To Myra. The Vision.
IN lonely Walks, distracted by Despair,
Shunning Mankind, and torn with killing Care,
My Eyes o'erflowing, and my frantick Mind
Rackt with wild Thoughts, swelling with Sighs the Wind;
Thro' Paths untrodden, Day and Night I rove,
Mourning the Fate of my successless Love.
Who most desire to live, untimely fall;
But when we beg to die, Death flies our Call.
Adonis dies, and torn is the lov'd Breast
In midst of Joy, where Venus wont to rest:
The Fate, that cruel seem'd to him, would be
Pity, Relief, and Happiness to me.
When will my Sorrows end? In vain, in vain
I call to Heav'n, and tell the Gods my Pain;
The Gods averse, like Myra, to my Pray'r,
Consent to doom, whom she denies to spare.
Why do I seek for foreign Aids, when I
Bear ready by my Side the Pow'r to die?
Be keen, my Sword, and serve thy Master well,
Heal Wounds with Wounds, and Love with Death repel,
Strait up I rose; and to my aking Breast,
My Bosom bare, the pointed Blade I prest,
When lo! astonish'd, an unusual Light
Pierc'd the thick Shade, and all around grew bright.
