Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/The Complaint. Cælia to Damon

by William Broome

Fleuron from 'Poems on Several Occasions' by William Broome, 2nd edition published in 1739

 

THE

COMPLAINT.

CÆLIA to DAMON.

 

I who was once the Glory of the Plain,
The fairest Virgin of the Virgin Train,
Am now (by thee O! faithless Man betray'd!)
A fal'n, a lost, a miserable Maid.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Ye Winds, that witness to my deep Despair,
Receive my Sighs, and waft them thro' the Air,
And gently breathe them to my Damon's Ear!
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Curst, ever curst be that unlucky Day,
When trembling, sighing, at my Feet he lay,
I trembled, sigh'd, and look'd my Heart away!
Why was he form'd, ye Pow'rs, his Sex's Pride,
Too False to love, too Fair to be deny'd?
Ye heedless Virgins, gaze not on his Eyes,
Lovely they are, but she that gazes dies!
O! fly his Voice, be deaf to all he says,
Charms has his Voice, but charming it betrays!
At every Word, each Motion of his Eye,
A thousand Loves are born, a thousand Lovers die.

Say, gentle Youths, ye blest Arcadian Swains,
Inhabitants of these delightful Plains,
Say, by what Fountain, in what rosy Bow'r,
Reclines my Charmer in the Noon-tide Hour!
To you, dear Fugitive, where'er you stray,
Wild with Despair, impatient of Delay,
Swift on the Wings of eager Love I fly,
Or send my Soul still swifter in a Sigh!
I'd then inform you, of your Cælia's Cares,
And try the Eloquence of female Tears;
Fearless I'd pass where Desolation reigns,
Tread the wild Waste, or burning Lybian Plains:
Or where the North his furious Pinions tries,
And howling Hurricanes embroil the Skies!
Should all the Monsters in Getulia bred,
Oppose the Passage of a tender Maid,
Dauntless, if Damon calls, his Cælia speeds
Thro' all the Monsters that Getulia breeds!
Bold was Bonduca, and her Arrows flew
Swift and unerring from the twanging Yew:
By Love inspir'd, I'll teach the Shaft to fly,
For thee I'd conquer, or at least would die!
If o'er the dreary Caucasus you go,
Or Mountains crown'd with everlasting Snow,
Where thro' the freezing Skies in Storm's it pours,
And brightens the dull Air with shining Show'rs,
Ev'n there with you I could securely rest,
And dare all Cold, but in my Dæmon's Breast;
Or should you dwell beneath the sultry Ray,
Where rising Phœbus ushers in the Day,
There, there I dwell! Thou Sun, exert thy Fires,
Love, mighty Love, a fiercer Flame inspires:
Or if a Pilgrim you would pay your Vows,
Where Jordan's Streams in soft Mæanders flows;
I'll be a Pilgrim, and my Vows I'll pay
Where Jordan's Streams in soft Mæanders play:
Joy of my Soul! my ev'ry Wish in one!
Why must I love, when loving I'm undone?
Sweet are the Whispers of the waving Trees,
And murm'ring Waters, curling to the Breeze:
Sweet are soft Slumbers in the shady Bow'rs
When glowing Suns infest the sultry Hours;
But not the Whispers of the waving Trees,
Nor murm'ring Waters, curling to the Breeze,
Not sweet soft Slumbers in the shady Bow'rs,
When thou art absent whom my Soul adores!
Come, let us seek some flow'ry, fragrant Bed!
Come, on thy Bosom rest my love-sick Head!
Come, drive thy Flocks beneath the shady Hills,
Or softly slumber by the murmuring Rills!
Ah no! he flies! that dear enchanting He!
Whose Beauty steals my very Self from Me!
Yet wert thou wont the Garland to prepare,
To crown with fragrant Wreaths thy Cælia's Hair:
When to the Lyre she tun'd the vocal Lays,
Thy Tongue would flatter, and thine Eyes speak praise:
And when smooth-gliding in the Dance she mov'd,
Ask thy false Bosom if it never lov'd?
And still her Eye some little Lustre bears
If Swains speak Truth!—tho' dim'd for thee with Tears!
But fade each Grace! since he no longer sees
Those Charms, for whom alone I wish to please!

