Imágenes de página

A woman's friendship ever ends in love.
Think not these foolish tales my faith command ;
Did not I see thee press her snowy hand
O may her passion like thy friendship laft!
May she betray thee ere a day be past !
Hence then. Away. Thou 'rt hateful to my fight,
And thus I fpurn the fawning hypocrite.

[Exit Lycidas.

[blocks in formation]

Was ever grief like mine! O wretched maid !
My friendship wrong'd! my constant love betray'd ?
Misfortune haunts my steps where'er łgo,
And all my days are overcast with woe.
Long have I strove th’increasing load to bear,
Now faints my soul, and sinks into despair.
O lead me to the hanging mountain's cell,
In whose brown cliffs the fowls of darkness dwell;
Where waters, trickling down the rifted wall,
Shall full my sorrows with the tinkling fall.
There seek thy grave. How canst thou lear the light,
When banish'd ever from Evander's fighti


[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

Why hangs a cloud of grief upon thy brows?
Does the proud nymph accept Evander's vows?


Can I bear life with these new pangs opprest!
Again he tears me from his faithless breast :
A perjur'd Lover first he fought these plains,
And now my friendship like my love disdains.
As I new offers to Parthenia made,
Conceal'd he stood behind the woodbine shade.
He says, my treacherous tongue his heart betray'd,
That my false fpeeches have mis-led the maid;
With groundless fear he thus his foul deceives ;
What frenzy dictates, jealousy believes.

Resign thy.crook, put off this manly vest,
And let the wrong'd Dione stand confest ;
When he shall learn what sorrows thou hast born,
And find that nought relents Parthenia's scorn,
Sure he will pity thee.


No, Laura, no. Should I, alas ! the sylvan dress forego,


Then might he think that I her pride foment,
That injur'd love instru&s me to resent;
Our secret enterprize might fatal prove :
Man flies the plague of persecuting love.


Avoid Parthenia; left his rage grow warın,
And jealousy resolve some fatal karm.

O Laura, if thou chance the youth to find,
Tell him what torments vex my anxious mind;
Should I once more his awful presence seek,
The filent tears would bathe my glowing cheek ;
By rifing fighs my faultering voice be stay'd,
And trembling fear too soon confess the maid.
Hafte, Laura, then; his vengeful foul affuage,
Tell him, I'm guiltless; cool his blinded rage ;
Tell him that truth fincere my friendfhip brought,
Let him not cherish one suspicious thought.
Then, to convince him his distrust was vaie,
I'll never, never see that nymph again,
This way be went.


-See, at the call of night,
The star of evening sheds his silver light
High o'er yon western hill: the cooling gales
Fresh odours breathe along the winding dales ;
Far froin their home as yet our shepherds stray,
To close with chearful walk the sultry day.



Methinks from far I hear the piping swain ;
Hark, in the breeze now fwells, now finks the strain!
Thither I'll seek him.


-While this length of glade
Shall lead me pensive through the sable shades
Where on the branches murmur rushing winds,
Grateful as falling floods to love-lick minds ;
O may this path to Death's dark vale descend !
There only can the wretched hope a friend.

(Ex. feverally.


[blocks in formation]

A Wood. DIONE, CLEANTHES (who lies wounded in a difiant

part of the fage).



HE moon serene now climbs th' aerial way;

See, at her sight ten thousand stars decay :
With trembling gleam fhe tips the filent grove,
While all beneath the chequer'd shadows move.
Turn back thy fulver axles, downward roll,
Darkness best fits the horrors of my soul.
Rilu, rise, ye clouds; the face of heaven deform,
Veil the bright Goddess in a sable storm :
O look not down upon a wretched maid !
Let thy bright torch the happy lover aid,
And light his wandering footsteps to the bower
Where the kind nymph attends th' appointed hour.
Yet thou hast seen unhappy love, like mine ;
Did not thy lainp in heaven's blue forehead shine,
When Thisbe fought her love along the glade :
Didst thou not then behold the gleaming blade,
And gild the fatal point that stabb'd her breast?
Soon I, like her, fall seek the realms of rest.
Let groves of mournful yew a wretch furround!
O footh my ear with melancholy found !


T 2

« AnteriorContinuar »