Dr Rachel E. Holmes
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Sapphic Poetics in the Seventeenth Century
Preparatory Reading
Lady Mary Wroth (c.1587–c.1651)
From: The First Part of the Countess of Montgomery’s Urania, The
Third Booke (1621)
[N.B. This text is available in full on Early English Books Online (EEBO) as
well as through the UCL Library in an abridged or a standard edition
edited by Josephine Roberts.]
[Veralinda is a shepherdess who is melancholy because of her love for a
prince named Leonius, who rescued her from an attack by a bear]
[T]hen went she into the Grove, but as little stayd shee there, flying
the company she saw there assembled, seeking new places, as all doe
that seeke ease, and hope for it by travell; so shee pass'd along the side
of one of the little Brooks, her eyes still fixed upon it, speaking
sometimes, at last shee said these words.
“Poore Brooke,” said shee, “how like my paines are yours, I seeke
to flye from the Spring of my sorrowes, so fall you from your head: how
fast sweete Brooke you runne in hope of ease, so fast doe my poore
hopes flye from my hart: stay, turne your course, and I shall hope to live,
not will not be, your runne, and I continue in my paines.”
As she went on sadly bemoning her solitary thoughts, she heard as
pittifull a voyce utter these unperfect ioyn'd words,
“Leonia poore Nimph,” said it, “where is thy vowe?
must Venus make thee change? O love, coward love to steale thus to my
heart, couldest thou not have come bravely, and contended with me in
the Chase, or taken me in the time when I did revile thee, and scorne thy
power, but to set upon me when I was quiet, and safe as I thought,
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treacherously to lye in wait and betray mee when I was unarm'd, naked,
and without power to resist, and more for my shame when I had sworne
toDiana, what punnishment will that chast Goddesse lay upon me for this
offence? But foole why talke I of these poore things which in comparison
of my woe are but blossoms. I love, and must love, what then? I will love,
and die in love, then shall that Cruell see written in my heart that murther
thus committed, unkind, alasse my soule melts as these teares, and yet
to thee my paines are no more waighed then bubbles, my hart weepes
blood, pitty me then, say you do pitty and save me.”
“Pitty,” said the Sheepheardes, “is that I want; what new
companion in my woe have I found heere?”
With that she went towards the place from whence as shee
imagined that sad voyce did proceede, when as a little from the banke
under the shade of mirtle trees, which made as it were a Cabine of them
selves, lay a Forrest Nimph, her apparrell of colour and fashion like Diana,
buskins upon her leggs of white, her haire tyd up, only some of the
shortest, and about the temples curled, crowned with Roses, Hyacinths,
she lay with her head toward her, who with a soft pace went on till she
came iust behinde her, then viewing her earnestly, her eyes being so full
of love, as all loving creatures found a power in them to draw them to her
call, especially those eyes which were so much hers as they could not
stirre but to her will, commanding them so, as shee could with her looking
on them with loving force, bring them to her owne; and so it now
prooved, for those eyes which full of teares were seeing themselves in the
streame, shewing their watry pictures to each other, her earnest viewing
the Nimph with a naturall humblenesse to hers, drew her lookes to her,
ioy then appear'd in the Nimphes face, yet straight was that clowded with
sorrow; She rose, and with a timerous (though she imagin'd bashefull)
countenance and fashion, saluted her.
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“I did thinke faire Nimph,” said the loving Shepherdesse, “that it
had been impossible for me to finde any so like my selfe unhappily
wounded.”
“Why are you hurt faire Shepherdesse?” said shee. “Alas I am sorry
for you, and wish your remedy, for none knowes the torment of dispaire
like to my selfe, and therefore in charity would have none else afflicted
with it, but it is very strange that such beauty should complaine.”
“Alas,” said shee, “oft times perfection is turnd to the contrary, and
so is it in me, if in me be that you spake of: but I pray sweet Nimph, let
me take boldnesse to demand of you, of whence you are and what hath
brought you hither.”
“Love,” said she, “for this must be the first, and last of my
discourse, all other matters how great soever, being but dependances of
this. My name (said shee) is Leonia, my profession was what my habits
tell me to be, but love hath altered me, no more must I abuse my Mistris
who I served, since I have left her and an new one now have gain'd, a
poore change, (yet the fruit of change) when for liberty and pleasure I get
beggery and slavery: Then this passion, rare Shepherdesse, for nothing
but misery followes it.”
