Classic Poem

PATHETAS, Or the Passions .

Why, S TREPHON , why departed from the Plains?
Why thus estrang'd to all thy neighb'ring Swains?
Why in such Midnight Shades, such silent Groves,
While they enjoy the fair C OSMELIA'S Loves?
Where are those sprightly Looks, that am'rous Glance,
Whereby thou charm'd the Nymph when in the Dance?
Where are the Laurels she weav'd for thy Head,
When 'midst thy Rivals thou the Triumph led?
Where are those spreading Locks, that us'd to fly,
And waving o'er thy Snowy Shoulders lay?
Where are those sweet Perfumes, that balmy Scent,
Which from thy Head in streaming Odours went?
What has untun'd the Pipe that us'd to move,
And in such blushing gentle Whispers strove,
To warble out the fair C OSMELIA'S Love?
In short, since all that's am'rous, brisk, and gay,
Pleasant and charming, since that All's away;
Tell me from whence this mighty Change doth flow?
What strange Reverse of Thoughts has made thee so?

Strephon.

Dissolv'd in Tears, all in this sable Hue,
I mourn that e'er C OSMELIA'S Loves I knew.

Pathetas.

Ah! Could she prove unkind, could she disdain
S TREPHON'S Embraces, then might you complain;
But still she loves, her Passion's still the same,
And ev'n your Absence does augment the Flame.

Strephon.

Silence, fond Youth, for now I've learn'd to know,
Her Smiles were noxious, and her Joys my Woe;
Each Look was fatal, and each Kiss a Dart
That pierc'd my Soul, and stung me to the Heart.

Pathetas.

I've just now left the Fields, and heard the Noise
Of fair C OSMELIA , and the mournful Voice
Of all the wandring Nymphs that rang'd the Plains,
Pass'd and repass'd thro' all the joyful Swains,
Still groning forth this Note, Ah! is he gone,
Is S TREPHON lost, is S TREPHON thus undone!
Ah! can he now disdain C OSMELIA'S Charms,
And live so long a Stranger to her Arms?
Thus wand'ring thro' the Plains they vent their Moans,
While all the ecchoing Woods resound their Grones.
And can you yet believe that she's your Foe,
Whose am'rous Plaints such Height of Passion show?

Strephon.

Yes still she loves, and still the more she loves,
Still she more noxious and more hurtful proves:
Ah! happy I, had she been still unkind,
Had she with Scorn, my amorous Suits declin'd;
Had she, with low'ring Frowns veil'd all her Face,
Disdain'd my Sighs, and shun'd my fond Embrace.
For now I see that all her gaudy Charms,
Were but enchanted Shows, and real Harms.
Oh! cruel Nymph, thy Loves had I ne'er known,
I had not been thus fetter'd and ty'd down;
With nimble Stroaks, I could have wing'd above,
And known, and seen that Beauty whom I love.
But now, involv'd in Mists, I wand'ring stray,
And fear, at every Step, to lose my Way.
U RANIA , Oh! U RANIA , hear my Grones,
Compassionate my Griefs, regard my Moans.
Long have I stray'd in this dark Maze of Night,
And chas'd a Phantom that deceiv'd my Sight.
When first I rov'd, thou call'dst and bad'st me stay;
But I regardless still spurr'd on my Way.
Thou oft renew'dst the Check, and stopt my Course;
Impatient I still spurn'd, and turn'd the worse.
Long thou pursu'dst, still I thy Suits declin'd,
And still the more thou lov'dst, the more I was unkind.
Thus wretch'd and treach'rous I did faithless prove,
To all the silent Whispers of thy Love.
But now my Heart relents, I die with Pain,
To think that e'er I could thy Love disdain:
Enrag'd against my self, I wand'ring go
Thro' all the silent Groves, and vent my Woe;
Calling to each small Shrub, and lofty Tree,
Ah! will U RANIA hear and pity me!

Cosmelia.

What mournful Notes are these that touch my Ear,
Is't S TREPHON , or some Phantom that I hear?
Ah! stop, dear Youth, and do not scorn my Cries;
Once more regard the Rhet'rick of mine Eyes.
The Chrystal Drops that from these Fountains flow,
And down my Cheeks in rosy Chanels go,
Proclaim my Loves, my Heights of Passion show.

Strephon.

