Elegy de Theophile

Since that sad Day, a sadder Farewell did
My Eyes the object of my flame forbid,
My Soul, and Sense so disunited are,
That being thus deprived of thee, My Fair,
I find me so distractedly alone,
That from my self, methinks my self am gone.
To me invisible's the Sun's fair Light,
Nor do I feel the soft repose of Night:
I Poyson tast in my repast most sweet;
And sink where-ever I dispose my feet;
My Life all company, but Death, has lost,
Chloris, so dear the love I bear thee cost.
Oh Gods! who all the joys we have bestow,
Do you with them always give torments too?
Can that, we call Good Fortune never hit
Humane designs, but ill must follow it?
If equally you interweave the Fate
With good, and ill of those you love, and hate.
In vain I sue to her, I so adore,
In vain her help that has no Power implore.
For, as black Night pursues the glorious Sun,
The greatest Good does but some Ill fore-run.
When handsome Paris liv'd with Helen fair,
He saw his Fortune rais'd above his Care;
But Fate severely did revenge that bliss,
For (as with time his Fortune changed is.)
From his Delights sprang a debate, that Fire
Brought to old Troy, and massacred his Sire.
And though in that subversion there appears
Such sad mishaps of Bloud, of Fire, and Tears.
Yet by that Heavenly Face I so adore,
I swear, for love of thee, I suffer more.
For so long absent from thy gracious Eyes,
Methinks I banisht am the Deities.
And that from Heaven with Thunder wrapt in Flame.
To th' Centre I precipitated am.
Since I left thee, my Pleasures in their Tomb
Lye dead, and I their Mourner am become.
With all Delights my Thoughts distasted are,
And only to dislike the World take care;
Which as complying with my peevish Will,
Does nothing, I protest, but vex me still.
In Paris, like an Hermit, I retire,
And in one Object limit my Desire.
Where e'er my Eyes seek to divert my Mind,
I bear the Prison, where I am confin'd.
My Blood is sir'd, and my Soul wounded lies,
By th' golden Shaft shot from thy killing Eyes.
All the Temptations, that I daily see,
Serve only to confirm my Faith to thee.
The usual helps, that humane Reason bless,
To render a Man's Passion something less,
Stir mine up more to suffer chearfully
Th' obliging Torments, that do make me dye.
My Prudence, by my Courage, is withstood,
As by a rock the fury of the Floud.
I love my Frenzy, and I could not love
Him of my Friends, that should it disapprove;
Nor do I think, my reasonable part
Will e'er approach me, whilst thou absent art.
I find my Thoughts uncessantly approve
The torturing effects of faithful Love.
I find, that Day it self shares in my pain;
The Air's o'respread with Clouds, the Earth with Rain;
That horrid Visions in my starting Sleep,
My Souls in their illusions tangled keep:
That all the apprehensions in my Head
Are Madness, by my feverish Passion bred,
That at husht midnight I imagine Storms,
And see a Ship-wrack, in its dreadfull'st Forms,
Fall from the top of an high precipice
Into the Jaws of an obscure Abyss:
And there a thousand ugly Serpents see,
Hissing t' advance their scaly Crests at me.
I cannot once dream of a false Delight,
But cruel Death straight seizes me in spite.
But when Heaven (weary to have gone thus far)
Gives, that I live under a better Star;
And when th' unconstant Stars, by their chang'd power,
Present me for my Pains one happy hour;
My Soul will find it self chang'd at thy sight,
And of all past mishaps revenged quite.
Though in Nights Sleep my Spirits buried lay,
Thy sight, my Dear, would lend them beams of Day.
Thy Voice has over me the self same power,
With Zephyr's Breath over th' Earth's wither'd
Flower:
The vigorous Springs makes all things fresh and new;
The blowing Rose puts on her blushing hue;
The Heavens more gay, the Days more fair appear.
Aurora dressing to the Birds gives ear,
The wild Beasts of the Forrest free from Care,
Do feel their Bloud, and Youth renewed are,
And naturally obedient to their Sense,
Without remorse, their Pleasures recommence.
I only in the season all are blest,
With cruel, and continual Griefs opprest,
Alone in Winter, sad, and comfortless,
See not the glorious Spring, that we should bless.
I only see the Forrest fair forsook,
'Th' Earths surface Desart, and the frozen Brook,
And, as if charm'd, cannot once tast the Fruit,
That in this season to all Palats suit.
But when those Suns my adoration claim,
Shall with their Rays once reinforce my Flame,
My Spring will then return more sweet, and fair
By thousand times than those,' Heavens Lamp gives, are,
If ever Fate allow mine Eyes that grace,
My Joys will transcend those of humane Race,
Nothing, but that, Oh Gods! nothing but that
Do I desire to baffle Death, and Fate.