Amidft th' innumerable beauteous train,
Paris, the queen of cities, does contain,
(The fairest town, the largeft, and the best)
The 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 whene'er fhe made a slave.
Love, under whose tyrannick pow'r I groan,
Shew'd me this beauty e'er 'twas fully blown ;
Her tim❜rous charms, and her unpractis'd look,
Their first affurance from my conquest took;
By wounding me fhe learn'd the fatal art,
And the first figh fhe had was from my heart:
My eyes with tears moiftning her fnowy arms,
Render'd the tribute owing to her charms.
But, as 1 foonest of all mortals paid
My vows, and to her beauty altars made;
So, among all those slaves that sigh'd in vain,
She thought me only worthy of my chain.
Love's heavy burden my fubmiffive heart
Endur'd not long, before she bore her part;
My vi'olent flame melted her frozen breast,
And in foft fighs her pity fhe exprefs'd;
Her gentle voice allay'd my raging pains,
And her fair hands fuftain'd me in my chains:
Ev'n tears of pity waited on my moan,
And tender looks were caft on me alone.
My hopes and dangers were lefs mine than hers,
Those fill'd her foul with joys, and these with fears:
Our hearts, united, had the fame defires,
And both alike burn'd with impatient fires.
Too faithful Memory! I give thee leave
Thy wretched master kindly to deceive;
Oh, make me not poffeffor of her charms,
Let me not find her languish in my arms;
Past joys are now my fancy's mournful themes;
Make all my happy nights appear but dreams:
Let not fuch blifs before my eyes be brought;
O hide those scenes from my tormenting thought;
And in their place disdainful beauty show;
If thou would'st not be cruel, make herso:
And, fomething to abate my deep despair,
O let her feem lefs gentle, or less fair,
But I in vain flatter my wounded mind;
Never was nymph fo lovely, or fo kind:
No cold repulfes my defires fupprefs'd;
I feldom figh'd, but on ALMERIA's breast:
Of all the paffions which mankind destroy,
I only felt excess of love and joy:
Unnumber'd pleasures charm'd my sense, and they
Were, as my love, without the least allay.
As pure, alas! but not so sure to last,
For, like a pleafing dream, they all are past.
From Heav'n her beauties like fierce lightnings came,
Which break thro' darkness with a glorious flame;
A while they shine, a while our minds amaze,
Our wondring eyes are dazled with the blaze;
But thunder follows, whose refistless rage
None can withstand, and nothing can assuage;
And all that light which those bright flashes gave,
Serves only to conduct us to our grave.
When I had just begun love's joys to taste,
(Those full rewards for fears and dangers past)
A fever feiz'd her, and to nothing brought
The richest work that ever Nature wrought.
All things below, alas! uncertain stand;
The firmest rocks are fix'd upon the fand:
Under this law both Kings and kingdoms bend,
And no beginning is without an end.
A facrifice to Time, Fate dooms us all,
And at the Tyrant's feet we daily fall:
Time, whose bold hand will bring alike to duft
Mankind, and temples too in which they truft.
Her wafted fpirits now begin to faint,
Yet patience ties her tongue from all complaint,
And in her heart as in a fort remains;
But yields at last to her refiftlefs pains.
Thus while the fever, am'rous of his prey,
Through all her veins makes his delightful way,
Her fate's like SEMELE'S; the flames destroy
That beauty they too eagerly enjoy.
Her charming face is in its spring decay'd,..
Pale grow the rofes, and the lilies fade;
Her skin has loft that luftre which furpafs'd
The Sun's, and well deserv'd as long to last:
Her eyes, which us'd to pierce the hardest hearts,
Are now disarm'd of all their flames and darts;
Those stars now heavily and flowly move;
And fickness triumphs in the throne of love.
The fever ev'ry moment more prevails,
Its rage her body feels, and tongue bewails:
She, whose difdain fo many lovers prove,
Sighs now for torment, as they figh for love,
And with loud cries, which rend the neighb'ring air,
Wounds my fad heart, and wakens my defpair.
Both men and Gods I charge now with my lofs,
And, wild with grief, my thoughts each other cross;
My heart and tongue labour in both extremes,
This fends up humble pray'rs, while that blafphemes:
I ask their help, whose malice I defy,
And mingle facrilege with piety.
But, that which muft yet more perplex my mind,
To love her truly, I must seem unkind:
So unconcern'd a face my forrow wears,
I must restrain unruly floods of tears.
My eyes and tongue put on diffembling forms,
I fhew a calmness in the midst of storms;
I feem to hope when all my hopes are gone,
And almost dead with grief, difcover none.
But who can long deceive a loving eye,
Or with dry eyes behold his mistress die?
When Paffion had with all its terrors brought
Th' approaching danger nearer to my thought,
Off on a fudden fell the forc'd difguife,
And fhew'd a fighing heart in weeping eyes:
My apprehenfions, now no more confin'd,
Expos'd my forrows, and betray'd my mind.
The Fair afflicted foon perceives my tears,
Explains my fighs, and thence concludes my fears:
With fad prefages of her hopelefs cafe,
She reads her fate in my dejected face;
Then feels my torment, and neglects her own,
While I am fenfible of hers alone;
Each does the other's burthen kindly bear,
I fear her death, and fhe bewails my
Tho' thus we fuffer under fortune's darts,
'Tis only thofe of love which reach our hearts.
Mean while the fever mocks at all our fears,
Grows by our fighs, and rages at our tears:
Thofe vain effects of our as vain defire,
Like wind and oil, increase the fatal fire.
ALMERIA then, feeling the deftinies
About to fhut her lips, and close her eyes;
Weeping, in mine fix'd her fair trembling hand,
And with thefe words I fcarce could understand,
Her paffion in a dying voice exprefs'd
Half, and her sighs, alas! made out the rest.
'Tis paft; this pang-Nature gives o'er the strife; Thou must thy mistress lose, and I my life.
I die; but dying thine, the Fates may prove
Their conqueft over me, but not my love:
Thy memory, my glory, and my pain,
In spite of death itself, shall still remain.
Dearest ORON TES, my hard fate denies,
That hope is the last thing which in us dies:
From my griev'd breast all those soft thoughts are fled,
And love furvives it, tho' my hope is dead;
I yield my life, but keep my paffion yet,
And can all thoughts, but of ORONTES, quit;
My flame increases as my ftrength decays;
Death, which puts out the light, the heat will raife:
That still remains, tho' I from hence remove;
I lose my lover, but I keep my love.
The figh which fent forth that last tender word,
Up tow'rds the Heav'n's like a bright meteor foar'd;
And the kind nymph, not yet bereft of charms,
Fell cold and breathlefs in her lover's arms.
Goddess, who now my fate hast understood, Spare but my tears, and freely take my blood:
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