Classic Poem

Damon

Why do we talk of shaded bowers,
When frosts, my fair one, chill the plain,
And nights are cold, and long the hours
That damp the ardour of the swain,
Who, parting from his rural fire,
All pleasure doth forego —
And here and there,
And everywhere,
Pursues the invading foe.

Yes, we must rest on frosts and snows!
No season shuts up our campaign!
Hard as the rocks, we dare oppose
The autumnal, or the wintery reign.
Alike to us, the winds that blow
In summer's season, gay,
Or those that rave
On Hudson's wave,
And drift his ice away.

Winter and war may change the scene!
The ball may pierce, the frost may chill;
And dire misfortunes intervene,
But freedom must be powerful still,
To drive these Britons from our shore,
Who come with sail, who come with oar,
So cruel and unkind,
With servile chain, who strive in vain,
Our freeborn souls to bind.

Lucinda (two months after)

They scold me, and tell me I must not complain,
To part a few weeks with my favourite swain!
He goes to the battle! — and leaves me to mourn —
And tell me — and tell me — and will he return?
When he left me, he kiss'd me — and said, My sweet dear,
In less than a month I again will be here;
But still I can hardly my sorrows adjourn —
You may call me a witch — if ever I return.
I said, My dear soldier, I beg you would stay;
But he, with his farmers, went strutting away —
With anguish and sorrow my bosom did burn,
And I wept — for I thought he would never return.

Thyrsis

Fairest of the female train,
You must seek another swain,
Damon will not come again!
All his toils are over!
As you prized him, to excess,
Your loss is great, I will confess,
But, lady, yield not to distress —
I will be your lover.

Lucinda

Not all the swains the land can shew,
(If Damon is not living now)
Can from my bosom drive my woe,
Or bid a second passion glow; —
For Damon has possession;
Not all the gifts that wealth can bring,
Nor all the airs that you can sing,
Nor all the music of the string
Can banish his impression.

Thyrsis

Wedlock and death too often prove
Pernicious to the fires of Love:
With equal strength they both combine
Hearts best united to disjoin:
Hence ardent loves too soon remit;
Thus die the fires that Cupid lit.
Female tears and April snow
Sudden come and sudden go.
Since his head is levelled low,
Cease remembrance of your woe.
Can it be in reason found
To be crazy for Love's wound?
Must you live in sorrows drowned
For a lover under ground?

Lucinda

What a picture have I seen!
What can all these visions mean!
Wintry groves and vacant halls,
Coffins hid by sable palls,
Monuments and funerals!
Forms terrific to the sight,
Ghastly phantoms clad in white;
Streams that ever seemed to freeze,
Shaded o'er by willow trees,
Ever drooping — hardly green —
What a vision have I seen!
One I saw of angel kind,
From the dregs of life refined;
On her visage such a smile,
And she talk'd in such a style!
All was heaven upon her brow; —
Yes, I think I see her now!
All in beams of light arrayed;
And these cheering words she said:
Fair Lucinda, come to me;
What has grief to do with thee?
O forsake your wretched shore,
Crimsoned with its children's gore!
Could you but a moment stray
In the meadows where I play,
You would die to come away.
Come away, and speed your wing —
Here we love, and here we sing!

Thyrsis

You will not yet forget your glooms,
The heavy heart, the downcast eye,
The cheek that scarce a smile assumes,
The never-ending sigh!

Lucinda

Had you the secret cause to grieve —
That in this breast doth lie,
Instead of wishing to relieve
You would be just as I.

Thyrsis

What secret cause have you to grieve? —
A lover gone astray? —
If one was able to deceive,
Perhaps another may.

Lucinda

My lover has not me deceived,
An act he would disdain;
Oh! he is gone — and I am grieved —
He'll never come again!
He'll never come again!

Thyrsis

The turtle on yon' withered bough
Who lately moaned her murdered mate,
Has found another partner now, —
Such changes all await.
Again her drooping plume is dress'd,
Again she wishes to be bless'd,
And takes a husband to her nest.
If nature has decreed it so
With some above, and all below,
Let us, Lucinda, banish woe,
Nor be perplext with sorrow:
If I should leave your arms this night,
And die before the morning light,
I would advise you — and you might
Wed again to-morrow.

Lucinda

The turtle on yon' withered tree! —
That turtle never felt like me!
Her grief is but a moment's date,
Another day, another mate:
And true it is, the feathered race
Hold many a partner no disgrace.
How would the world my fault display,
What would censorious Sally say?
Would say, while grinning malice sneers, —
She made a conquest by her tears!

Thyrsis

My Polly! — once the pride of all,
That shepherd lads their charmers call,
Too early parted with her bloom,
And sleeps in yonder sylvan tomb:
Her death has set me free —
Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
But what is that to me!
Since all must bow to fate's arrest,
No love deceased shall rack my breast —
Come, then, Lucinda, and be blest.

Lucinda

My Damon! Oh, can I forget
The hour you left these moistened eyes,
O'er northern lakes to wander far
To colder climes and dreary skies!
There, vengeful, in their wastes of snow
The Britons guard the frozen shore,
And Damon there is perished now,
The swain that shall return no more!

Thyrsis

Weep, weep no more, my Jersey lass,
The pang is past that fixed his doom —
They, too, shall to destruction pass,
Perhaps — and hardly find a tomb.
Refrain your tears — enough are shed —
They, too, shall have their share of woe:
Fled is their fame, their honours fled;
And Washington shall lay them low.

Lucinda

If you had but yon' sergeant's size,
His mien and looks, so debonaire,
You might seem lovely in my eyes,
Nor should you quite despair.
There's something in your looks, I find,
Recalling Damon to my mind —
He is dead, and I must be resigned!
His lively step, his sun-burnt face,
His nervous arm in you I trace —
Indeed, — I think you no disgrace.

Thyrsis

On this dismal, cloudy day,
In these fighting times, I say,
Will you Yea, or will you Nay?

Lucinda

Oh! I will not tell you Nay,
You have such a coaxing way!

Thyrsis

Call the music! — half is done
That my heart could count upon —
From the grave I seize a prize!
Here she is, and where he lies,
She or I but little care!
O, what animals we are!
For you! — I would forego all ease,
And traverse sands or travel seas.
Of all they sent us from above,
Nothing, nothing is like love!
Happiest passion of the mind,
Sent from heaven to bless mankind,
Though at variance with your charms,
Fate's eternal mandate stands;
Hymen, come! — unite our hands,
And give Lucinda to my arms!