I scorn your Tears, in vain you court my Stay:
A nobler Object calls my Soul away.

Cosmelia.

Are these the just Repays for all my Care,
For all the am'rous Sweets I did prepare;
When thou lay clasp'd, enclosed in my Arms,
And thy fond Soul was raptur'd with my Charms?
Remind how oft on yonder distant Plains,
When with disdainful Frowns, I pass'd the Swains,
With what soft melting Smiles I glanc'd on Thee,
And thou return'd the Look with Extasie.
Remind these rosy Walks, these flow'ry Shades,
Where we so oft repos'd our am'rous Heads.
Remind these gentle Streams whereon we lay,
And bath'd and sported out the Toils of Day:
While all the bloss'ming Train perfum'd the Grove,
And in sweet balmy Whispers bade us Love.
Remind how oft, on yonder silent Groves,
I call'd on S TREPHON to enjoy my Loves;
With what fierce Leaps you sprung into the Place,
And thy rapt Soul flew out in each Embrace.
Remind all this, and then, dear S TREPHON , tell
Why you'd torment the Nymph you lov'd so well?

Strephon.

While with such Fondness I pursu'd thy Love,
A nobler Flame could not my Passions move;
I stoop'd and bow'd, and basely was enslav'd:
But still thy Magick Charms I ne'er perceiv'd.
The poys'nous Streams that darted from thine Eyes,
Still dimm'd my Sight, and mask'd my Miseries;
Thy Joys did surfeit and debase my Soul,
And all its nobler Flights of Love controul.
That charming Fair , which Heav'n design'd for me,
Poor wretched I, contemn'd, and all for Thee.
Drunk with Love's Magic-Potion I did run,
And roving Mad, U RANIA 's Beauty shun.
But now I feel, I feel the Heav'nly Dart
Has reach'd my Soul at last, and pierc'd my Heart.
O! then, thou base Enchantress of my Mind,
Be gone, be gone, and get thee far behind.

Cosmelia to her NYMPHS.

See how he scorns my Smiles, disdains my Loves,
And with what eager Flights he foreward moves.
I'll yet advance, and all my Charms display,
And try once more if I can court his Stay.
Mean Time tune up your Strings, advance in Pairs,
And melt his Soul with soft and amorous Airs;
Disclose your Balmy Stores, let Odours fly,
And with perfumed Scents deluge the Sky.
The wanton Streams which on yon Plains you see,
Break down their Banks, and let them all go free;
Cut out new Chanels let all Riv'lets glide,
Meet and concentre, make a Chrystal Tide
Just where the Youth doth run; and if he stay,
Beneath his Feet sweet Flowers and Roses lay.
Then all with wanton Smiles begin the Dance;
And while you play before him, I'll advance.

Pathetas.

Dear S TREPHON , stop; C OSMELIA does pursue,
And Paradise is open'd to your View.
O do not shun a Heav'n, a present Bliss,
For some far distant Pleasures after this.

Strephon.

All's but Amusement, and a gilded Show;
And when the Charm's unmask'd, you'll find it so.

Pathetas.

Can what we handle, Joys that we perceive,
Delights we taste and feel, our Sense deceive?
No sure: Or if they could, what then? if Pleasures flow,
From hugging Phantoms, grasping at a Show:
The Matter's still the same; we taste a Bliss,
And what would you have more than Happiness?

Strephon.

Did I no more than Joys and Sweets pursue,
Had I no nobler Object in my View;
That charming Beauty whom I long to see,
In every Look could dart a Heav'n to me.
But ah! 'Tis more than Bliss to which I move,
'Tis something more Divine I mean to love.

Cosmelia 's NYMPHS.

Surprising! Strange! He scorns P ATHETA 's Cries,
And with Disdain C OSMELIA 's Love he flies!
In vain we stop his Flights, or court his Stay,
Since with such eager Leaps he springs away,
We'll turn again, and let C OSMELIA know
How much he hates, how much he is her Foe.

Cosinelia to them Returning.

Ah! have you charm'd his Stay, or does he prove
As yet untouch'd, regardless of my Love?
O! can he still my soft Embraces fly?
Tell me, Oh tell me; tell me, else I dy.

Nymphs.