“Alas it is too late,” said shee, “you give this counsell out of time,
for I am in the prison too fast locked, by any meanes, but by love to bee
freed.”
“Are you in love then?” said Leonia.
“Oh haples me, why,” said the Shepheardesse, “doth that grieve
you?”
“It grieves me that such sweetnesse should be vexed.”
“It grieves me more (crid shee) that I love in despaire.”
“Thus both afflict me,” said Leonia, “and on these doe I plaine, and
in them die.”
“Let us sit downe and tell our woes?” said she.
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“Mine are all endlesse” said the Nimph, “yet I will not refuse to doe
what you command, for you may helpe me if you will but pitty mee.”
“I pitty you,” said shee, “and love you, for in you I see (O deere
remembrance) many things which report sent my love unto mine eyes.”
With that the Nimph did blush, the Shepherdesse went on: “Be not
offended sweetest Nimph, said she, for he was excellent whom I did love,
and doe love, rare for true beauty and valour, and O, too brave for me.”
“None can be so (sigh'd shee) faire Shepherdesse, for the fairest,
and bravest must sue to you for grace: but I did blush to heare that I
should seeme so favourably blessed in your all-conquering eyes, as to bee
thought but to resemble him that happy man whom your great goodnesse
loves. But to goe on, I was by my owne sute to my parents chosen a
Nimph, and accepted into the number and service of Dianas servants,
being given to all those sports that Goddesse did affect, but especially, to
throwing my Dart at markes, and shooting in my bow at beasts, or any
thing, so cunning I was in that exercise as I could hit a bird at great
distance; oft times I would take my Grayhounds, and course the Deare,
or Haire, being so nimble, as I could follow them where ere they went;
these, and many other harmelesse delights I lived in, till one day
sacrifising to Diana, unhappily for mee, there came a Youth, who having
kild a terrible Beast, offered it to the Goddesse, as the Princesse of the
Woods and Desarts, this offering prooved strange, making my heart the
Victim bleeding, and lying on the Altar, dedicated to his love, thus doubly
had hee conquerd, I fainted, fearing the chast Goddesse, yet I was
rescued by Venus, who promisd her assistance, but not so well armd by
her, as not afraid of Diana, I fled from those parts, and since have I
roamed about, directed by mine owne despaire, for never since have I
seene my love; the forgetfull Goddesse having enough in winning, but
scorning too much care hath I feare forgotten me, contented with my
yeelding, but carelesse of my proceeding; I seeke still, but I know not
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with what hope, I have wept, and grieved, and so I feare still must, and
thus lives, and perpetually laments the poore unblessed Leonia.”
The Shepherdesse catching her in her armes, “Ah my companion in
my woes (said she), let us still live together fittest for our fortunes, let
our teares be shed together, our sighs breathed together, and let us
never part, but alwaies keepe together.”
This was what the Nimph desired, being so glad of that
embracement, as she could have found in her heart to have forgot her
habits, but danger of loosing all, if not governd with modestie, till apter
time gaine fitter oportunity of discovery, she only with an affectionate
kisse, and that shee would not suffer her selfe to misse, being such an
one, as liked Veralinda (for so the Shepherdesse was called) better then
any of her fellows kisses, for this seemd more passionatly kind, gave
liberty to that, and then began her owne discourse thus.
“My name is Veralinda, daughter I am to the Kings Shepherd, who
dwels upon yonder Hill, his place, estate in goods, and some kind of thing
in me, which these people here call beauty, hath made me to be sought
by many, but I have still refused all, truly I must say with some
neglectivenesse; for which I am punished, and if I flatter not myselfe
above my merit, the paine being more then the offence, for I am made to
love in dispaire, to hope in losse, and affect one I know not, or can aspire
to thought of ever seeing him againe, Destiny prevailing in this, & I am
left a poore example of the Fates tyranny: for how can I hope, that if I
meet him, hee could fancy mee: he a Knight, I a poore Maide; he a Prince
it may be, and surely is, for Princely vertues dwell in him, beautie
unexpressable, and such as but in you I never saw any like him, and so
like are you, as I love you for his sake so much, as love can command
loue to the Image of their Deare. Valiant hee is above expression, and
mild, and curteous; but what doth grieve my soule most, is, hee surely
loves.”
