Classic Poem

Joy of my Life, dismiss those needless Fears,
Reply'd the King, and stay those precious Tears:
Should lovely Venus leave her native Sky,
And at my Feet, imploring Fondness, lie,
E'en she, the radiant Queen of soft Desires,
Should, disappointed, burn with hopeless Fires.

The Heart of Man the Queen's Experience knew
Perjur'd and false, yet wish'd to find him true:
She sigh'd retiring, and in Regal State
The King conducts her to the Palace Gate;
Where sacred Neptune's chrystal Chariot stands,
The wond'rous Work of his celestial Hands:
Six harness'd Swans the bright Machine convey
Swift thro' the Air or pathless wat'ry Way;
The Birds with eagle-speed the Air divide,
And plunge the Goddess in the sounding Tide.

Slow to the Court the pensive King returns.
And sighs in secret, and in Silence mourns;
So in the Grove sad Philomel complains
In mournful Accents, and melodious Strains:
Her plaintive Woes fill the resounding Lawn,
From starry Vesper to the rosy Dawn.

The King, to mitigate his tender Pain,
Seeks the Apartment of the Virgin Train,
With sportive Mirth sad Absence to beguile,
And bid the melancholy Moments smile;
But there deserted lonely Rooms he found,
And solitary Silence reign'd around.

He call'd aloud, when, lo! a Hag appears,
Bending beneath Deformity and Years,
Who said: my Liege, explain your sacred Will,
With Joy your Sov'reign Purpose I fulfil."

" My Will! detested Wretch! Avoid my Sight,
And hide that hideous Shape in endless Night.
What! does the Queen, o'er-run with rude Distrust,
Resolve by Force to keep a Husband just?"

You wrong, reply'd the Hag, your royal Wife,
Whose Care is Love, and Love to guard your Life.
The Race of Mortals are by Nature frail,
And strong Temptations with the Best prevail."
Be that my Care, he said; " be thine to send
The Virgin Train, let them my Will attend.

The Beldam fled — The chearful Nymphs advance,
And tread to measur'd Airs the mazy Dance;
The raptured Prince with greedy Eye surveys
The bloomy Maids, and covets still to gaze;
No more recalls the Image of his Spouse,
How false is Man! nor recollects his Vows;
With wild Inconstancy for all he burns,
And ev'ry Nymph subdues his Heart by Turns.

At length a Maid, superior to the rest,
Arrayed in Smiles, in Virgin Beauty dresst,
Receiv'd his Passion, and return'd his Love
And softly woo'd him to the silent Grove.

Enclos'd in deepest Shades of full-grown Wood,
Within the Grove a spacious Grotto stood,
Where forty Youths, in Marble, seem'd to mourn,
Each Youth reclining on a fun'ral Urn:
Thither the Nymph directs the Monarch's Way
He treads her Footsteps, joyful to obey.
There, fired with Passion, clasp'd her to his Breast,
And thus the Transport of his Soul confess'd.

Delightful Beauty, deck'd with ev'ry Charm
High Fancy paints! or glowing Love can form!
I sigh, I gaze, I tremble, I adore!
Such lovely Looks ne'er blest my Sight before!
Here, under Covert of th' imbow'ring Shade,
For Love's Delights and tender Transports made,
No busy Eye our Raptures to detect,
No envious Tongue to censure or direct;
Here yield to Love, and tenderly employ
The silent Season in extatic Joy.

With Arms enclos'd, his Treasure to retain,
He sigh'd and woo'd, but woo'd and sigh'd in Vain:
She rush'd indignant from his fond Embrace,
While Rage with Blushes paints her Virgin Face;
Yet still he sues with suppliant Hands and Eyes,
When she to Magic Charms for Vengeance flies.

A limpid Fountain murmur'd thro' the Cave;
She fill'd her Palm with the translucent Wave,
And sprinkling cry'd: Receive false Man in Time,
The just Reward of thy detested Crime.
Thy changeful Sex in Perfidy delight,
Despise Perfection, and fair Virtue flight;
False, fickle, base, tyrannic, and unkind,
Whose Hearts, nor Vows can chain nor Honour bind:
Mad to possess, by Passion blindly led;
And then as mad to stain the nuptial Bed:
Whose roving Souls no Excellence, no Age,
No Form, no Rank, no Beauty, can engage;
Slaves to the Bad, to the Deserving worst,
Sick of your twentieth Love, as of your first.
The Statues, which this hallow'd Grot adorn,
Like thee were Lovers, and like thee forsworn;
Whose faithless Hearts no Kindness could secure,
Nor for a Day preserve their Passion pure;
Whom neither Love, nor Beauty could restrain,
Nor Fear of endless Infamy and Pain.
In me behold thy Queen; for know with Ease
We Deities assume each Form we please;
Nor can the feeble Ken of mortal Eyes
Perceive the Goddess thro' the dark Disguise.
Now feel the Force of Heav'n's avenging Hand,
And here inanimate for ever stand.

She spoke — Amaz'd the list'ning Monarch stood,
And icy Horror froze his ebbing Blood;
Thick Shades of Death upon his Eyelids creep,
And clos'd them fast in everlasting Sleep;
No Sense of Life, no Motions he retains,
But, fixed, a dreadful Monument remains;
A STATUE now, and, if reviv'd once more,
Would prove, no doubt, as perjur'd as before.