Classic Poem

ACT I. S CEN . IV.

Eumela goes to Florina and Malthora who are sate in the Grove. Flo .

O come, Eumela , thou dost know, without thee
Our thoughts are Desarts, Rocks, and Sands, and all
That either Nature's absent from, or hath
Reserv'd unto her self alone. Eum .
I bring you
Noise, Trouble, Tumult, and the World; but if
There were that power in my worthless presence,
That I could cast a day upon your thoughts,
You should not think of Places that are sacred
To Night, and Silence: Visits still, and Feasts
And the whole Ring and Throng of Mirth should stir
In your delighted Souls. Mal .
Prethee Eumela
Is there no secret ancient Grove, that hath
Stood from the birth of Nature to this time,
Whose vast, high, hollow Trees seem each a Temple,
Whose paths no curious Eye hath yet found out,
Free from the Foot and Axe. Eum .
If I could tell you
It were found out already. Flo .
Hast thou read
Of any Mountain, whose cold frozen top
Sees Hail i'th' Bed, not yet grown round, and Snow
I'th' Fleece, not Carded yet, whose hanging weight
Archeth some still deep River, that for fear
Steals by the foot of't without noise. Eum .
Alas!
These are the things, that some poor wretched Lover
Unpittied by his scornfull Shepherdesse
Would wish for, after that he had look'd up
Unto the Heavens, and call'd her Cruell thrice,
And vow'd to dye. Flor .
I prethee pardon me;
I live without my self. Eum .
But I have read
Of a tall secret Grove, where loving Winds
Breathing their sighs among the trembling Boughs,
Blow Odes, and Epods; where a murmuring Brook
Will let us see the Brother to our Sun.
And shew's another World there under water. Mai .
Prethee let's go, and find it out, and live there. Eum .
Our Ancient Poet Linus somewhere sings
Of some such thing. Mal .
Thou alwaies dost deceive us;
Thou told'st us of an Eccho too, and when
Thou brought'st us to it, thou had'st put Philanis
Behind the Wall, to give us all the Answers. Flor .
Yes, and thy bringing in my Father's Dwarf
With Bow and Wings, and Quiver at his back,
Instead of Cupid , to conveigh us Letters
Through th' Air from hence to Crete , was but a trick
To put away our sadness. But I had
Almost forgot what we came for, I prethee
Take up the Lute there, and let's hear the Ode,
That thou did'st promise us; I hope 'tis sad

The Ode sung by Eumela .

To carve our Loves in Myrtle rinds,
And tell our Secrets to the Woods,
To send our Sighs by faithful Winds,
And trust our Tears unto the Flouds,
To call where no man bears,
And think that Rocks have Ears;
To Walke, and Rest, to Live, and Dye,
And yet not know Whence, How, or Why;
To have our Hopes with Fears still checks,
To credit Doubts, and Truth suspect,
This, this as that we may
A Lover's Absence say.
Follies without, are Cares within;
Where Eyes do fail, there Souls begin. Mal .

Thou art a harmless Syren fair Eumela . Flor .
'Tis very true indeed; thou feed'st at once.
And dost correct our follyes: but wert thou
As we, thoud'st do the like. Eum .
For Love's sake tell me
Why should you seek out Groves, where the bright Sun
Can make no day, although he throw upon 'em
Whole flouds of Light. Places where Nature will
Be blind in spight of Him? Why should you fancy
Caves fit to write sad Revelations in?
Or why a Lover stretcht on shaggy Moss
Between two Beds of Poppey to procure
One Minut's slumber? Flor .
These, Eumela , are not
The Journyes but Digressions of our Souls,
That being once inform'd with Love, must work,
And rather wander, than stand still. I know
There is a Wisdom to be shewn in Passions;
And there are stayd and setled griefs: I'l be
Severe unto my self, and make my Soul
Seek out a Regular Motion, towards him
Whom it moves to, and thou shalt shortly see
Love bleed, and yet stoop to Philosophy.