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“And surely would love you (said the Nimph) if hee could bee but
happy with the knowledge, in the meane space grace mee with your
favour, which I will strive like him to merit, let mee enioy those sweete
embracements you would yeeld to him and thinke I am your love, which I
will doe by you, and in that thought till wee bee blessed with perfecter
enioyings, we shall have some ease.”
She condescended, and so they kissed againe, wishing and loving,
they remained, passing many such pleasant times, till at last the wonder
of such affection twixt women was discovered, and it may be, had then
bin brought to light, had not the Shepherdesses arrived to his griefe, and
no way to her content, who truly loved the sweete conversation and
discourse of this Nimph: to the Fountaine they then altogether tooke their
way, the Nimph setting her selfe so, as she might both see and touch the
loved Shepherds, all the rest beholding this stranger with as much
admiration, as shee did their Mistris, thinking no difference betweene
them in beauty, save that the new guests fairenesse seemed more
masculine, as fitted with her estate, yet full of grave, modest, and
seemely bashfulnesse. Thus they beheld each other, the Shepheards
passionately beholding Leonia in memory of her love, and the Nimph
amorously gazing on her in her owne passions, till the musick a little
awaked them, making their eares prove traytors to their hearts, for
letting in any thing to them but love.
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Katherine Philips (1632–1664)
L’amitié: To Mrs M. Awbrey. [1651]
Soule of my soule! my Joy, my crown, my friend!
A name which all the rest doth comprehend
How happy are we now, whose souls are grown.
By an incomparable mixture, One.
Whose well acquainted minds are now as neare
As love, or vows, or secrets can endeare.
I have no thought but what’s to thee reveald
Nor thou desire that is from me conceald.
Thy heart locks up my secrets richly set,
And my brest is thy private cabinet.
Thou shedst no teare but what my moisture lent,
And if I sigh, it is thy breath is spent.
United thus, what horrour can appeare
Worthy our sorrow, anger, or our feare?
Let the dull world alone; to talk & fight,
And with their vast ambitions nature fright
Let them despise so inocent a flame
While Envy, pride, and faction play their game,
But we by love sublim’d so high shall rise,
To pitty Kings, and Conquerours despise,
Since we that sacred union have engrost
Which they & all the sullen world have lost.
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To Mrs. M. A. at Parting
I
I have examin'd and do find,
Of all that favour me,
There's none I grieve to leave behind
But only, only thee.
To part with thee I needs must die,
Could parting sep'rate thee and I.
II
But neither Chance nor Compliment
Did element our Love ;
'Twas sacred Sympathy was lent
Us from the quire above.
That Friendship Fortune did create,
Still fears a wound from Time or Fate.
III
Our chang'd and mingled souls are grown
To such acquaintance now,
That if each would resume their own,
Alas ! we know not how.
We have each other so engrost,
That each is in the union lost.
IV
And thus we can no Absence know,
Nor shall we be confin'd ;
Our active souls will daily go
To learn each other's mind.
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Nay, should we never meet to Sense,
Our souls would hold Intelligence.
V
Inspired with a flame divine,
I scorn to court a stay ;
For from that noble soul of thine
I ne'er can be away.
But I shall weep when thou dost grieve ;
Nor can I die whilst thou dost live.
VI
By my own temper I shall guess
At thy felicity,
And only like my happiness
Because it pleaseth thee.
Our hearts at any time will tell,
If thou, or I, be sick, or well.
VII
All Honour sure I must pretend,
All that is good or great ;
She that would be Rosania's Friend,
Must be at least complete.
If I have any bravery,
'Tis cause I have so much of thee.
VIII
Thy leiger soul in me shall lie,
And all thy thoughts reveal;
Then back again with mine shall fly,
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And thence to me shall steal.
Thus still to one another tend;
Such is the sacred Name of Friend.
IX
Thus our twin-souls in one shall grow,
And teach the World new love,
Redeem the age and sex, and show
A flame Fate dares not move:
And courting Death to be our friend,
Our lives together too shall end.
X
A dew shall dwell upon our Tomb
Of such a quality,
That fighting armies, thither come,
Shall reconcilèd be.
We'll ask no Epitaph, but say
ORINDA and ROSANIA.
