Tie heart to heart; and let the knitting charms
Sweet kisses be; the fetters, our soft arms.
Or if thou hast decreed that we must part,
Let that divorce divide life from my heart."
Jove heard her prayers; and, suddenly as strange,
Made of them both a mutual interchange;
And by an undiscern'd conjunction,
Two late divided bodies knit in one :
Her body straight a manly vigour felt,
And his did to a female softness melt.
Yet thus united, they with difference
Retain'd their proper reason, speech, and sense.
He liv'd and she apart, yet each in either;
Both one might well be said, yet that one neither.
This story by a river's side (as they
Sat and discours'd the tedious hours away)
Amintas to the coy Iole told:
Then adds: "O thou more fair, in love more cold
Than he! Heaven yet may make thee mine in spite,
That can such difference, ice and fire, unite."
This with a sigh the shepherd spake; whilst she
With a coy smile mock'd his simplicity.
But now the setting Sun posting away,
Put both an end to their discourse and day.
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF LYRIAN AND
UNDER that pleasant clime, where Nature plac'd Those islands, with the name of Happy grac'd, There liv'd a young and gentle shepherd late, And, had he never lov'd, too fortunate;
His name was Lyrian: she whose looks enthrall'd His amorous heart, was the fair Sylvia call'd.
The natives there, 'mongst whom still lives his
(Nor shall the waste of time impair its fame) Report, he bare, for sweetness of his
song, The prize from all Apollo's learned throng. Yet nor his voice, nor worth that did exceed, And ev❜n in envy admiration breed,
Could e'er move her, that o'er his heart did reign, To pleasing joys to turn his amorous pain.
The cheerful fields, and solitary groves,
(Once loyal secretaries to his loves)
Are still the witnesses, and still shall be,
Of his chaste thoughts, and firm fidelity.
For they alone were conscious of his grief,
They only gave his wounded soul relief,
When, with the weight of his sad woes opprest,
They pitying heard him ease in plaints his breast.
Ye gods! how oft resolv'd he, yet declin'd,
(Although he felt his heart with flames calcin'd)
Before those eyes h' ador'd so, to display
His griefs! such modesty his soul did sway.
And tho' h' had learn'd, and knew to suffer much,
Yet were his manners and discretion such,
Silence should first in death have quench'd his flame,
E'er he'd have rudely voic'd it unto fame.
Nor had it yet to any (had not stone
And stocks discover'd it) been ever known;
Which (for on them he us'd his plaints t' incise)
By chance presented it to Sylvia's eyes.
This seen, in her does scorn and anger move:
O Heavens! is't possible that such a love
She should despise, and him, who had profest
Himself her captive, as her foe detest?
Or that love's magic characters his hand
Had grav'd, should in her eye for cyphers stand?
Or she should read them yet with so much spite,
Ne'er more to see them, 'less to raze them quite?
Ah, 'tis too true! nor's that sufficient,
Unless her tongue to her hard heart consent,
And 'gainst her faithful love, with cruel breath,
Pronounce the rigid sentence of his death.
What said he not his passion to excuse ?
What flourishes us'd not his willing Muse,
To prove his love (of which the noble ground
Was her perfections) could no crime be found,
If neither reason's self, nor justice, ought
(Those for which Heaven is lov'd) as crimes be thought!
That the world's sovereign planet which the Earth And mortal's fates does govern from their birth, By firm decrees inrolled in the skies
Had destin'd him a servant to her eyes.
And could his will be led another way,
Yet being forc'd, he could not disobey:
So that his soul, in this her captive state,
Did only yield to her impulsive fate.
Not that (said he) he murmur'd at his chains,
But pleas'd, sat down and blest his rigorous pains,
Not but his yoke so willingly he bare,
That liberty a greater bondage were.
Not but in spite of his malicious fate,
(In crossing all his joys so obstinate)
He should unforc'd, ev'n to the grave, affect
That beauty, which his love did so neglect.
Yet those his reasons, so well urg'd, so fair,
With her that will hear none, no reasons are.
They more incense her: yet for fear she might
Be softened, she betook herself to flight.
Such were the winning graces of his tongue,
Proving his love did not her beauty wrong.
How oft, since that, by all fair means he try'd
(Whilst he the gods with sacrifices ply'd)
To bring the humorous nymph unto his bent,
And make her too obdurate heart relent!
His passions, sighs, and tears, were ready still,
As the officious agents of his will,
To work her to a sense of his hard state;
But, 'las! his hopes grew still more desperate.
Nay, ev'n his voice, of so divine a strain,
So moving! mov'd in her nought but disdain.
Six years he liv'd perplex'd in this distress,
Without the least appearance of success,
When he by chance (as she a stag pursu’d)
Encounter'd her: whoe'er the queen hath view'd
Of wood-nymphs (Cynthia) a hunting go
After the boar, arm'd with her shafts and bow.
May then imagine the diviner grace,
The looks, the habit, stature, and the pace
Of beauteous Sylvia, as she tripping came
Into the woods, pursuing of her game.
Soon as poor Lyrian, half dead with love,
Had spy'd her in that solitary grove,
For whom his wounded heart so long had bled,
He with these words pursues her as she fled.
"Art thou resolv'd then (Sylvia) 'gainst my cries
Thine ears to close, and 'gainst my verse thine eyes?
That verse which fame unto thy life does give ;
And must I die, 'cause I have made thee live
Eternally? Seven years expired be
Since I've been tortur'd by thy cruelty :
And dost thou think that little strength supplies
My heart, for everlasting torments will suffice?
Shall I for ever only see thee stray
[they? 'Mongst these wild woods, more senseless yet than "Alas! how weak I'm grown with grief! I feel My feeble legs beneath their burden reel!
O stay! I faint, nor longer can pursue,
Stay, and since sense thou lack'st, want motion too.
Stay, if for nothing else, to see me die!
At least vouchsafe, stern nymph, to tell me why
Thou cam'st into this dark and gloomy place?
Where heaven with all its eyes can never trace
Or find thee out. Was't thy intent, the light
Of thy fair stars thus to obscure in night?
Or seek'st thou these cool shades, the ice and snow
That's 'bout thy heart to keep unmelted so?
In vain, coy nymph, thou light and heat doth shun:
Who e'er knew cold or shade attend the Sun ?
Ah, cruel nymph! the rage dost thou not fear
Of those wild beasts, that in these woods appear?
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