The SHEPHERD'S FAREWEL to his LOVE.
Being the same ODE.
1 PHoebe, thank thy false heart, it has fix'd my repose,
2 The gods have had pity at length on my woes;
3 I feel it, I feel my soul loose from its chain,
4 And at last freedom comes, often dream'd of in vain.
5 The flame is burn'd out, and each passion at rest.
6 Under which love disguis'd still might lurk in my breast;
7 No more, when thou'rt nam'd, the warm blushes arise,
8 No more slutters my heart, when I meet with your eyes.
9 In my sleep now no longer thy image I see,
10 Nor the first of my thoughts, when I wake, is of thee,
11 When from thee, no more of thy absence I plain,
12 When with thee, I feel neither pleasure nor pain.
13 My heart without fondness can muse on thy charms,
14 My past pains I recount, yet no passion alarms;
15 Discompos'd I'm no longer, when tow'rd me you move,
16 And at ease with my rival I talk of my love.
17 Whether haughty thy frown, whether gentle thy strain,
18 In vain thy proud looks, thy fond speeches in vain;
19 Thy false tongue to beguile me no more has the art,
20 No more thy keen eye knows the way to my heart.
21 Whether pensive or cheerful, no longer to you
22 For this are my thanks, or for that my blame due:
23 The gay prospect now pleases, though you are away,
24 And your presence no more can make dreariness gay.
25 Believe me, I still can allow that thou'rt fair,
26 But not that no fair-one can with thee compare;[Page 311]
27 And though beauteous I own thee, yet still in thy face
28 I can now spy a fault, which I once thought a grace.
29 When first the fix'd arrow I pluck'd from my heart,
30 Oh, methought I shou'd die! so severe was the smart:
31 But from pow'r so oppressive to set myself clear,
32 Torments greater than dying with patience I'd bear.
33 When lim'd the poor bird thus with eagerness strains,
34 Nor regrets the lost plume, so his freedom he gains;
35 The loss of his plumage small time will restore,
36 And once try'd the false twig, it can cheat him no more.
37 The old flame, never flatter yourself to believe,
38 While it dwells on my tongue, in my heart still must live;
39 Our dangers, when past, with delight we repeat,
40 What in suffering was pain, to remembrance is sweet.
41 'Tis thus when the soldier returns from the wars,
42 He fights o'er his old battles, and vaunts of his scars:
43 With pleasure the captive his liberty gain'd
44 The fetters thus shows, which once held him enchain'd.
45 Thus I talk, and I still will talk on while I may,
46 Nor heed I, though you disbelieve what I say:
47 I ask not that Phoebe my talk should approve,
48 Let her too, if she can, talk at ease of my love.
49 An inconstant I leave, a true lover you lose;
50 Which first of us two will have comfort, who knows?
51 This I know — Phoebe ne'er such a true love will find;
52 I can easily meet with a fair as unkind.