Beyond the cruel bounds of thy command,
To my dear equal, in my native land,
My plighted vow I gave; I his receiv'd:
Each swore with truth, with pleasure each believ'd: The mutual contract was to heav'n convey'd;
In equal scales the busy angels weigh'd
Its solemn force, and clapp'd their wings, and spread The lasting roll, recording what we said.
Now in my heart behold thy poignard stain'd;
Take the sad life which I have long disdain'd;
End, in a dying virgin's wretched fate,
Thy ill-starr'd passion and my stedfast hate:
For long as blood informs these circling veins,
Or fleeting breath its latest pow'r retains,
Hear me to Egypt's vengeful gods declare
Hate is my part; be thine, O King, despair.
Now strike, she said, and open'd bare her breast.
Stand it in Judah's chronicles confest,
That David's son by impious passion mov'd,
Smote a she-slave, and murder'd what he lov'd.
Asham'd, confus'd, I started from the bed,
And to my soul, yet uncollected, said,
Into thyself, fond Solomon, return;
Reflect again, and thou again shalt mourn.
When I thro' number'd years have pleasure sought,
And in vain hope the wanton phantom caught,
To mock my sense, and mortify my pride,
'Tis in another's pow'r, and is deny'd.
Am I a king, great Heav'n! does life or death
Hang on the wrath or mercy of my breath,
While kneeling I my servant's smiles implore, 300
And one mad damsel dares dispute my pow'r?
To ravish her? that thought was soon depress'd,
Which must debase the monarch to the beast.
To send her back? O whither, and to whom?
To lands where Solomon must never come?
To that insulting rival's happy arms
For whom, disdaining me, she keeps her charms?
Fantastic tyrant of the am'rous heart,
How hard thy yoke! how cruel is thy dart ?
Those 'scape thy anger who refuse thy sway,
And those are punish'd most who most obey.
See Judah's king revere thy greater pow'r ;
What canst thou covet, or how triumph more?
Why then, O Love, with an obdurate ear,
Does this proud nymph reject a monarch's pray'ı ?
Why to some simple shepherd does she run,
From the fond arms of David's fav'rite son?
Why flies she from the glories of a court,
Where wealth and pleasure may thy reign support,
To some poor cottage on the mountain's brow, 320
Now bleak with winds, and cover'd now with snow,
Where pinching want must curb her warm desires,
And household cares suppress thy genial fires?
Too aptly the afflicted Heathens prove
The force, while they erect the shrines of Love. 325
His mystic form the artizans of Greece
In wounded stone, or molten gold express;
And Cyprus to his godhead pays her vow,
Fast in his hand the idol holds his bow;
A quiver by his side sustains his store
Of pointed darts, sad emblems of his pow'r;
A pair of wings he has, which he extends
Now to be gone, which now again he bends,
Prone to return, as best may serve his wanton ends.
Entirely thus I find the fiend pourtray'd,
Since first, alas! I saw the beauteous maid:
I felt him strike, and now I see him fly:
Curs'd Dæmon! O! for ever broken lie
Those fatal shafts by which
O! can my wishes yet o'ertake thy speed!
Tir'd may'st thou pant, and hang thy flagging
Except thou turn'st thy course, resolv'd to bring
The damsel back, and save the love-sick king.
My soul thus struggling in the fatal net,
Unable to enjoy or to forget,
I reason'd much, alas! but more I lov'd,
Sent and recall'd, ordain'd and disapprov'd,
Till hopeless, plung'd in an abyss of grief,
I from necessity receiv'd relief;
Time gently aided to assuage my pain.
And Wisdom took once more the slacken'd rein.
But O how short my interval of woe?
Our griefs how swift, our remedies how slow!
Another nymph (for so did Heav'n ordain,
To change the manner but renew the pain)
Another nymph, amongst the many fair
That made my softer hours their solemn care,
Before the rest affected still to stand,
And watch'd my eye, preventing my command.
Abra, she so was call'd, did soonest haste
To grace my presence: Abra went the last :
Abra was ready ere I call'd her name,
And tho' I call'd another, Abra came.
Her equals first observ'd her growing zeal,
And laughing gloss'd, that Abra serv'd so well. 365
To me her actions did unheeded die,
Or were remark'd but with a common eye,
Till more appriz'd of what the rumour said,
More I observ'd peculiar in the maid.
The sun declin 'd had shot his western ray,
When, tir'd with bus'ness of the solemn day,
I purpos'd to unbend the evʼning hours,
And banquet private in the women's bow'rs.
I call'd before I sat to wash my hands,
For so the precept of the law commands:
Love had ordain'd that it was Abra's turn
To mix the sweets, and minister the urn.
With awful homage and submissive dread
The maid approach'd, on my declining head
To pour the oils : she trembled as she pour'd; 380
With an unguarded look she now devour'd
My nearer face: and now recall'd her eye,
And heav'd, and strove to hide a sudden sigh.
And whence, said I, canst thou have dread or pain?
What can thy imag'ry of sorrow mean?
Secluded from the world and all its care,
Hast thou to grieve or joy, to hope or fear?
For sure, I added, sure thy little heart
Ne'er felt Love's anger or receiv'd his dart.
Abash'd she blush'd, and with disorder spoke ; Her rising shame adorn'd the words it broke. 391 If the great master will descend to hear The humble series of his handmaid's care, O! while she tells it let him not put on
The look that awes the nations from the throne: 395
O! let not death severe in glory lie
In the King's frown and terror of his eye.
Mine to obey, thy part is to ordain;
And tho' to mention be to suffer pain,
If the King smiles whilst I my woe recite,
If weeping I find favour in his sight,
Flow fast my tears, full rising his delight.
For can I hide it? I am sick of love;
O! witness earth beneath and heav'n above,
If madness may the name of passion bear,
Or love be call'd what is indeed despair.
Thou sov'reign Pow'r, whose secret will controls The inward bent and motion of our souls! Why hast thou plac'd such infinite degrees Between the cause and cure of thy disease?
|