That ever smiled and danced and play'd And now the woods, and now the streams invade, A thousand Cupids fann'd their wings aloft, And every god his own soft power admir'd, And smiled, and frowned, and sometimes bent his bow. The swift paced hours of life soon steal away, The spring decays, but when the winter's gone, The sun may set, but when the night is fled, He rises from his watʼry bed, All glorious, gay, all drest in amorous fire! But Silvia, when your beauties fade, When the fresh roses on your cheek shall die,Like flowers that wither in the shade,— Eternally they will forgotten lie! And no kind spring its sweetness will supply What will your duller honour signify? Go boast it then! and see what numerous store And the gay hasty minutes prize; Our sun and spring receive but one short light, K This poem exhibits the talents of Mrs. Behn to advantage; it is one of her best, and written with much care. There are few things in our poetry better than the last stanza; the thought itself has probably occurred to all poets, and may be considered as a poetic commonplace, but it certainly was never expressed in language more elegant, nor in verse more harmonious. Waller's beautiful song, "Go lovely rose," was probably written about the same time, and is one of the most elegant lyric poems in any language. It has been overlooked by late collectors, and we may perhaps be excused for inserting it in this place, by way of comparison, as it is grounded on the same idea with the above stanza.— It needs to be once read only, to be for ever fixed in all poetic memories. SONG. Love armed. Love in fantastic triumph sat, Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd, For whom fresh pains he did create, And strange tyrannic power he shew'd. From thy bright eyes he took his fire, Enough to undo the amorous world. From me he took his sighs and tears; Thus thou and I the god have arm'd, But my poor heart alone is harm'd, SONG. The Invitation. Damon, I cannot blame your will, Alas! she cannot make returns, And 'tis in vain thou seek'st to move The cruel shepherdess. Content thee with this victory, And in the groves we'll sit and sing; I'll crown thee with the pride of spring When thou art lord of May. SONG. The Dream. The grove was gloomy all around, I slept and saw a piteous sight, Methought I ask'd him why he cry'd, All sighing the sad boy replied, Alas! I am undone ! As I beneath yon myrtle lay, And pinion'd both my wings. Alas! cried I, 'twas then thy darts He stole his power from thee. Revenge thee, if a god thou be, And for this service on my part, Is that thou'lt wound Amyntas' heart, And make him die for me. His silken fetters I untied, And the gay wings display'd, Which gently fann'd, he mounts, and cry'd At this I blush'd, and angry grew I should the god believe; And waking found my dream too true; Alas! I was a slave! SONG. Ah! what can mean that eager joy A softness does invade each part, Something too tender at my heart. |