To wring with torture, all the blandishments,
The rosy hours, the dreams of promised joy,
The ecstacies with which his flame began
In more auspicious days, the charms that deck
His sovran mistress, full before his soul
Are placed deluding: then the killing eye
That first to pleasing thraldom won his heart
Swims in more liquid brightness; then her lips
With riper fragrance teem, more lively bloom
Her cheek assumes, her bosom whiter snow;
Then with new witchcraft, with more potent spells,
Her smiles are fraught, more bland, more winning
soft,
Her voice in melting accents on his ear
Melodious dwells, the motion of her limbs
Flows with new grace, her step, her every look
Abounds with charms unseen, unfelt before.
But while the magic swims before his soul, At once he sees his hated rival blest,
And rioting secure amid the charms
For which in burning fevers he consumes,
And wasting pines....then all the maddening stings, The tortures of unslaked desire, the rage
Of frantic passion harrow up his soul
With sharpest anguish; while the busy fiend,
Dark Jealousy, her congregated plagues,
Her thousand scorpions, her unnumbered pangs,
Into his bosom pours; then rage and hate,
Settled and fell, anew usurp the place
Of love and soft complacency; the gloom
Of rancorous scorn, of deeply-wounded pride,
Infest his mind; and oft amid the whirl
Of loud-conflicting passions, from her throne,
Bewildered, lost, counfounded, Reason falls.
Who droops in languid softness, in the flames Of sickly passion, but invests his limbs With fate inextricable as the gift
Once scattered though the foldings of a vest, From that lewd Centaur had, who o'er the ford Bore Dejanira for Alcmena's son. a
Sure it were better with the rugged pride
Of our forefathers, from the softer toils
Of Love to turn disdainful, or to rush,
Burning with savage ardour, on those joys
2 Ην μοι παλαιον δώρον αρχαις ποτε
Θήρος, λεβητι καλκες κεκρυμμενον·
Ο παις επ' εσα το δασυςερνε παρα
Νεσσε φθίνοντος εκ φονων ανειλόμην,
Ός τον βαθυρρον ποταμον Ευηνον βροτες
Μισθε 'πορείς χερσινό κ. τ. λο
and 685 of the same play, as well as other passages.
Which vigour only, and the strength that lives
In well-knit nerves could give in ruder days,
When force was wooing, and the sturdy grasp
Of strong constraint was courtship; so the strength
Of that dark God availed, who from the fields
Of flowery Enna bore fair Proserpine,
When she her lap with odorous blossoms filled
Amid her blithe companions.
Of that stern king who by the yellow stream
Of Tiber slew his brother, in revenge
For his new city mocked, had known to feel
The thrill of Love's sweet anguish, to dissolve,
Lost in luxurious fondness, then the might
Of Rome had never awed the subject world:
But he, an empire's fate on that slight toy,
A woman's will, not hanging, by surprise
And timely force his subjects chose to mate:
So to that power to whom Thöossa bore
The brutal strength of horrid Polypheme
Apt games and feasts were done.....To view the
Came all the Sabine damsels, in attire
Ornate and gay; they from the grassy seats,
That best befit the rustic circus, view,
a Festa parat Conso, &c. OVID. FAST.
Jocund awhile, the pastime, till the king
A sudden signal gives; then forth a band.
Of soldiers rushes (while an armed gyre
Surrounds the throng), to seize their destined brides.
Loud were the shrieks, and dissonant the cries
Of those astonished, when, with eyes of fire,
Amid their ranks the fierce ungoverned youth,
Spurred by the sudden stings of quick desire,
Rushed ;........what could woman's strength avail
to stem
The rage of passion, heightened by the charms
Profusely then displayed! Each in his arms,
Stung by remembrance of Love's genial joys,
Now long disused, bears off his struggling bride
To forced espousals.....From the ravished joys
Of those embraces, not by dalliance won,
Or the lewd tinkling of a cittern's strings,
A race of heroes came in after days,
Who high above the thrones of princes raised
Their curule chair, while to their fasces bowed a
The nations round, and at their chariot wheels
Kings led in chains the pomp of triumph swelled.
a Raised on the thrones of kings her curule chair.
Of all that owns Love's influence in the range Of wide creation, Man alone essays
To win return by prayer, by tears, and sighs.....
With fires more fierce within the breasts of brutes
Flames the instinctive passion....With the rage
Of madness stung, with all his veins on fire
And to the marrow pierced, the lusty steed
Burst from the stalls, and snuffs the distant mare.
Along the plain, o'er rocks, through forest shades,
He bounds impetuous; or amid the stream
Of roaring torrents plunges, and the surge
Disparts with chest high-swelling, in the strife
Of waters neighing; while his golden mane
Streams in the wind, or floats amid the wave.
Deep in Matamba's forests, by the lake
Of Zambré, and the ever-burning sands
Of drear Berdoa's waste, or Gubur's plains,
The glaring lion grapples with his mate,
Maddening with savage rapture; with his roar
The desart shakes around, and distant groves
Echo the transports of his horrid joys.
Yet shall we judge severely if Love's sway
Is ever held unblest and dire.....There is,
And happy they who feel its influence,
A generous Love that in congenial hearts
Lights up a purer flame, to nobler deeds
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