The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/26
THE VISION.
In lonely walks, diſtracted by deſpair,
Shunning mankind, and torn with killing care,
My eyes o’erflowing, and my frantic mind
Rack’d with wild thoughts, ſwelling with ſighs the wind,
Thro’ paths untrodden day and night I rove,5
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:10
That fate, which 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 Mira, to my pray’r,15
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.20
Straight up I roſe, and to my aching breaſt,
My boſom bare, the ready point I preſt,
When, lo! aſtoniſh’d, an unuſual light
Pierc’d the thick ſhade, and all around grew bright;
My dazzled eyes a radiant form[1] behold,25
Splendid with light like beams of burning gold;
Eternal rays his ſhining temples grace,
Eternal youth ſat blooming on his face;
Trembling I liſten, proſtrate on the ground,
His breath perfumes the grove, and music ’s in the ſound.30
“Ceaſe, Lover! ceaſe thy tender heart to vex
In fruitleſs plaints of an ungrateful ſex;
In Fate’s eternal volumes it is writ
That women ever ſhall be foes to wit.
With proper arts their ſickly minds command,35
And pleaſe ’em with the things they underſtand:
With noiſy fopperies their hearts aſſail;
Renounce all ſenſe: how should thy ſongs prevail
When I, the god of Wit, ſo oft could fail?
Remember me; and in my ſtory find40
How vainly merit pleads to womankind.
I, by whom all things ſhine, who tune the ſpheres,
Create the day, and gild the night with ſtars,
Whoſe youth and beauty from all ages paſt
Sprang with the world, and with the world ſhall laſt,45
How oft with fruitleſs tears have I implor’d
Ungrateful nymphs? and, tho’ a god, ador’d!
When could my wit, my beauty, or my youth,
Move a hard heart? or, mov’d, ſecure its truth?
Here a proud nymph with painful ſteps I chaſe,50
The winds outflying in our nimble race:
Stay, Daphne! ſtay—In vain, in vain, I try
To ſtop her ſpeed, redoubling at my cry:
O’er craggy rocks and rugged hills ſhe climbs,
And tears on pointed flints her tender limbs,55
Till caught at length, juſt as my arms I fold,
Turn’d to a tree, ſhe yet eſcapes my hold.
In my next love a diff’rent fate I find:
Ah! which is worſe, the falſe or the unkind?
Forgetting Daphne, I Coronis choſe,60
A kinder nymph—too kind for my repoſe.
The joys I give but more provoke her breaſt;
She keeps a private drudge[2] to quench the reſt:
How, and with whom, the very birds proclaim
Her black pollution, and reveal my ſhame.65
Hard lot of beauty! fatally beſtow’d,
Or given to the falſe or to the proud;
By diff’rent ways they bring us equal pain;
The falſe betray us, and the proud diſdain.
Scorn’d and abus’d, from mortal loves I fly,70
To ſeek more truth in my own native ſky.
Venus, the faireſt of immortal loves,
Bright as my beams, and gentle as her doves,
With glowing eyes, confeſſing warm desires,
She ſummons heav’n and earth to quench her fires:75
Me ſhe excludes; and I in vain adore
Who neither god nor man refus’d before:
Vulcan, the very monſter of the ſkies,
Vulcan ſhe takes, the god of Wit denies!
Then ceaſe to murmur at thy Mira’s pride,80
Whimſey, not reaſon, is the female guide:
The fate of which their maſter does complain
Is of bad omen to th’ inſpired train.
What vows have fail’d! Hark, how Catullus mourns,
How Ovid weeps, and ſlighted Gallus burns!85
In melting ſtrains ſee gentle Waller bleed;
Unmov’d ſhe heard what none unmov’d can read.
And thou who, oft with ſuch ambitious choice,
Haſt rais’d to Mira thy aſpiring voice,
What profit thy neglected zeal repays?90
Ah! what return? ungrateful to thy praiſe!
Change, change thy ſtyle, with mortal rage return
Unjuſt diſdain, and pride oppoſe to ſcorn:
Search all the ſecrets of the fair and young,
And then proclaim, ſoon ſhall they bribe thy tongue;95
The ſharp detractor with ſucceſs aſſails,
Sure to be gentle to the man that rails.
Women, like cowards, tame to the ſevere,
Are only fierce when they diſcover fear.”
Thus ſpake the god, and upward mounts in air,100
In juſt reſentment of his paſt deſpair.
Provok’d to vengeance, to my aid I call
The Furies round, and dip my pen in gall:
Not one ſhall ’ſcape of all the coz’ning ſex;
Vex’d ſhall they be who ſo delight to vex.105
In vain I try, in vain to vengeance move
My gentle Muſe, ſo us’d to tender love;
Such magic rules my heart, whate’er I write,
Turns all to ſoft complaint and am’rous flight.
Begone, fond thoughts, begone! be bold, ſaid I,110
Satire ’s thy theme—in vain again I try:
So charming Mira to each ſenſe appears,
My ſoul adores, my rage diſſolves in tears.
So the gall’d lion, ſmarting with his wound,
Threatens his foes, and makes the ſoreſt ſound;115
With his ſtrong teeth he bites the bloody dart,
And tears his ſide with more provoking ſmart,
Till, having ſpent his voice in fruitleſs cries,
He lays him down, breaks his proud heart, and dies.121