Classic Poem

Kind are my stars indeed but that so late
And I a stranger to a gentle fate,
If such a one I meet and chance to know,
I have not proper words to call it so,
Wondering at happiness, surpris'd as far
As a rough General always train'd to War,
Snatch'd from the midst of cruel fierce alarms,
Into a thousand unexpected charms;
A joy like this, how shall I entertain,
With a heart wounded, and a soul in pain;
In my laborious enterprises crost,
My life near Finis , and the Day quite lost.
Cleone had a swain, and lov'd the youth
Not for his Beauty but his seeming truth,
Not for a goodly herd or high descent,
(Ah that no God my ruin would prevent,)
What th├┤ the Swain had neither Sheep nor land,
I scorned the goods of fortunes partial hand;
So generous was my passion for the slave,
Because I equally suppos'd him brave.
Oh! give me leave to sigh one sad adieu,
Then wholly dedicate myself to you
I have no business here but to complain
Of all the treasons of an ingrate Swain,
Since my inhumane perjur'd Shepherd's gone,
Night four seven times has put her mantle on,
And three seven times Aurora has appear'd,
Since last I from the cruel Strephon heard;
Whither he lives, is dead, or on what shore,
(Patience, ye Gods!) alas I know no more,
Then why my Stars do my destruction press,
Send me your pity, bounteous Shepherdess;
That I the face of grief no more may know;
If I deserve it that cou'd Love so low;
Consult not that, but charity and give
One tender pittying sigh that I may live:
(That I may thus make my complaint to you,)
Kind are my Stars indeed at last 'tis true;
Let not my rude and untam'd griefs destroy,
The early glimmerings of an infant joy:
And add not your neglect, for if you doe,
Cleone finds her desolation too!
Know this it yet remains in your fair breast,
To render me the happy or unblest.
You may act miracles if you'l be kind,
Make me true joys in real sorrows find;
And bless the hour I hither did pursue
A faithless Swain and found access to you:
Accept the heart I here to you present,
By the ingratitude of Strephon rent;
Till then gay, noble, full of brave disdain,
And unless yours prevent shall be again;
As once it was, if in your generous brest,
It may be Pensioner at my request
No more to Treasons subject as before
To be betray'd by a fair tale no more,
As large as once, as uncontroul'd and free,
But yet at your command shall always be.