But whence these sudden, sad presaging Fears,
These rising Sighs, and whence these flowing Tears?
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Ah! lest the Trumpet's terrible Alarms,
Have drawn the Lover from his Cælia's Charms,
To try the doubtful Field, and shine in azure Arms!
Ah! canst thou bear the Labours of the War,
Bend the tough Bow, or dart the pointed Spear?
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Desist fond Youth! let others Glory gain,
Seek empty Honour o'er the surgy Main,
Or sheath'd in horrid Arms rush dreadful to the Plain!
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Thee, Shepherd, thee the pleasurable Woods,
The painted Meadows, and the crystal Floods,
Claim and invite to bless their sweet Abodes.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$There shady Bow'rs, and sylvan Scenes arise,
There Fountains murmur, and the Spring supplies
Flow'rs to delight the Smell, or charm the Eyes:
But mourn, ye sylvan Scenes, and shady Bow'rs,
Weep all ye Fountains, languish all ye Flow'rs!
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$If in a Desart Damon but appear,
To Cælia's Eyes a Desart is more fair
Than all your Charms, when Damon is not there!
Gods! what soft Words, what sweet delusive Wiles
He boasts! and oh! those dear undoing Smiles!
Pleas'd with our ruin, to his Arms we run,
To be undone by him, who would not be undone?
Alas! I rave! ye swelling Torrents roul
Your watry Tribute o'er my love-sick Soul!
To cool my Heart, your Waves, ye Oceans, bear!
Oh! vain are all your Waves, for Love is There!

But ah! what sudden Thought to Frenzy moves
My tortur'd Soul?—perhaps, my Damon loves!
Some fatal Beauty, yielding all her Charms,
Detains the lovely Traytor from my Arms!
Blast her, ye Skies! let instant Vengeance seize
Those guilty Charms, whose Crime it is to please!
Damon is mine!—fond Maid, thy Fears subdue!
Am I not Jealous? and my Charmer True?
O! Heav'n! from Jealousy my Bosom save!
Cruel as Death, insatiate as the Grave!

Ye Pow'rs! of all the Ills that ever curst
Our Sex, sure Man, dissembling Man, is worst!
Like froward Boys, awhile in wanton Play,
He sports with Hearts, then throws the Toys away:
With specious Wiles weak Woman he assails,
He swears, weeps, smiles, he flatters, and prevails:
Then in the Moment when the Maid believes,
The perjur'd Traytor triumphs, scorns, and leaves:
How oft my Damon swore th' all-seeing Sun
Should change his Course, and Rivers backward run,
E'er his fond Heart should range, or faithless prove
To the bright Object of his stedfast Love?
O! instant change thy Course, all-seeing Sun!
Damon is false! ye Rivers backward run!

But die, O! wretched Cælia, die! in vain
Thus to the Fields and Floods you breathe your Pain!
The Tear is fruitless, and the tender Sigh,
And Life a Load!———forsaken Cælia die!
Fly swifter Time! Of speed the joyful Hour!
Receive me, Grave!then I shall love no more!
Ah! wretched Maid, so sad a Cure to prove!
Ah! wretched Maid, to fly to Death from Love!
Yet oh! when this poor Frame no more shall live,
Be happy, Damon! may not Damon grieve!
Ah me! I'm vain! my Death can not appear
Worth the vast Price of but a single Tear.
Forlorn, abandon'd to the Rocks I go!
But they have learn'd new Cruelties of you!
Alone, relenting Echo with me mourns,
And faint with Grief she scarce my Sighs returns!
Then Sighs adieu! ye nobler Passions rise!
Be wise, fond Maid!—but who in Love is wise?
I rage, I rail, th' Extremes of Anger prove,
Nay, almost hate!—then love thee beyond Love!
Pity, kind Heav'n, and right an injur'd Maid!
Yet, oh! yet, spare the dear Deceiver's Head!
If from the sultry Suns at Noontide Hours
He seeks the Covert of the breezy Bow'rs,
Awake, O South, and where my Charmer lies,
Bid Roses bloom, and Beds of Fragrance rise:
Gently, O! gently round in Whispers fly,
Sigh to his Sighs, and fan the glowing Sky!
If o'er the Waves he cuts the liquid Way,
Be still, ye Waves, or round his Vessel play!
And you, ye Winds, confine each ruder Breath,
Lie hush'd in Silence, and be calm, as Death!
But if he stay detain'd by adverse Gales,
My Sighs shall drive the Ship, and fill the flagging Sails.

 

Endpiece from 'Poems on Several Occasions' by William Broome (1739, 2nd edition)