Friendship’s Mystery, To my Dearest Lucasia
I
Come, my Lucasia, since we see
That Miracles Mens faith do move,
By wonder and by prodigy
To the dull angry world let’s prove
There’s a Religion in our Love.
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II
For though we were design’d t’ agree,
That Fate no liberty destroyes,
But our Election is as free
As Angels, who with greedy choice
Are yet determin’d to their joyes.
III
Our hearts are doubled by the loss,
Here Mixture is Addition grown ;
We both diffuse, and both ingross :
And we whose minds are so much one,
Never, yet ever are alone.
IV
We court our own Captivity
Than Thrones more great and innocent :
’Twere banishment to be set free,
Since we wear fetters whose intent
Not Bondage is, but Ornament.
V
Divided joyes are tedious found,
And griefs united easier grow :
We are our selves but by rebound,
And all our Titles shuffled so,
Both Princes, and both Subjects too.
VI
Our Hearts are mutual Victims laid,
While they (such power in Friendship lies)
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Are Altars, Priests, and Off’rings made :
And each Heart which thus kindly dies,
Grows deathless by the Sacrifice.
To My Excellent Lucasia, on Our Friendship
I did not live until this time
Crowned my felicity,
When I could say without a crime,
I am not thine, but thee.
This carcass breathed, and walked, and slept,
So that the world believed
There was a soul the motions kept;
But they were all deceived.
For as a watch by art is wound
To motion, such was mine:
But never had Orinda found
A soul till she found thine;
Which now inspires, cures and supplies,
And guides my darkened breast:
For thou art all that I can prize,
My joy, my life, my rest.
No bridegroom’s nor crown-conqueror’s mirth
To mine compared can be:
They have but pieces of the earth,
I’ve all the world in thee.
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Then let our flames still light and shine,
And no false fear control,
As innocent as our design,
Immortal as our soul.
Phioclea’s parting. Mrs. M. Stedman. Feb: 25.1650
Kinder then a condemned mans reprieve
Was your deare company that bade me live
When by Rosania's silence I had been
The wretchedst martyr any age hath seen
But as when Traytors faint upon the rack
Tormentors strive to call their spirits back.
Yet not in kindness to preserve their breath.
But to increase the torments of their death.
So was I raised to this glorious height,
To make my fall the more unfortunate.
But this I know none ever dy’d before
Upon a sadder, or a nobler score.
Parting with Lucasia, 13th Jann 1657/8. A song.
I
Well! we will doe yt rigid thing
Which make's Spectators think we part
Though absence hath for none a sting
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But those who keep each others heart.
II
And/For when our sence is dispossessd
Our labouring Souls will heave, & pant,
And gasp for one anothers Brest,
Since theyr conveyances they want
III
Nay we know have felt the tedious smart
Of absent friendship, & doe know
That when we dy, we can but part
And who know's what we shall doe now?
IV
Yet since I must go, wee’le submit,
And soe our own disposers be;
For while we nobly suffer it,
We triumph o’re necessity.
V
By this we shall be truly great,
If, having other things orecome;
To make our Victory compleat,
We can be Conquerours at home!
VI
Nay then to meet we may conclude,
And all obstructions overthrow:
Since we our Passion have subdu’d,
Wch is the strongest thing I know.
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Against Pleasure, set by Dr Coleman
I
There’s no such thing as pleasure here
’Tis all a perfect Cheat
Which doe's but shine, & disappear,
Whose charm is all deceipt
The empty bribe of yielding souls
Which first betrays, & then controule's
II
’Tis true it look's at distance fayr
But when we doe approach
The fruit of Sodom will impayr
And perish at ye touch.
In being then in fancy less
And we expect more then possess.
III
For by our pleasures we are cloy’d
And so desire is done
Or elce like Rivers they make wide
The Channells where they run
And either way true bliss destroys
Making us narrow, or our Joys.
IV
We covet pleasure easily
But it not so possess
For many things must make it be
But one may make it less
Nay, were our state as we could choose it
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’Twould be consum'd by feare to loose it
V
What art thou then, thou winged ayr?
More swift & weak then fame
Whose next successor is despayr
And it's attendant shame?
Th’experienc’d Prince then reason had
Who say'd of Pleasure, it is Mad.
