Go catch the phœnix, and then bring
A quill drawn for me from his wing.
Give me a maiden beauty's blood,
A pure, rich crimson, without mud,
In whose sweet blushes that may live,
Which a dull verse can never give.
Now for an untouch'd, spotless white,
For blackest things on paper write,
Etesia, at thine own expense
Give me the robes of innocence.
Could we but see a spring to run
Pure milk, as sometimes springs have done,
And in the snow-white streams it sheds,
Carnations wash their bloody heads,
While ev'ry eddy that came down
Did—as thou dost—both smile and frown.
Such objects, and so fresh would be
But dull resemblances of thee.
Thou art the dark world's morning-star,
Seen only, and seen but from far;
Where, like astronomers, we gaze
Upon the glories of thy face,
But no acquaintance more can have,
Though all our lives we watch and crave.
Thou art a world thyself alone,
Yea, three great worlds refin'd to one;
Which shows all those, and in thine eyes
The shining East and Paradise.
Thy soul—a spark of the first fire—
Is like the sun, the world's desire;
And with a nobler influence
Works upon all, that claim to sense;
But in summers hath no fever,
And in frosts is cheerful ever.
As flow'rs besides their curious dress
Rich odours have, and sweetnesses,
Which tacitly infuse desire,
And ev'n oblige us to admire:
Such, and so full of innocence
Are all the charms, thou dost dispense;
And like fair Nature without arts
At once they seize, and please our hearts.
O, thou art such, that I could be
A lover to idolatry!
I could, and should from heav'n stray,
But that thy life shows mine the way,
And leave a while the Deity
To serve His image here in thee.
TO ETESIA LOOKING FROM HER CASEMENT AT THE FULL MOON.
See you that beauteous queen, which no age tames?
Her train is azure, set with golden flames:
My brighter fair, fix on the East your eyes,
And view that bed of clouds, whence she doth rise.
Above all others in that one short hour
Which most concern'd me,[64] she had greatest pow'r.
This made my fortunes humorous as wind,
But fix'd affections to my constant mind.
She fed me with the tears of stars, and thence
I suck'd in sorrows with their influence.
To some in smiles, and store of light she broke,
To me in sad eclipses still she spoke.
She bent me with the motion of her sphere,
And made me feel what first I did but fear.
But when I came to age, and had o'ergrown
Her rules, and saw my freedom was my own,
I did reply unto the laws of Fate,
And made my reason my great advocate:
I labour'd to inherit my just right;
But then—O, hear Etesia!—lest I might
Redeem myself, my unkind starry mother
Took my poor heart, and gave it to another.
FOOTNOTES:
[64] The original has concerned in.
TO ETESIA PARTED FROM HIM, AND LOOKING BACK.
O, subtle Love! thy peace is war,
It wounds and kills without a scar,
It works unknown to any sense,
Like the decrees of Providence,
And with strange silence shoots me through,
The fire of Love doth fell like snow.
Hath she no quiver, but my heart?
Must all her arrows hit that part?
Beauties like heav'n their gifts should deal
Not to destroy us, but to heal.
Strange art of Love! that can make sound,
And yet exasperates the wound:
That look she lent to ease my heart,
Hath pierc'd it, and improv'd the smart.