The Story of PH OE BUS and DAPHNE
HYRSIS, a youth of the infpired train,
Fair SACHARISSA lov'd, but lov'd in vain:
Like PHOEBUs fung the no lefs amorous boy;
Like DAPHNE fhe, as lovely, and as coy!
With Numbers he the flying Nymph purfues;
With Numbers fuch as PH OE BU S' felf might use!
Such is the chafe, when love and fancy leads,
O'er craggy mountains, and thro' flow'ry meads;
Invok'd to teftify the lover's care,
Or form fome image of his cruel Fair.
Urg'd with his fury, like a wounded deer,
O'er thefe he fled; and now approaching near,
Had reach'd the Nymph with his harmonious Lay,
Whom all his charms could not incline to ftay.
Yet, what he fung in his immortal ftrain,
Though unfuccefsful, was not fung in vain :
All, but the Nymph that should redress his wrong,
Attend his paffion, and approve his Song.
Like PHOEBU.s thus, acquiring unfought praise,
He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arms with bays.
Fabula PHOE BI & DAPHNES.
RCADIA juvenis THYRSIS, PHOE BIQUE facerdos, Ingenti fruftra SACHARIS SÆ ardebat amore. Haud Deus ipfe olim DAPHNI majora canebat ; Nec fuit afperior DAPHNE, nec pulchrior illâ :
Carminibus PHOE BO dignis premit ille fugacem
Per rupes, per faxa, volans per florida vates
Pascua: formosam nunc his componere Nympham,
Nunc illis crudelem infanâ mente folebat.
Audiit illa procul miferum, citharamque fonantem;
Audiit, at nullis refpexit mota querelis!
Ne tamen omnino caneret defertus, ad alta
Sidera perculfi referunt nova carmina montes.
Sic, non quæfitis cumulatus laudibus, olim
Elapsâ reperit DAPHNE fua laurea PHOE BUS.
AY, lovely Dream! where could'st thou find
Shades to counterfeit that face?
Colors of this glorious kind
Come not from any mortal place.
In heav'n itself thou fure wer't dreft
With that angel-like disguise:
Thus deluded am I bleft,
And fee my joy with clofed Eyes.
But ah! this image is too kind
To be other than a Dream:
Cruel SACHARISSA's mind
Never put on that fweet extreme!
Fair Dream! if thou intend'ft me grace,
Change that heav'nly face of thine;
Paint defpis'd love in thy face,
And make it to appear like mine.
Pale, wan, and meagre let it look,
With a pity-moving shape; Such as wander by the brook
Of LETHE, or from graves efcape.
Then to that matchlefs Nymph appear,
In whose shape thou shinest so;
Softly in her fleeping ear,
With humble words express my woe.
Perhaps from greatness, ftate, and pride,
Thus furprised fhe may fall:
Sleep does difproportion hide,
And, death resembling, equals all.
To Mrs. BRAUGHTON, Servant to SACHARISSA.
AIR fellow-fervant! may your gentle ear
Fprove more propitious to my flighted care,
Than the bright dame's we ferve: for her relief
(Vex'd with the long expreffions of my grief)·
Receive these plaints: nor will her high disdain
Forbid my humble Muse to court her train.
So, in those nations which the fun adore,
Some modeft PERSIAN, or fome weak-ey'd MoOR,
No higher dares advance his dazled fight,
Than to fome gilded cloud, which near the light
Of their afcending God adorns the east,
And, graced with his beams, out-fhines the reft.
Thy skilful hand contributes to our woe,
And whets thofe arrows which confound us fo.
A thousand CUPIDS in thofe curls do fit,
(Those curious nets!) thy flender fingers knit:
The GRACES put not more exactly on
Th' attire of VENUS, when the Ball she won;
Than SACHARISSA by thy care is dress'd,
When all our youth prefers her to the rest.
You the soft season know, when best her mind
May be to pity, or to love, inclin'd:
In fome well-chofen hour supply his fear,
Whose hopeless love durft never tempt the ear
Of that ftern Goddess: you, her priest, declare
What off'rings may propitiate the Fair:
Rich orient Pearl, bright ftones that ne'er decay,
Or polish'd lines which longer laft than they.
For if I thought she took delight in those,
To where the chearful morn do's firft difclofe,
(The fhady night removing with her beams)
Wing'd with bold love, I'd fly to fetch fuch gems.
But fince her eyes, her teeth, her lip excels
All that is found in mines or fifhes' fhells;
Her nobler part as far exceeding these,
None but immortal gifts her mind should please.
The shining jewels GREECE, and TROY, bestow'd
On * SPARTA's Queen, her lovely neck did load,
And fnowy wrifts: but when the town was burn'd,
Thofe fading glories were to afhes turn'd:
Her beauty too had perish'd, and her fame,
Had not the Muse redeem'd them from the flame.
HILE in this park I fing, the lift'ning deer Attend my paffion, and forget to fear: When to the beeches I report my flame,
They bow their heads, as if they felt the fame:
To Gods appealing when I reach their Bow'rs
With loud complaints, they answer me in fhow`rs.
To Thee a wild and cruel foul is giv'n,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heav'n!
LovE's foe profefs'd! why doft thou falfly feign
Thy felf a SIDNEY? from which noble strain
*He fprung, that could fo far exalt the name
Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame;
That all we can of love, or high defire,
Seems but the smoke of amorous SIDNEY's fire.
Nor call her Mother, who fo well does
prove
One breast may hold both chastity, and love.
Never can fhe, that fo exceeds the spring
In joy, and bounty, be fuppos'd to bring
One fo deftructive: to no humane stock
We owe this fierce unkindness: but the rock,
That cloven rock produc'd thee, by whofe fide
Nature, to recompence the fatal pride
Of fuch ftern beauty, plac'd thofe + healing fprings;
Which not more help, than that destruction brings.
Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone,
I might, like ORPHEUS, with my num'rous moan
Melt to compaffion: now, my trait'rous fong
With thee confpires, to do the finger wrong:
*Sir Philip Sidney. + Tunbridge Wells.
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