Aphra Behn (c.1640–1689)
To My Lady Morland at Tunbridge
As when a conqu'ror does in triumph come,
And proudly leads the vanquished captives home,
The joyful people crowd in ev'ry street,
And with loud shouts of praise the victor greet;
While some whom chance or fortune kept away,
Desire at least the story of the day;
How brave the Prince, how gay the chariot was,
How beautiful he looked with what a grace;
Whether upon his head he plumes did wear;
Or if a wreath of bays adorned his hair:
They hear 'tis wondrous fine, and long much more
To see the Hero than they did before.
So when the marvels by report I knew,
Of how much beauty, Cloris, dwelt in you;
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How many slaves your conqu'ring eyes had won,
And how the gazing crowd admiring throng:
I wished to see, and much a lover grew
Of so much beauty, though my rivals too.
I came and saw, and blest my destiny;
I found it just you should out-rival me.
'Twas at the altar, where more hearts were giv'n
To you that day, then were addressed to Heav'n.
The rev'rend man whose age and mystery
Had rendered youth and beauty vanity,
By fatal chance casting his eyes your way,
Mistook the duller bus'ness of the day,
Forgot the Gospel, and began to pray.
Whilst the enamoured crowd that near you pressed
Receiving darts which none could e'er resist,
Neglected the mistake o'th' love-sick priest.
Ev'n my devotion, Cloris, you betrayed,
And I to Heaven no other petition made,
But that you might all other nymphs out-do
In cruelty as well as beauty too.
I called Amyntas faithless Swain before,
But now I find 'tis just he should adore.
Not to love you, a wonder sure would be,
Greater than all his perjuries to me.
And whilst I blame him, I excuse him too;
Who would not venture Heav'n to purchase you?
But charming Cloris, you too meanly prize
The more deserving glories of your eyes,
If you permit him on an amorous score,
To be your slave, who was my slave before.
He oft has fetters worn, and can with ease
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Admit 'em or dismiss 'em when he please.
A virgin-heart you merit, that ne'er found
It could receive, till from your eyes, the wound;
A heart that nothing but your force can fear,
And own a soul as great as you are fair.
The Disappointment
I
ONE Day the Amarous Lisander,
By an impatient Passion sway'd,
Surpris'd fair Cloris, that lov'd Maid,
Who cou'd defend her self no longer ;
All things did with his Love conspire,
The gilded Planet of the Day,
In his gay Chariot, drawn by Fire,
Was now descending to the Sea,
And left no Light to guide the World,
But what from Cloris brighter Eyes was hurl'd.
II
In alone Thicket, made for Love,
Silent as yielding Maids Consent,
She with a charming Languishment
Permits his force, yet gently strove ?
Her Hands his Bosom softly meet,
But not to put him back design'd,
Rather to draw him on inclin'd,
Whilst he lay trembling at her feet;
Resistance 'tis to late to shew,
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She wants the pow'r to say — Ah!what do you do?
III
Her bright Eyes sweat, and yet Severe,
Where Love and Shame confus'dly strive,
Fresh Vigor to Lisander give :
And whispring softly in his Ear,
She Cry'd — Cease — cease — your vain desire,
Or I'll call out — What wou'd you do ?
My dearer Honour, ev'n to you,
I cannot — must not give — retire,
Or take that Life whose chiefest part
I gave you with the Conquest of my Heart.
IV
But he as much unus'd to fear,
As he was capable of Love,
The blessed Minutes to improve,
Kisses her Lips, her Neck, her Hair !
Each touch her new Desires alarms !
His burning trembling Hand he prest
Upon her melting Snowy Breast,
While she lay panting in his Arms !
All her unguarded Beauties lie
The Spoils and Trophies of the Enemy.
V
And now, without Respect or Fear,
He seeks the Objects of his Vows ;
His Love no Modesty allows :
By swift degrees advancing where
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His daring Hand that Alter seiz'd,
Where Gods of Love do Sacrifice ;
That awful Throne, that Paradise,
Where Rage is tam'd, and Anger pleas'd ;
That Living Fountain, from whose Trills
The melted Soul in liquid Drops distils.
VI
Her balmy Lips encountring his,
Their Bodies as their Souls are joyn'd,
Where both in Transports were confin'd,
Extend themselves upon the Moss.
Cloris half dead and breathless lay,
Her Eyes appear'd like humid Light,
Such as divides the Day and Night;
Or falling Stars, whose Fires decay ;
And now no signs of Life she shows,
But what in short-breath-sighs returns and goes.
