Old Age, and Pains, which Mankind most deplores,
Are faithful Keepers of thofe facred Doors; All clad in mournful Blacks, which alfo Load The facred Wails of this obfcure Abode,
And Tapers of a pitchy fubftance made,
With Clouds of fmoak increase the dismal Shade.
A Monster, void of Reason and of Sight, The Goddess is, who sways this Realm of Night. Her Power extends o'er all things that have
A Cruel Tyrant, and her Name is Death.
The fairest Object of our wond'ring Eyes
Was newly offer'd up her Sacrifice;
Th' adjoining places where the Altar stood,
Yet blushing with the fair Almeria's Blood.
When griev'd Orontes, whose unhappy flame
Is known to all that e'er converfe with Fame;
His mind poffeft by Fury and Despair,
Within the Sacred Temple made this Prayer:
Great Deity! Who in thy hands do'ft bear
That rufty Scepter, which poor Mortals fear;
Who wanting Eyes, thy felf refpe&teft none,
And neither spares the Laurel, nor the Crown!
Oh thou, whom all Mankind in vain with-
stands !
Each of whofe Blood muft one day ftain thy hands!
Oh thou, who every Eye, which fees the Light,
Closest again in an eternal Night!
Open thy Ears, and hearken to my Grief,
To which thy only power can give Relief:
I come not hither to prolong my Fate,
But wish my wretched Life a fhorter date,
And that the Earth would in its Bowels hide
A wretch, whom Heaven invades on every fide:
That from the fight of Day I could remove,
And might have nothing left me but my Love.
Thou only Comforter of Minds oppreft;
The Port, where wearied Spirits are at reft;
Conducter to Ely fium! Take my Life;
My Breaft I offer to thy Sacred Knife :
So just a Grace refufe not, nor despise
A Willing, though a Worthless Sacrifice.
Others, their frail and mortal State forgot,
Before thy Altars are not to be brought
Without constraint; the noife of dying rage,
Heaps of the Slain of every Sex and Age,
The blade all reeking in the gore it shed,
With fever'd Heads and Arms confus'dly fprea
The Rapid Flames of a perpetual Fire,
The Groans of Wretches ready to expire:
This Tragick Scene makes them in Terror Liv
Till that is forc'd, which they should freely giv
Yielding unwillingly what Heaven will have,
Their fears eclipfe the Glory of their Grave.
Before thy Face they make undecent moan,
And feel a hundred Deaths in fearing one;
The flame becomes unhallow'd in their Breaft,
And he a Murtherer, who was a Prieft;
His Hands profan'd in breaking Nature's Chain,
By which the Body does the Soul detain:
But against me thy ftrongeft Forces call,
And on my Head let all the Tempest fall;
No fhrinking back shall any weakness shew,
And calmly I'll expect the fatal blow;
My Limbs not trembling, in my mind no fear,
Plaints in my Mouth, nor in my Eyes a Tear.
Think not that time, our wonted fure relief,
That universal Cure for every grief,
Whose aid fo many Lovers oft have found,
With like fuccefs can ever heal my wound;
Too weak's the Power of Nature, or of Art;
Nothing but Death can ease a broken heart.
And that thou mayft behold my helpless state,
Learn the extreameft rigor of my Fate.
Amidft th' innumerable beauteous Train,
Paris the Queen of Cities, does contain,
The fairest Town, the largeft, and the beft,
So fair Almeria fhin'd above the rest.
From her bright Eyes to feel a hopeless flame,
Was of our Youth the most ambitious aim;
Her Chains were marks of Honour to the Brave,
She made a Prince when e'er she made a Slavé.
Love under whofe Tyrannick Power I groan,
Shew'd me this Beauty e'er 'twas fully blown ;
Her tim❜rous Charms, and her unpractis'd Look,
Their firft affurance from my Conqueft took,
By wounding me, the learnt the fatal Art,
And the first figh fhe had, was from My Heart;
My Eyes with Tears moift'ning her fnowy
Render'd the Tribute owing to her Charms :
But as I fooneft of all Mortals paid
My Vows, and to her Beauty Altars made;
|