thou place of my unhappy birth,
Where once I breathed the sweetest air on earth:
Since me my wonted joys forsake,
And all my trust deceive;
Of all I take
My leave.
Farewell!
Sweet groves, to you!
You hills, that highest dwell;
And all you humble vales, adieu!
You wanton brooks, and solitary rocks,
My dear companions all! and you, my tender flocks!
Farewell my pipe, and all those pleasing songs, whose moving strains
Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains!
You discontents, whose deep and over-deadly smart
Have, without pity, broke the truest heart)
Sighs, tears, and every sad annoy,
That erst did with me dwell,
And all other joys,
Farewell!
Adieu!
Fair shepherdesses!
Let garlands of sad yew
Adorn your dainty golden tresses.
I, that loved you, and often with my quill,
Made music that delighted fountain, grove, and hill;
I, whom you loved so, and with a sweet and chaste embrace,
Yea, with a thousand rather favours) would vouchsafe to grace
I now must leave you all alone, of love to plain;
And never pipe, nor never sing again!
I must, for evermore, be gone;
And therefore bid I you,
And every one,
Adieu!
I die!!
For, oh! I feel
Death's horrors drawing nigh,
And all this frame of nature reel,
My hopeless heart, despairing of relief,
Sinks underneath the heavy weight of saddest grief;
Which hath so ruthless torn, so racked, so tortured every vein,
All comfort comes too late to have it ever cured again
My swimming head begins to dance death's giddy round
A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound
Benumbed is my cold sweating brow
A dimness shuts my eye.
And now, oh I now,
I die!!

So mournfully these lines he did express,
And to a tune so full of heaviness,
As if indeed his purpose had been past,
To live no longer than the song did last;
Which in the nymphs such tender passions bred,
That some of them did tears of pity shed.

This, she perceiving who first craved the song;
" Shepherd, " she said, " although it be no wrong
Nor grief to you those passions to recall
Which heretofore you have been pained withal,
But comforts rather; since they now are over,
And you, it seemeth, an enjoying lover;
Yet some young nymphs among us I do see,
Who so much moved with your passions be
That, if my aim I taken have aright,
Their thoughts will hardly let them sleep to-night.

" I dare not, therefore, beg of you again
To sing another of the self-same strain,
For fear it breed within them more unrest
Than women's weaknesses can well digest.
Yet in your measures such content you have,
That one song more I will presume to crave.
And if your memory preserves, of those
Which you of your affections did compose
Before you saw this mistress. Let us hear
What kind of passions then within you were. "

To which request he instantly obeyed,
And this ensuing song both sung and played.

You gentle nymphs, that on these meadows play,
And oft relate the loves of shepherds young;
Come, sit you down, for if you please to stay,
Now may you hear an uncouth passion sung.
A lad there is, and I am that poor groom,
That's fallen in love, and cannot tell with whom.

Oh! do not smile at sorrows as a jest;
With others' cares good natures moved be;
And I should weep, if you had my unrest.
Then, at my grief, how can you merry be?
Ah! where is tender pity now become?
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.

I that have oft the rarest features viewed,
And beauty in her best perfection seen;
I that have laughed at them that love pursued,
And ever free from such affections been:
Lo! now, at last, so cruel is my doom —
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.

My heart is full nigh bursting with desire,
Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow;
My breast doth burn — but she that lights the fire
I never saw, nor can I come to know.
So great a bliss my fortune keeps me from,
That, though I dearly love, I know not whom.

Ere I had twice four springs renewed seen,
The force of beauty I began to prove;
And ere I nine years old had fully been,
It taught me how to frame a song of love.
And little thought I this day should have come,
Before that I to love had found out whom.

For on my chin the mossy down you see,
And in my veins well-heated blood doth glow;
Of summers I have seen twice three times three,
And fast my youthful time away doth go:
That much I fear I aged shall become,
And still complain I love I know not whom.

Oh! why had I a heart bestowed on me,
To cherish dear affections, so inclined;
Since I am so unhappy born, to be
No object for so true a love to find.
When I am dead, it will be missed of some;
Yet, now I live — I love, I know not whom.

I to a thousand beauteous nymphs am known;
A hundred ladies' favours do I wear,
I with as many half in love am grown,
Yet none of them, I find, can be my dear.
Methinks I have a mistress yet to come,
Which makes me sing — I love I know not whom.

There lives no swain doth stronger passion prove,
For her whom most be covets to possess,
Than doth my heart, that being full of love,
Knows not to whom it may the same profess.
For, he that is despised hath sorrow some;
But he hath more — that loves, and knows not whom.

Knew I my love, as many others do,
To some one object might my thoughts be bent;
So they divided should not wandering go,
Until the soul's united force be spent.
As his that seeks, and never finds a home:
Such is my rest — that love, and know not whom.

Those whom the frowns of jealous friends divide,
May live to meet, and descant on their woe;
And he hath gained a lady for his bride,
That durst not woo her maid awhile ago.
But oh! what end unto my hopes can come?
That am in love, and cannot tell with whom.

Poor Colin grieves that he was late disdained;
And Cloris doth for Willy's absence pine.
Sad Thyrsis weeps for his sick Phaebe pained,
But all their sorrows cannot equal mine.
A greater care, alas! on me is come —
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.

Narcissus-like, did I affect my shade,
Some shadow yet I had to doat upon;
Or did I love some passage of the dead,
Whose substance had not breathed long agone,
I might despair, and so an end would come;
But oh, I love! and cannot tell you whom.

Once, in a dream, methought my love I viewed;
But never, waking, could her face behold:
And, doubtless, that resemblance was but shewed,
That more my tired heart torment it should.
For since that time more grieved I am become,
And more in love — I cannot tell with whom.

WheNon my bed at night to rest I lie,
My watchful eyes with tears bedew my cheek;
And then, " O would it once were day! " I cry:
Yet when it comes, I am as far to seek.
For who can tell, though all the earth he roam,
Or when, or where, to find he knows not whom?

Oh! if she be among the beauteous trains
Of all you nymphs that haunt the silver rills;
Or if you know her, ladies of the plains,
Or you that have your bowers on the hills,
Tell, if you can, who will my love become;
Or I shall die! and never know for whom.