VII
He saw how at her length she lay,
He saw her rising Bosom bare,
Her loose thin Robes, through which appear
A Shape design'd for Love and Play;
Abandon'd by her Pride and Shame,
She do's her softest Sweets dispence,
Offring her Virgin-Innocence
A Victim to Loves Sacred Flame ;
Whilst th' or'e ravish'd Shepherd lies,
Unable to perform the Sacrifice.
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VIII
Ready to taste a Thousand Joys,
Thee too transported hapless Swain,
Found the vast Pleasure turn'd to Pain :
Pleasure, which too much Love destroys !
The willing Garments by he laid,
And Heav'n all open to his view ;
Mad to possess, himself he threw
On the defenceless lovely Maid.
But oh ! what envious Gods conspire
To snatch his Pow'r, yet leave him the Desire !
IX
Natures support, without whose Aid
She can no humane Being give,
It self now wants the Art to live,
Faintness it slacken'd Nerves invade :
In vain th' enraged Youth assaid
To call his fleeting Vigour back,
No Motion 'twill from Motion take,
Excess of Love his Love betray'd ;
In vain he Toils, in vain Commands,
Th' Insensible fell weeping in his Hands.
X
In this so Am'rous cruel strife,
Where Love and Fate were too severe,
The poor Lisander in Despair,
Renounc'd his Reason with his Life.
Now all the Brisk and Active Fire
That should the Nobler Part inflame,
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Unactive Frigid, Dull became,
And left no Spark for new Desire ;
Not all her Naked Charms cou'd move,
Or calm that Rage that had debauch'd his Love.
XI
Cloris returning from the Trance
Which Love and soft Desire had bred,
Her tim'rous Hand she gently laid,
Or guided by Design or Chance,
Upon that Fabulous Priapus,
That Potent God (as Poets feign.)
But never did young Shepherdess
(Gath'ring of Fern upon the Plain)
More nimbly draw her Fingers back,
Finding beneath the Verdant Leaves a Snake.
XII
Then Cloris her fair Hand withdrew,
Finding that God of her Desires
Disarm'd of all his pow'rful Fires,
And cold as Flow'rs bath'd in the Morning-dew.
Who can the Nymphs Confusion guess ?
The Blood forsook the kinder place,
And strew'd with Blushes all her Face,
Which both Disdain and Shame express ;
And from Lisanders Arms she fled,
Leaving him fainting on the gloomy Bed.
XIII
Like Lightning through the Grove she hies,
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Or Daphne from the Delphick God ;
No Print upon the Grassie Road
She leaves, t' instruct pursuing Eyes.
The Wind that wanton'd in her Hair,
And with her ruffled Garments plaid,
Discover'd in the flying Maid
All that the Gods e're made of Fair.
So Venus, when her Love was Slain,
With fear and haste flew o're the fatal Plain.
XIV
The Nymphs resentments, none but I
Can well imagin, and Condole ;
But none can guess Lisander's Soul,
But those who sway'd his Destiny :
His silent Griefs, swell up to Storms,
And not one God, his Fury spares,
He Curst his Birth, his Fate, his Stars,
But more the Shepherdesses Charms ;
Whose soft bewitching influence,
Had Damn'd him to the Hell of Impotence.
To the Fair Clorinda, Who Made Love to Me, Imagin’d More Than
Woman
Fair lovely Maid, or if that Title be
Too weak, too Feminine for Nobler thee,
Permit a Name that more Approaches Truth:
And let me call thee, Lovely Charming Youth.
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This last will justifie my soft complainte,
While that may serve to lessen my constraint;
And without Blushes I the Youth persue,
When so much beauteous Woman is in view
Against thy Charms we struggle but in vain
With thy deluding Form thou giv’st us pain,
While the bright Nymph betrays us to the Swain.
In pity to our Sex sure thou wer’t sent,
That we might Love, and yet be Innocent:
For sure no Crime with thee we can commit;
Or if we shou’d – thy Form excuses it.
For who, that gathers fairest Flowers believes
A Snake lies hid beneath the Fragrant Leaves.
Thou beauteous Wonder of a different kind,
Soft Cloris with the dear Alexis join’d;
When e’er the Manly part of thee, wou’d plead
Thou tempts us with the Image of the Maid,
While we the noblest Passions do extend
The Love to Hermes, Aphrodite the Friend.
