Silvia in the Country, 1682

As in that Region where but once a year
The Sun does show himself and disappear,
Leaving no glimpse behind, but just to see
All Comfort flies away as swift as he;
Through the dark Plains wild Echo's hoarsly ring,
And Lyons roar where Birds were us'd to sing;
If by hard chance some wretch is left behind,
(For 'tis a Climate shun'd by human kind.)
He must endure an Age of ling'ring pain,
E're the bright Lamp of Heav'n returns again.
So, till you left the Town, 'twas all clear day,
But night, perpetual night, now y'are away.
Like him, alas! (his Northern Climes among)
Your stay is short, but, O! your absence long.
And O! how long so e're it is design'd,
That killing absence will afflict my Mind;
Nor me alone, for all that know you, mourn,
And all invoke the Gods for your return.
But why, alas! do I offend your Ear
With that which you, perhaps, disdain to hear?
Or wish you back in this ill Town again,
The vast Exchange of all things lewd and vain;
When you so much the happier lot enjoy,
Free from those storms which here our Peace destroy;
No State-Plots there disturb your blisful hours,
But every moment is worth ten of ours;
Where the harmonious Quire in Copses sing
Their Airs Divine, and prophecy of Spring;
Where Nature smiles and yields you all things rare,
At least she, sure, must smile now you are there.
No, rather let me wish my self with you,
And to that wish I'll add this other too,
That you'd be gracious to an am'rous Youth,
Nor let him suffer Martyrdom for Truth.