SONG. [From the same.] NOT the Phoenix in his death, grow, And Arabian winds still blow, The twin beauties of the skies, But those beams, than storms more black, Then for fear of such a fire, Which kills worse than the long night Which benumbs the Muscovite, I must from my life retire. But, oh no! for if her eye Warm me not, I freeze and die. The description of Castara. LIKE the violet, which alone Such is her beauty, as no arts Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace; Her high birth no pride imparts, She her throne makes Reason climb, While wild Passions captive lie; And, each article of time, Her pure thoughts to heaven fly. All her vows religious be, Of True Delight. WHY doth the ear so tempt the voice As soon as I my ear obey, The echo's lost e'en with the breath; And when the sewer takes away, I'm left with no more taste than death. Be curious in pursuit of eyes, To procreate new loves with thine; Satiety makes sense despise What superstition thought divine. Quick fancy how it mocks delight! The rose yields her sweet blandishment, Lost in the folds of lovers' wreaths: The violet enchants the scent, When early in the spring she breathes. But winter comes, and makes each flower Shrink from the pillow where it grows; Or an intruding cold hath power To scorn the perfume of the rose. Our senses, like false glasses, show To Castara. GIVE me a heart, where no impure Which not the softness of the age To vice or folly doth decline: Give me that heart, Castara!-for 'tis thine: Take thou a heart, where no new look With no fresh charm of beauty took, Or wanton stratagem of wit; Aiming each beauteous mark to hit ; Take thou that heart, Castara !-for 'tis mine. |