Yes, still he scorns your Tears, he's still unkind,
And all your amorous Suits he has declin'd.
He won't one Look, one transient Glance bestow
On all the joyful Scenes we've opened now.
We tun'd our Strings, and, in soft melting Strains,
Told what blest Raptures the transported Swains
Feel in your Loves on yonder distant Plains.
We mounted still the Note, and rais'd our Voice,
The distant Woods still ecchoing back the Noise;
With sweet soft flowing Numbers fill'd the Skies,
Enough to melt his Soul int' Extasies.
Each Note breath'd Rapture, and each quiv'ring Sound,
Each trembling Shake was with such Beauty crown'd,
That all the wingy Train stopt on their Way,
And down before us in the Sun-Beams lay,
Charm'd with the melting Notes they heard us play.
Then mounting all on high, they joyn'd in Pairs,
And strove to match us with harmonious Airs.
Still as we sung, still they renew'd their Art,
And in soft Warbles play'd the Counter -Part,
Nature did all her Harmonies bestow,
And a new Paradise was opened now.
Loud whistling Winds C OSMELIA 's Sighs convey'd,
And in high Treble Notes her Loves display'd,
While gentler Streams glide softly on their Way,
And a grave Bass in murmuring Sonnets play.
Each rosy Morn new Scenes we did prepare,
And all our Virgin-fancies acted there.
And when the Sable Dark return'd the Night,
We wanton'd round, and play'd before his Sight.
We follow'd still, still he his Flights renew'd,
And still the more he ran, the faster we pursu'd.
Breathless and spent at last, he stopt his Pace,
And, bending down, lay prostrate on his Face:
Then with Looks bended upward he began,
Thus to lament, just like the dying Swan.
" U RANIA , ah! U RANIA , lend an Ear,
" To thy poor panting Lover prostrate here.
" Revive my fainting Soul, regard my Moans,
" My dying Sighs, and my repeated Grones.
" O! shall C OSMELIA yet triumphant be,
" And ravish this poor struggling Heart from thee!
" Oh! no, Oh! no, O rather stop my Breath,
" And let me sink into the Arms of Death;
" Ere she embrace my Soul, ere ought my Passions move,
" But only thou and thy Diviner Love!
Scarce had he spoke, when feather'd Arrows fly,
And winged Darts encountring in the Sky,
Struck down the warbling Throng, pierc'd thro their Throats,
And drown'd in dying Shreiks their softer Notes,
But ah! What shall we say? This was not all,
We saw the poor P ATHETAS also fall
A Victim to a fierce and cruel Dart,
That sheath'd it self into his panting Heart.
Wallowing in Gore he lay, till from the Wound
His fainting Soul gasp'd out upon the Ground.
We, fearing the same Fate, began to fly,
And let our silent Harps neglected ly;
And now we're scarce escap'd to let Thee know
The dismal Story, the sad Scene of Woe.

Cosmelia.

Plagues and Destruction seize his rocky Soul,
That thus can scorn my Charms, my Loves controul.
Too long, too long with Smiles I did pursue;
I'll try what Vengeance and my Wrath can do.
In Floods of Torments I'll deluge his Soul,
And in a thousand Hells I'll make him roul.
Go, summon Daemon , and the Stygian Rout
To muster here; and as they wrestle out
From their infernal Dens, with roring Sound,
Let all the Rocks their bellowing Noise resound;
Then burst and break, in forked Lightnings fly,
And overspread the Place where he does ly.
The tortur'd Youth, thus struck, shall grov'ling spraul,
And then on every Hand for Succour call.
See that ye lend him none; But let his Soul
Amidst the furious Storms thus toss and roul.
See that his Tears do not your Wrath appease,
But wound and crush him; let him have no Ease.
Starve him with Wants, plague him with Poverty,
And rack his tortur'd Breast with Infamy.
Pierce, pierce him thro'; strike home, repeat the Blow,
And still the more you strike, more cruel grow.
Let all his outward Toils and Torments be,
But fainter Emblems of that Agonie
He feels within; let him thus cram'd with Woe,
Thus drunk with Mis'ry stagg'ring to and fro,
Strive to disgorge and vomit out his Soul.
But O, resist his Motions, and controul,
And pull and tug it back, and chain it to the Goal.
Weary and spend him out; let him not have
The sweet Repose and Silence of the Grave.
Perhaps he'll calm at last, and hear my Cries,
And court my Smiles again with dropping Eyes.
Perhaps he'll curse U RANIA , who allows
Him to be thus prest down with mighty Woes.

