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Amyntor's Grove, His Chloris, Arigo, And Gratiana. An Elogie by
Richard Lovelace |
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It was
Amyntor's Grove, that Chloris
For ever ecchoes, and
her glories;
Chloris, the gentlest sheapherdesse,
That ever lawnes and lambes did blesse;
Her breath,
like to the whispering winde,
Was calme as thought,
sweet as her minde;
Her lips like coral gates kept in
The perfume and the pearle within;
Her eyes a
double-flaming torch
That alwayes shine, and never
scorch;
Her selfe the Heav'n in which did meet
The
all of bright, of faire and sweet.
Here was I brought
with that delight
That seperated soules take flight;
And when my reason call'd my sence
Back somewhat from
this excellence,
That I could see, I did begin
T'
observe the curious ordering
Of every roome, where 'ts
hard to know,
Which most excels in sent or show.
Arabian gummes do breathe here forth,
And th' East's
come over to the North;
The windes have brought their
hyre of sweet
To see Amyntor Chloris greet;
Balme
and nard, and each perfume,
To blesse this payre,
chafe and consume;
And th' Phoenix, see! already
fries!
Her neast a fire in Chloris eyes!
Next the
great and powerful hand
Beckens my thoughts unto a
stand
Of Titian, Raphael, Georgone
Whose art even
Nature hath out-done;
For if weake Nature only can
Intend, not perfect, what is man,
These certainely we
must prefer,
Who mended what she wrought, and her;
And sure the shadowes of those rare
And kind
incomparable fayre
Are livelier, nobler company,
Then if they could or speake, or see:
For these I
aske without a tush,
Can kisse or touch without a
blush,
And we are taught that substance is,
If
uninjoy'd, but th' shade of blisse.
Now every saint
cleerly divine,
Is clos'd so in her severall shrine;
The gems so rarely, richly set,
For them wee love the
cabinet;
So intricately plac't withall,
As if th'
imbrordered the wall,
So that the pictures seem'd to
be
But one continued tapistrie.
After this travell
of mine eyes
We sate, and pitied Dieties;
Wee
bound our loose hayre with the vine,
The poppy, and
the eglantine;
One swell'd an oriental bowle
Full,
as a grateful, loyal soule
To Chloris! Chloris! Heare,
oh, heare!
'Tis pledg'd above in ev'ry sphere.
Now
streight the Indians richest prize
Is kindled in glad
sacrifice;
Cloudes are sent up on wings of thyme,
Amber, pomgranates, jessemine,
And through our
earthen conduicts sore
Higher then altars fum'd
before.
So drencht we our oppressing cares,
And
choakt the wide jawes of our feares.
Whilst ravisht
thus we did devise,
If this were not a Paradice
In
all, except these harmlesse sins:
Behold! flew in two
cherubins,
Cleare as the skye from whence they came,
And brighter than the sacred flame;
The boy adorn'd
with modesty,
Yet armed so with majesty,
That if
the Thunderer againe
His eagle sends, she stoops in
vaine.
Besides his innocence he tooke
A sword and
casket, and did looke
Like Love in armes; he wrote
but five,
Yet spake eighteene; each grace did strive,
And twenty Cupids thronged forth,
Who first should
shew his prettier worth.
But oh, the Nymph! Did you
ere know
Carnation mingled with snow?
Or have you
seene the lightning shrowd,
And straight breake
through th' opposing cloud?
So ran her blood; such
was its hue;
So through her vayle her bright haire
flew,
And yet its glory did appeare
But thinne,
because her eyes were neere.
Blooming boy, and
blossoming mayd,
May your faire sprigges be neere
betray'd
To eating worme or fouler storme;
No
serpent lurke to do them harme;
No sharpe frost cut,
no North-winde teare,
The verdure of that fragrant
hayre;
But may the sun and gentle weather,
When
you are both growne ripe together,
Load you with
fruit, such as your Father
From you with all the
joyes doth gather:
And may you, when one branch is
dead,
Graft such another in its stead,
Lasting
thus ever in your prime,
'Till th' sithe is snatcht
away from Time.
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