COMPLAINT.
NIGHT THE THIRD.
NARCISSA.
Humbly Infcrib'd to Her GRACE
The DUCHESS of P-- - -.
Ignofcenda quidem, fcirent fi ignofcere Manes. VIRG.
RÓM Dreams, where Thought in Fancy's Maze
[runs mad, To Reason, that Heav'n-lighted Lamp in Man,
Once more I wake; and at the destin'd Hour,
Punctual as Lovers to the Moment fworn,
I keep my Affignation with my Woe.
O! Loft to Virtue, Loft to manly Thought,
Loft to the noble Sallies of the Soul!
Who think it Solitude, to be Alone.
Communion fweet! Communion large, and high!
Our Reafon, Guardian Angel, and our God!
Then nearest Thefe, when Others most remote;
And All, ere long, fhall be remote, but These.
How dreadful, Then, to meet them all alone,
A Stranger! Unacknowledg'd! Unapprov'd!
Now woo them; wed them; bind them to thy Breast;
To win thy Wifh, Creation has no more.
Or if we wish a Fourth, it is a Friend
But Friends, how mortal! Dang'rous the Defire.
Take PHOEBUS to yourselves, ye bafking Bards!
Inebriate at fair Fortune's Fountain-head;
And reeling thro' the Wilderness of Joy;
Where Senfe runs favage, broke from Reafon's Chain,
And fings false Peace, till fmother'd by the Pall.
My Fortune is unlike; unlike my Song;
Unlike the Deity my Song invokes.
I to Day's foft-ey'd Sifter pay my Court,
(ENDYMION'S Rival!) and her Aid implore;
Now first implor'd in fuccour to the Mufe.
Thou, who didft lately borrow * CYNTHIA'S Form,
And modeftly forego thine Own! O Thou,
Who didst thyself, at midnight Hours infpire!
Say, why not CYNTHIA Patronefs of Song?
As Thou her Crefcent, fhe thy Character
Affumes; ftill more a Goddess by the Change.
Are there demurring Wits, who dare dispute
This Revolution in the World inspir'd?
Ye Train Pierian! to the Lunar Sphere,
At the Duke of Norfolk's Mafquerade.
For Aid immortal; lefs her Brother's Right.
She, with the Spheres harmonious, nightly leads
The mazy Dance, and hears their matchlefs Strain,
A Strain for Gods! deny'd to mortal Ear.
Tranfinit it heard, thou Silver Queen of Heaven!
What Title, or what Name endears thee moft?
CYNTHIA CYLLENE PHOEBE! or doft hear
With higher Guft, fair PD of the Skies?
Is that the foft Inchantment calls thee down,
More pow'rful than of old Circean Charm?
Come; but from Heav'nly Banquets with thee bring
The Soul of Song; and whisper in mine Ear
The Theft divine; or in propitious Dreams
(For Dreams are Thine) transfule it thro' the Breaft
Of thy first Votary-But not thy laft;
If, like thy Namefake, Thou art ever kind.
And kind Thou wilt be; Kind on fuch a Theme; A Theme fo like thee, a quite Lunar Theme, Soft, modeft, melancholy, female, fair! A Theme that rofe all-pale, and told my Soul, 'Twas Night; on her fond Hopes perpetual Night; A Night which ftruck a Damp, a deadlier Damp, Than that which fmote me from PHILANDER's Tomb. NARCISSA follows, ere his Tomb is clos'd.
Woes cluster rare are folitary Woes;
They love a Train, they tread each other's Heel;
Her Death invades His mournful Right, and claims
The Grief that started from my Lids for Him:
Seizes the faithlefs, alienated Tear,
Or fhares it, ere it falls. So frequent Death,
Sorrow, He more than causes, He confounds;
For human Sighs his rival Strokes contend,
And make Distress, Diftraction. Oh PHILANDER!
What was thy Fate? A double Fate to me;
Portent, and Pain! a Menace, and a Blow!
Like the black Raven hov'ring o'er my Peace,
Not lefs a Bird of Omen, than of Prey.
It call'd NARCISSA long before her Hour;
It call'd her tender Soul, by Break of Bliss,
From the first Bloffom, from the Buds of Joy;
Those Few our noxious Fate unblafted leaves,
In this inclement Clime of human Life.
Sweet Harmonist! and Beautiful as fweet!
And Young as Beautiful! and Soft as young!
And Gay as foft! and Innocent as gay!
And Happy (if ought Happy here) as good!
For Fortune fond had built her Neft on high.
Like Birds quite exquifite of Note and Plume,
Transfixt by Fate (who loves a lofty Mark)
How from the Summit of the Grove the fell,
And left it unharmonious! All its Charm
Extinguisht in the Wonders of her Song!
Her Song ftill vibrates in my ravisht Ear,
Still melting There, and with voluptuous Pain
(O to forget her!) thrilling thro' my Heart!
Song, Beauty, Youth, Love, Virtue, Joy! this Group Of bright Ideas, Flow'rs of Paradise,
As yet unforfeit, in one Blaze we bind,
Kneel, and prefent it to the Skies; as All
We guefs of Heav'n: And these were all her own.
And fhe was mine; and I was-was most blest,—
Gay Title of the deepest Misery!
As Bodies grow more pond'rous, robb'd of Life;
Good loft weighs more in Grief, than gain'd, in Joy.
Like bloffom'd Trees o'erturn'd by vernal Storm,
Lovely in Death the beauteous Ruin lay;
And if in Death ftill lovely, lovelier There;
Far lovelier! Pity fwells the Tide of Love.
And will not the Severe excuse a Sigh?
Scorn the proud Man that is afham'd to weep;
Our Tears indulg'd indeed deferve our Shame.
Ye that e'er loft an Angel! pity me.
Soon as the Luftre languisht in her Eye,
Dawning a dimmer Day on human Sight;
And on her Cheek, the Residence of Spring,
Pale Omen fat; and scatter'd Fears around
On all that faw (and who would cease to gaze,
That once had seen ?) with Hafte, parental Hafte,
I flew, I fnatch'd her from the rigid North,
Her native Bed, on which bleak Boreas blew,
And bore her nearer to the Sun; the Sun
(As if the Sun could envy) checkt his Beam,
Deny'd his wonted Succour, nor with more
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