Strephon.

What strange Reverse is this? Where am I now?
From whence the Tempests that around me flow?
Without, within, and all on every Hand,
Enclos'd in Mists and Darkness now I stand.
I am all Night, no courteous Gleams arise
To usher in the Day, or gild my Sable Skies.
But ah! Why do I mourn? how can I drop a Tear
For all the Griefs and Plagues I suffer here?
Did not U RANIA , when she stoopt below,
A thousand Hells and Tortures undergo?
O yes, dear Nymph, what Hells, what killing Pains
Rackt thy sweet tender Soul on yonder Plains?
When like some Fellow-Swain thou didst appear,
Disguis'd and veil'd, and whisper'dst in my Ear,
" O come, forsake C OSMELIA , and pursue
" The nobler Bliss I have design'd for you?
How did th' enraged Youths begin to cry,
C OSMELIA'S rivall'd, and the Traitor's nigh?
First from the Temple their dire Yells began,
Rebounding thence, from Plain to Plain they ran:
The hollow Woods the ecchoing Sound repay,
And still the Master-Note was, Crucify .
How did they crush, and pierce, and wound thy Soul,
And scourge, and toss, and drag Thee to the Goal?
How was thou mock'd and scorn'd, and made the Jest,
While black and doleful Griefs delug'd thy Breast!
With what dire Malice did they vent their Rage,
When with Derision they erect a Stage,
Bragg'd Thee thereon; then weav'd a Thorny Crown,
Which pierc'd thy sweating Temples, made Thee Grone,
Till Scarlet Drops of Blood came trickling down?
With dire revengeful Blows they pierc'd thy Side,
Till Purple Streams from every Wound did glide:
Struck down thy throbing Heart with stunning Pain,
And chas'd thy fading Life from Vein to Vein,
To Nature's Out-works then at last it fled,
And then thou stoop'dst, and bending down thy Head,
Breath'd thus in Sighs, See what I've done for Thee:
O then take up thy Cross and follow Me.
And shall I yet lament? Dare I complain
That I am tortur'd thus, and rack'd with Pain?
Ah no! ah no! all silent here I'll ly,
And pant and breathe to Heaven, love on and dy.

Cosmelia.

And can you love her still? Ah can your Flame
Be unextinguish'd yet, tho' she disclaim,
And scorn your dying Sighs? — — — —

Strephon.

O yes, O yes; I'll love, I'll love her still,
And ay the more I'm pain'd, the more I will.
'Tis not because she hates, that she allows
Me to be thus beat down and crush'd with Woes.
'Tis not because she's pleas'd, and smiles to see
Her faithful Lover plung'd in Miserie.
Oh no: She's acted by some nobler Views,
And in Disguise a higher End pursues.
She knows, that if it were allow'd to me,
To taste her Pleasures, and her Beauties see,
Ere by Experience I had felt and known,
What 'tis to leave her, and her Love disown:
How soon I'd wander, and like others rove;
And run in Quest of some inferior Love.
Therefore she lets me feel the Miserie,
The mighty killing piercing Woe, to be
One Minute absent from her, that I may
Find what a Hell it is to go astray.
Thus when I've breath'd and gron'd a while below,
And swim'd to Her thro' such a Sea of Woe,
I won't presume to wander thus again,
Nor let inferior Beauties me detain,
Tie down my Passions, and my Soul enchain.
O therefore strike, and wound, and pierce me throw,
And crush my panting Heart at every Blow.
Rack me with new found Tortures, fill the Bowl,
The bitterest Bowls of Woe; and let my Soul
Be fill'd, and cramm'd, and burst with Agonies,
With cruel Pains and piercing Miseries.
All you shall gain by this, I'll Love the more,
My Flame shall still burn brighter than before.
I'll pant, and long, and eagerly aspire
Still to ascend, and fly, and mount the high'r,
The more I feel what 'tis to breathe below,
Forsake U RANIA , and a-wandring go.

Cosmelia 's NYMPHS.

