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The Story of Phoe B U s and DAPHNE
HYRSIS, a youth of the inspired train,
Fair SACHARIS SA lov'd, but lov'd in vain :
Fabula PHOE BI & DAPHNE S.
RCADIÆ juvenis THYRSIS, PHOE BIQUE facerdos, A
Ingenti frustra SACHARIS SÆ ardebat amore. Haud Deus ipse olim DAPHNI majora canebat ; Nec fuit asperior DAPHNE, nec pulchrior illâ :
Carminibus PHOE B o dignis premit ille fugacem
Alorida vates Pascua: formosam nunc his componere Nympham, Nunc illis crudelem infanâ mente solebat. Audiit illa procul miserum, citharamque fonantem; Audiit, at nullis refpexit mota querelis ! Ne tamen omnino caneret desertus, ad alta Sidera perculsi referunt nova carmina montes. Sic, non quæfitis cumulatus laudibus, olim Elapsâ reperit DAPHNE sua laurea PHOE BU S.
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 sure wer't drest
With that angel-like disguise: Thus deluded am I blest,
And see my joy with closed Eyes.
But ah ! this image is too kind
To be other than a Dream : Cruel SACHARISSA's mind
Never put on that sweet extreme!
Fair Dream ! if thou intend'st me grace,
Change that heav'nly face of thine ; Paint despis'd love in thy face,
And make it to appear like mine.
Pale, Pale, wan, and meagre let it look,
With a pity-moving shape; Such as wander by the brook
OF LETHE, or from graves escape.
Then to that matchless Nymph appear,
In whose shape thou shinest so; Softly in her sleeping ear,
With humble words express my woe.
Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride,
Thus surprised the may fall: Sleep does disproportion hide,
And, death resembling, equals all.
TO Mrs. BRAUGHTON, Servant to
AIR fellow-fervant! may your gentle ear
Than the bright dame's we serve: for her relief
humble Muse to court her train. So, in those nations which the fun adore, Some modeft PERSIAN, or some weak-ey'd Moor, No higher dares advance his dazled fight, Than to fome gilded cloud, which near the light Of their ascending God adorns the east, And, graced with his beams, out-shines the rest.
Thy skilful hand contributes to our woe,
You the soft season know, when best her mind
HILE in this park I fing, the fiftning deer
Attend my passion, 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 profess’d! why dost thou fallly feign Thy self a SIDNEY? from which noble strain * He sprung, that could so far exalt the name Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame; That all we can of love, or high desire, Seems but the smoke of amorous SIDNEY's fire. Nor call her Mother, who fo well does One breast may hold both chastity, and love. Never can the, that so exceeds the spring In joy, and bounty, be suppos’d to bring One so destructive: to no humane stock We owe this fierce unkindness: but the rock, That cloven rock produc'd thee, by whose fide Nature, to recompence the fatal pride Of such stern beauty, plac'd those + healing springs ; Which not more help, than that destruction brings. Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone, Į might, like ORPHE U s, with my
num'rous moan Melt to compassion : now, my trait'rous fong With thee conspires, to do the finger wrong: * Sir Pbilip Sidney.
+ Tunbridge Wells.