The Willing Mistriss
Amyntas led me to a Grove,
Where all the Trees did shade us;
The Sun it self, though it had Strove,
It could not have betray’d us:
The place secur’d from humane Eyes,
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No other fear allows.
But when the Winds that gently rise,
Doe Kiss the yielding Boughs.
Down there we satt upon the Moss,
And id begin to play
A Thousand Amorous Tricks, to pass
The heat of all the day.
A many Kisses he did give:
And I return’d the same
Which made me willing to receive
That which I dare not name.
His Charming Eyes no Aid requir’d
To tell their softning Tale;
On her that was already fir’d
’Twas easy to prevaile.
He did but Kiss and Clasp me round,
Whilst those his thoughts Exprest:
And lay’d me gently on the Ground;
Ah who can guess the rest?
On a Juniper Tree Cut Down to Make Busks
Whilst happy I triumphant stood,
The pride and glory of the wood;
My aromatic boughs and fruit,
Did with all other trees dispute.
Had right by nature to excel,
In pleasing both the taste and smell:
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But to the touch I must confess,
Bore an ungrateful sullenness.
My wealth, like bashful virgins, I
Yielded with some reluctancy;
For which my value should be more,
Not giving easily my store.
My verdant branches all the year
Did an eternal beauty wear;
Did ever young and gay appear.
Nor needed any tribute pay,
For bounties from the God of Day:
Nor do I hold supremacy,
(In all the wood) o'er every tree.
But even those too of my own race,
That grow not in this happy place.
But that in which I glory most,
And do myself with reason boast,
Beneath my shade the other day,
Young Philocles and Cloris lay;
Upon my root she leaned her head,
And where I grew, he made their bed:
Whilst I the canopy more largely spread.
Their trembling limbs did largely press,
The kind, supporting, yielding grass:
Ne'er half so blest as now, to bear
A swain so young, a nymph so fair:
My grateful shade I kindly lent,
And every aiding bough I bent.
So low, as sometimes had the bliss,
To rob the shepherd of a kiss,
Whilst he in pleasures far above
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The sense of that degree of love,
Permitted every stealth I made,
Unjealous of his rival shade.
I saw 'em kindle to desire,
Whilst with soft sighs they blew the fire;
Saw the approaches of their joy,
He growing more fierce, and she less coy,
Saw how they mingled melting rays,
Exchanging love a thousand ways.
Kind was the force on every side,
Her new desire she could not hide:
Nor would the shepherd be denied.
Impatient he waits no consent
But what she gave by languishment,
The blessed minute he pursued;
While love and shame her soul subdued.
And now transported in his arms,
Yields to the conqueror all her charms;
His panting breast, to hers now joined,
They feast on raptures unconfined;
Vast and luxuriant, such as prove
The immortality of love.
For who but a divinity,
Could mingle souls to that degree;
Now like the Phoenix, both expire,
While from the ashes of their fire,
Sprung up a new, and soft desire.
Like charmers, thrice they did invoke
The god! and thrice new vigor took.
Nor had the mystery ended there,
But Cloris reassumed her fear,
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And chid the swain, for having prest,
What she alas, would not resist:
Whilst he in whom love's sacred flame,
Before and after was the same,
Fondly implored she would forget
A fault which he would yet repeat.
From active joys with some they haste,
To a reflection on the past;
A thousand times my covert bless,
That did secure their happiness:
Their gratitude to every tree
They pay, but most to happy me;
The shepherdess my bark carest,
Whilst he my root, love's pillow, kist;
And did with sighs their fate deplore,
Since I must shelter them no more;
And if before my joys were such
In having heard, and seen too much,
My grief must be as great and high,
When all abandoned I shall be,
Doomed to a silent destiny.
No more the charming strife to hear,
The shepherd's vows, the virgin's fear:
No more a joyful looker-on,
Whilst love's soft battle's lost and won.
With grief I bowed my murmuring head,
And all my crystal dew I shed.
Which did in Cloris pity move,
(Cloris whose soul is made of love;)
She cut me down and did translate
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My being to a happier state.
No martyr for religion died
With half so unconsidering pride;
My top was on that altar laid
Where love his softest offerings paid:
And was as fragrant incense burned,
My body into busks was turned:
Where I still guard the sacred store,
And of Love's temple keep the door.
