Classic Poem

SCENE III.

LAURA. CLEANTHES.

LAURA.

But see! some hasty stranger bends his way;
His broider'd vest reflects the sunny ray:
Now through the thinner boughs I mark his mien,
Now veil'd, in thicker shades he moves unseen
Hither he turns; I hear a mutt'ring sound;
Behind this rev'rend oak with ivie bound
Quick I'll retire; with busy thought possest,
His tongue betrays the secrets of his breast.

CLEANTHES.

The skillful hunter with experienc'd care
Traces the doubles of the circling hare;
The subtle fox (who breaths the weary hound
O'er hills and plains) in distant brakes is found;
With ease we track swift hinds and skipping roes.
But who th' inconstant ways of woman knows?
They say, she wanders with the sylvan train,
And courts the native freedoms of the plain;
Shepherds explain their wish without offence,
Nor blush the nymphs; — for Love is innocence.
O lead me where the rural youth retreat,
Where the slope hills the warbling voice repeat.
Perhaps on daisy'd turf reclines the maid,
And near her side some rival clown is laid.
Yet, yet I love her. — O lost nymph return,
Let not thy fire with tears incessant mourn;
Return, lost nymph; bid sorrow cease to flow
And let Dione glad the house of woe.

LAURA.

Call'd he not lost Dione? hence I'll start,
Cross his slow steps, and sift his op'ning heart.

CLEANTHES.

Tell me, fair nymph, direct my wandring way;
Where, in close bowers, to shun the sultry ray,
Repose the swains; whose flocks with bleating fill
The bord'ring forest and the thymy hill.
But if thou frequent join those sylvan bands,
Thy self can answer what my soul demands.

LAURA.

Seven years I trod these fields, these bowers, and glades,
And by the less'ning and the length'ning shades
Have mark'd the hours; what time my flock to lead
To sunny mountains, or the watry mead:
Train'd in the labours of the sylvan crew,
Their sports, retreats, their cares and loves I knew.

CLEANTHES.

Instruct me then, if late among your race,
A stranger nymph is found, of noble grace,
In rural arts unskill'd, no charge she tends;
Nor when the morn and ev'ning dew descends
Milks the big-udder'd ewe. Her mien and dress
The polish'd manners of the Court confess.

LAURA.

Each day arrive the neighb'ring nymphs and swains
To share the pastime of our jovial plains;
How can I there thy roving beauty trace,
Where not one nymph is bred of vulgar race?

CLEANTHES.

If yet she breath, what tortures must she find!
The curse of disobedience tears her mind.
If e'er your breast with filial duty burn'd,
If e'er you sorrow'd when a parent mourn'd;
Tell her, I charge you, with incessant groans
Her drooping sire his absent child bemoans.

LAURA.

Unhappy man!

CLEANTHES.

— — — With storms of passion tost,
When first he learnt his vagrant child was lost,
On the cold floor his trembling limbs he flung,
And with thick blows his hollow bosom rung;
Then up he started, and with fixt surprise,
Upon her picture threw his frantick eyes,
While thus he cry'd. " In her my life was bound,
" Warm in each feature is her mother found!
" Perhaps despair has been her fatal guide,
" And now she floats upon the weeping tide;
" Or on the willow hung, with head reclin'd,
" All pale and cold she wavers in the wind.
" Did I not force her hence by harsh commands?
" Did not her soul abhor the nuptial bands?

LAURA.

Teach not, ye fires, your daughters to rebell,
By counsel rein their wills, but ne'er compel.

CLEANTHES.

Ye duteous daughters, trust these tender guides;
Nor think a parent's breast the tyrant hides.

LAURA.

From either lid the scalding sorrows roll;
The moving tale runs thrilling to my soul.

CLEANTHES.

Perhaps she wanders in the lonely woods,
Or on the sedgy borders of the floods;
Thou know'st each cottage, forest, hill and vale,
And pebbled brook that winds along the dale,
Search each sequester'd dell to find the fair;
And just reward shall gratifie thy care.

LAURA.

O ye kind boughs protect the virgin's flight,
And guard Dione from his prying sight!

CLEANTHES.

Mean while I'll seek the shepherd's cool abodes,
Point me, fair nymph, along these doubtful roads.

LAURA.

Seest thou yon' mountain rear his shaggy brow?
In the green valley graze the flocks below:
There ev'ry gale with warbling musick floats,
Shade answers shade, and breaths alternate notes.

He's gone; and to the distant vales is sent,
Nor shall his force Dione 's love prevent.
But see, she comes again with hasty pace,
And conscious pleasure dimples on her face.