We're lost, we're lost! Alas! Where shall we run?
Behold the fearful Scene that's now begun.
A secret Hand has rais'd the prostrate Swain,
Reach'd from above, and pull'd him up again.
Behold, behold! the vaulted Heavens divide,
And a bright Set of Arms falls by his Side.
A crested Helmet does inclose his Head,
And o'er his Breast a Plate of Gold is spread.
Within his Hands he waves a flaming Shield,
And thus accouter'd he does range the Field.
What shall we do to shun his furious Blows,
And fly the dreadful Tide of direful Woes?

Cosmelia.

Call Daemon here, that brave and daring Swain;
His very Looks will calm the Youth again.
Cause him prepare for Battle, make him sheath
His hideous Limbs in all the Arms of Death.
In ravening Lions Hue let him appear,
Or in the Shape of some inraged Bear;
And o'er the Plains stretch out his tawny Paw,
That so the beardless Youth may stand in Aw.

Daemon , an Infernal Spirit.

When you imploy my Sword, I'm still at Hand,
And cannot disobey when you command:
Only I think 'tis not the safest Way,
To try with open Arms to force his Stay.
For should U RANIA know what we intend,
Whole wing'd Battallia's to his Aid she'd send.
Therefore some secret Stratagems I'll chuse,
Some hidden Wiles and unobserved Reuse:
To court him near you, lure him gently on,
Till with some downy Steps, unheard, unknown,
You steal into his Soul, and make him all your own.

Cosmelia.

Speak on, dear Daemon , tell what 'tis you'll do:
My Hope and Confidence is plac'd in you.

Daemon.

Time was when I lay in U RANIA'S Arms,
Raptur'd and extasy'd with all her Charms,
Into her Palace when I did resort,
And learn'd the Speech and Fashions of her Court.
And ever since I can my self disguise,
Like some wing'd Messenger of Paradise.
Well then, dear Nymph , in Haste I will pursue,
And counterfeit their Garb and Language too.
Then with this Magic-Potion in my Hand,
I'll call upon the Youth, and bid him stand.
When e'er he stops, I will present this Draught,
And tell 'tis from the fair U RANIA brought,
A Cordial she prepar'd for him to Day,
Lest he fall spent and breathless on the Way.
He shan't perceive the Plot, till once his Soul
Begin to stagger with the gusty Bowl.
Then I'll disarm, and strip the feeble Swain,
And bring him back into your Arms again:
Only acquaint me in what Cave he lies,
To what untrod Retirement now he flies.

Cosmelia 's NYMPHS.

Far from the Plain, in yonder gloomy Shade,
Beneath some vaulted Hollow he is laid,
You'll know the Place by his repeated Grones,
For there he spends his Days in Sighs and Moans.

Daemon.

Ye shady Woods, unmantle and disclose
That silent Grove where S TREPHON does repose.

Strephon.

Who's this that calls? Who's this that dare molest
My calm Retreat, and thus invade my Rest?

Daemon.

A wing'd Ambassador that has to Day,
From bright U RANIA'S Court cut out his Way.
She saw what mighty Griefs, what Woes and Pains
You felt of late in yonder distant Plains.
When with such Threats C OSMELIA did pursue,
And vomit out her Wrath and Rage at you.
Therefore I was dispatch'd in Haste to give
This small, this soft Elixir to revive
Your drooping Spirits, lest they should decay,
And to C OSMELIA'S Rage you fall a Prey.

VOICE from Above.

Ah! neither Touch nor Taste; the Magick Bowl
Will soon benum and stupify your Soul:
Death's in the Cup, 'tis an empoys'ned Draught
C OSMELIA has prepar'd, and Daemon brought.

Strephon.

Be gone thou wretch'd and treach'rous. Shall I prove
Like Thee, regardless of U RANIA'S Love?
No, I'd not tempt her to one little Frown,
Tho' Earth and all its Bliss should be my own.
For if I thought this cursed Heart could prove
Untouch'd and unaffected with her Love;
I'd tear it from my Breast, it should not beat
Along my emptyed Veins another Heat.
Go tell your Dame C OSMELIA that I scorn,
And all her puny slighted Offers spurn.
Tho' Earth's whole Pleasures were at her Command,
And she could grasp the Poles within her Hand,
And squeeze them dry of Bliss, then in one Bowl
Reach out the grand Quintessence to my Soul,
I'd scorn the dreggy Potion, as too mean,
And for a Heaven-born Soul, too base, and too Terrene.