Echo the sound did much misrepresent,
If this is not the way the roebuck went
After 'twas struck; how swift it must have fled,
And with what strength, considering how it bled!
So deep the bearded shaft transfixed its side,
That the white feather was alone descried;
And now the search of what eludes my sight
Tires me to death. It can't have stretched its flight
Beyond this valley; it must surely be
Here, and perhaps expiring! oh that she,
My Lady of the Groves, would of her pack
Lend me a hound to follow up the track,
The whilst I sleep away the hours of heat
Within these woods!—Oh visitants most sweet!
Fresh, amorous, gentle, flavourous breezes, blow
In deeper gusts, and break this burning glow
Of the meridian sun! at length, I pass
My naked soles upon the cold green grass;
Thy sylvan toils this raging noon commit
To men, Diana, whom they best befit!
For once I dare thy horn to disobey;
Thy favourite chase has cost me dear to-day.
Ah my sweet fountain! from what paradise
Hast thou too cast me by a mere surprise?
Know'st thou, clear mirror, what thy glass has done?
Driven from me the delightful face of one,
Whose kind society and faith approved
I now no less desire than then I loved,
But not as he supposed; God grant that first
Her heart may break, ere vowed Camilla burst
The virgin band that binds her with the maids
Of dear Diana, and her sacred shades!
With what reluctance thought renews the sense
Of this sad history, but the youth's offence
Exculpates me; if of his absence I
Were the prime cause, I would most willingly
Myself condemn, but he, I recollect,
Both wilful was, and wanting in respect.
But why afflict myself for this? I yet
Would live contented, and the boy forget.—
These clear cool springs a lulling murmur make,
Here will I lie, and my sweet siesta take;
And when the sultry noon is over, go
Again in search of my rebellious roe:
Still 'tis a mystery and surprise to me
With such a wound how it so far could flee!
ALBANIO.
Methought, or frolic fancy must delight
With false presentments to deceive my sight,
I saw a wood-nymph, gliding through the groves,
Reach the near fountain; haply, if she loves,
She may advise me of some charm, may name
Some dear deceit to ease this painful flame:
No given advice but aggravates my grief,
If 'tis in discord with my own belief,
And to the hopeless harm can none accrue:
Oh holy Gods! what is it that I view?
Is it a phantom changed into the form
Of her whose beauty makes my blood run warm?
No, 'tis herself, Camilla, sleeping here;
It must be she—her beauty makes it clear!
But one such wonder Nature wished to make,
Then broke the die for admiration's sake.
How could I then suppose her not the same,
When Nature's self no second such can frame!
But now, though certain is the bliss displayed,
How shall I venture to awake the maid,
Dreading the light that lures me to her side?
And yet—if only for the pleasing pride
Of touching her, methinks that I might shake
This fear away; but what if she should wake?
To seize and not to loose her—soft! I fear
That daring act might make her more austere;
Yet, what is to be done? I wish to reach
My former seat beneath the shady beech,
And hers is slumber deep as death; she lies,
How beautifully blind! the bee that flies
Near her, the quarrelling birds, that old sweet tune
Hummed by the spring, all voices of the noon
Tease, but disturb her not; her face is free—
A charming book—to be perused by me,
And I will seize the' occasion; if the boughs
In being parted should from slumber rouse,
Strong to detain her I am still, though not
As when we last were seated on this spot:
Oh hands, once vigorously disposed to end me!
See you how much your power can now befriend me?
Why not exert it for my welfare!—small
The risk—one effort will suffice for all.
CAMILLA.
Aid me Diana!
ALBANIO.
Stir not! from my hold
Thou canst not break; but hear what I unfold.
CAMILLA.
Who would have told me of so rude a stroke?
Nymphs of the wood, your succour I invoke!
Save me, oh save! Albanio, this from thee?
Say, art thou frenzied?