Classic Poem

BOOK II. ODE IV .

TO THE E — — M — — OF S — — D

Avow, my noble friend, thy kind desires,
If Phillis' gentle form thy breast inspires,
Nor glory, nor can reason disapprove;
What though unknown her humble name,
Unchronicled in records old,
Or tale by flattering poets told:
She to her beauties owes her noblest fame,
Her noblest honours to thy love.

Know Cupid scorns the trophied shield,
Vain triumph of some guilty field,
Where dragons hiss and lions roar,
Blazon'd with argent and with or,
His heraldry is hearts for hearts,
He stamps himself o'er all, and dignifies his darts.

Smote by a simple village maid,
See noble Petrarch night and day
Pour his soft sorrows through the shade;
Nor could the Muse his pains allay:
What though with hands pontific crown'd,
With all the scarlet senate round,
He saw his brows adorn the living ray;
Though sighing virgins tried each winning art,
To cure their gentle Poet's love-sick heart,
Cupid more powerful than them all,
Resolv'd his tuneful captive to enthrall,
Subdued him with a shepherdess's look;
He wreathes his verdant honours round her crook,
And taught Valclusa's smiling groves
To wear the sable liveries of his loves.

But this example scarce can move thy mind,
The gentle power with verse was ever join'd:
Then hear, my lord, a dreadful tale,
Not known in fair Arcadia's peaceful vale,
Nor in the Academic grove,
Where mild Philosophy might dwell with Love;
But poring o'er the mystic page,
Of old Stagira's wonderous sage,
In the dark cave of syllogistic doubt,
Where neither Muse, nor beauty's Queen,
Nor wandering Grace was ever seen,
Love found his destin'd victim out,
And put the rude militia all to rout:
For whilst poor Abelard, ah! soon decreed
Love's richest sacrifice to bleed,
Unweeting drew the argumental thread,
A finer net the son of Venus' spread:
Involving in his ample category,
With all his musty schoolmen round,
The' unhappy youth, alike renown'd
In philosophic and in amorous story.

Inflexible and stern the Czar,
Amidst the iron sons of war,
With dangers and distress encompast round,
In his large bosom deep receiv'd the wound.
No Venus she, surrounded by the Loves,
Nor drawn by cooing harnest doves;
'Twas the caprice love to yoke
Two daring souls, unharnest and unbroke.
When now the many-laurell'd Swede,
The field of death his noblest triumph fled,
And forc'd by fate, but unsubdued of soul,
To the fell victor left the conquest of the pole.

Henry, a monarch to thy heart,
In action brave, in council wise,
Felt in his breast the fatal dart,
Shot from two snowy breasts, and two fair lovely eyes;
Though Gallia wept, though Sully frown'd,
Though rag'd the impious League around,
The little urchin entrance found,
And to his haughty purpose forc'd to yield
The virtuous conqueror of Contra's field.

Who knows but some four-tail'd bashaw
May hail thee, peer, his son-in-law,
Some bright sultana, Asia's pride,
Was grandame to the beauteous bride:
For sure a girl so sweet, so kind,
Such a sincere and lovely mind,
Where each exalted virtue shines,
Could never spring from vulgar loins.
No, no, some chief of great Arsaces' line,
Has form'd her lineaments divine;
Who Rome's imperial fasces broke,
And spurn'd the nation's galling yoke,
Though now, oh! sad reverse of fate,
The former lustre of her royal state,
She sees injurious Time deface,
And weeps the ravish'd sceptres of her race.
Her melting eye and slender waste,
Fair tapering from the swelling breast,
All Nature's charms, all Nature's pride,
Whate'er they show, whate'er they hide,
I own. — But swear by bright Apollo,
Whose priest I am, nought, nought can follow;
Suspect not thou a Poet's praise,
Unhurt I hear, uninjur'd gaze:
Alas! such badinage but ill would suit
A married man, and forty years to boot.