The Story of Narcissus.
Thus did the Nymphs in vain caress the Boy,
He still was lovely but he still was Coy;
When one fair Virgin of the slighted Train
Thus pray'd the Gods, provok'd by his Disdain,
"Oh may he love like me, and love like me in vain!
Rhamnusia pity'd the neglected Fair,
And with just Vengeance answer'd to her Pray'r.
There stands a Fountain in a darksom Wood,
Nor stain'd with falling Leaves nor rising Mud;
Untroubled by the Breath of Winds it rests,
Unsully'd by the Touch of Men or Beasts;
High Bow'rs of shady Trees above it grow,
And rising Grass and chearful Greens below.
Pleas'd with the Form and Coolness of the Place,
And over-heated by the Morning Chace,
Narcissus on the grassie Verdure lyes:
But whilst within the Chrystal Fount he tries
To quench his Heat, he feels new Heats arise.
For as his own bright Image he survey'd,
He fell in love with the fantastick Shade;
And o'er the fair Resemblance hung unmov'd,
Nor knew, fond Youth! it was himself he lov'd.
The well-turn'd Neck and Shoulders he descries,
The spacious Forehead, and the sparkling Eyes;
The Hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,
And Hair that round Apollo's Head might flow;
With all the Purple Youthfulness of Face,
That gently blushes in the watry Glass,
By his own Flames consum'd the Lover lyes,
And gives himself the Wound by which he Dies.
To the cold Water oft he joins his Lips,
Oft catching at the beauteous Shade he dips
His Arms, as often from himself he slips.