Verses design'd by Mrs. A. Behn to be sent to a fair Lady, that
desir'd she would absent herself to cure her Love. Left unfinish'd.
In vain to Woods and Deserts I retire,
To shun the lovely Charmer I admire,
Where the soft Breezes do but fann my Fire!
In vain in Grotto's dark unseen I lie,
Love pierces where the Sun could never spy.
No place, no Art his God-head can exclude,
The Dear Distemper reigns in Solitude:
Distance, alas, contributes to my Grief;
No more, of what fond Lovers call, Relief
Than to the wounded Hind does sudden Flight
From the chast Goddesses pursuing Sight:
When in the Heart the fatal Shaft remains,
And darts the Venom through our bleeding Veins.
If I resolve no longer to submit
My self a wretched Conquest to your Wit,
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More swift than fleeting Shades, ten thousand Charms
From your bright Eyes that Rebel Thought disarms:
The more I strugl'd, to my Grief I found
My self in Cupid's Chains more surely bound:
Like Birds in Nets, the more I strive, I find
My self the faster in the Snare confin'd.
The Dream
All Trembling in my Arms Aminta lay,
Defending of the Bliss I strove to take;
Raising my Rapture by her kind delay,
Her force so charming was and weak.
The soft resistance did betray the Grant,
While I prest on the Heaven of my desires;
Her rising Breasts with nimbler Motions Pant;
Her dying Eyes assume new Fires.
Now to the height of languishment she grows,
And still her looks new Charms put on;—
Now the last Mystery of Love she knows,
We Sigh, and Kiss: I wak'd, and all was done.
'Twas but a Dream, yet by my Heart I knew,
Which still was Panting, part of it was true:
Oh how I strove the rest to have believ'd;
Asham'd and Angry to be undeceiv'd!
But now LOVE calls me forth; and scarce allows
A moment to the Gods to pay my Vows:
He all Devotion has in disesteem,
But that which we too fondly render him:
LOVE drest me for the day; and both repair,
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With an impatient hast to Little Care;
Where many days m' advantage I pursu'd,
But Night returns me to Inquietude;There suffer'd
all that absent Lovers griev'd,
And only knew by what I felt I liv'd;
A thousand little Fears afflict my Heart,
And all its former order quite subvert;
The Beauty's which all day my hope imploy'd,
Seem now too excellent to be enjoy'd.
I number all my RIVALS over now,
Then Raving Mad with Jealousie I grow,
Which does my Flame to that vast height increase;
That here I found, I lov'd to an Excess:
These wild Distractions every Night increase,
But day still reconciles me into Peace;
And I forget amidst their soft Delights,
The unimagin'd torment of the Nights.
'Twas thus a while I liv'd at Little Care,
Without advance of Favour or of fear,
When fair Aminta from that Court departs,
And all her Lovers leave with broken Hearts,
On me alone she does the Grace confer,
In a Permission I shou'd wait on her.
Oh with what eager Joy I did obey!
Joy, which for fear it shou'd my Flame betray,
I Veil'd with Complisance; which Lovers Eyes
Might find transported through the feign'd disguise;
But hers were unconcern'd; or wou'd not see,
The Trophies of their new gain'd Victory:
Aminta now to Good Reception goes;
A place which more of Entertainment shows
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Then State or Greatness; where th'Inhabitants,
Are Civil to the height of Complisance;
They Treat all Persons with a chearful Grace,
And show 'em all the pleasures of the Place;
By whose Example bright Aminta too,
Confirm'd her self, and more obliging grew.
Her Smiles and Air more Gracious now appear;
And her Victorious Eyes more sweetness wear:
The wonderous Majesty that drest her Brow,
Becomes less Awful, but more Charming now:
Her Pride abating does my Courage warm,
And promises success from every Charm.
She now permits my Eyes, with timorous Fears,
To tell her of the Wounds she'as made by hers,
Against her Will my Sighs she does approve,
And seems well pleas'd to think they come from Love.
Nothing oppos'd it self to my delight,
But absence from Aminta every Night.
But LOVE, who recompences when he please,
And has for every Cruelty an ease;
Who like to bounteous Heaven, assigns a share
Of future Bliss to those that suffer here:
Led me to HOPE! A City fair and large,
Built with much Beauty, and Adorn'd with Charge.
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