Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham. Edmund Waller

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СКАЧАТЬ by itself, if they plant another, be it never so small (which

       they call the female), it will become prolific.—FENTON.

THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE,[1] APPLIED.

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      Thyrsis, a youth of the inspirèd train,

       Fair Saccharissa loved, but loved in vain;

       Like Phoebus sung the no less am'rous boy;

       Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy!

       With numbers he the flying nymph pursues,

       With numbers such as Phoebus' self might use!

       Such is the chase when Love and Fancy leads,

       O'er craggy mountains, and through flow'ry meads;

       Invoked to testify the lover's care,

       Or form some image of his cruel fair. 10

       Urged with his fury, like a wounded deer,

       O'er these he fled; and now approaching near,

       Had reach'd the nymph with his harmonious lay,

       Whom all his charms could not incline to stay.

       Yet what he sung in his immortal strain,

       Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain;

       All, but the nymph that should redress his wrong,

       Attend his passion, and approve his song.

       Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought praise,

       He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arms with bays.[1] 20

      [1] 'Daphne': Ovid's Metamorphoses, b. i.

ON THE FRIENDSHIP BETWIXT SACCHARISSA AND AMORET.

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      1 Tell me, lovely, loving pair!

       Why so kind, and so severe?

       Why so careless of our care,

       Only to yourselves so dear?

      2 By this cunning change of hearts,

       You the power of Love control;

       While the boy's deluded darts

       Can arrive at neither soul.

      3 For in vain to either breast

       Still beguilèd Love does come,

       Where he finds a foreign guest,

       Neither of your hearts at home.

      4 Debtors thus with like design,

       When they never mean to pay,

       That they may the law decline,

       To some friend make all away.

      5 Not the silver doves that fly,

       Yoked in Cytherea's car;

       Not the wings that lift so high,

       And convey her son so far;

      6 Are so lovely, sweet, and fair,

       Or do more ennoble love;

       Are so choicely match'd a pair,

       Or with more consent do move.

AT PENSHURST.[1]

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      While in this park I sing, the list'ning 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 same.

       To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers

       With loud complaints, they answer me in showers.

       To thee a wild and cruel soul is given,

       More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven!

       Love's foe profess'd! why dost thou falsely feign

       Thyself a Sidney? from which noble strain 10

       He sprung,[2] 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 am'rous Sidney's fire.

       Nor call her mother, who so well does prove

       One breast may hold both chastity and love.

       Never can she, that so exceeds the spring

       In joy and bounty, be supposed to bring

       One so destructive. To no human stock

       We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock, 20

       That cloven rock produced thee, by whose side

       Nature, to recompense the fatal pride

       Of such stern beauty, placed those healing springs,[3]

       Which not more help, than that destruction, brings.

       Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone,

       I might, like Orpheus, with my num'rous moan

       Melt to compassion; now, my trait'rous song

       With thee conspires to do the singer wrong;

       While thus I suffer not myself to lose 29

       The memory of what augments my woes;

       But with my own breath still foment the fire,

       Which flames as high as fancy can aspire!

      This last complaint th'indulgent ears did pierce

       Of just Apollo, president of verse;

       Highly concerned that the Muse should bring

       Damage to one whom he had taught to sing,

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