An EPISTLE TO MONESES, IN IMITATION of OVID. Charlotte Lennox (née Ramsay) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T139692 K110146.000 Lennox, Charlotte, ca. 1729-1804. Poems on Several Occasions. Written by a Young Lady. London printed for, and sold by S. Paterson 1747 pp. 73-80. [8],88p.; 8⁰.

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An EPISTLE TO MONESES , IN IMITATION of OVID . WHEN urg'd by Honour , from thy Sight I flew , And scarce would breath one tender soft adieu , From thy dear Face I turn'd my gazing Eyes , Supprest the Tears , and check'd the rising Sighs . Self-banish'd all Despairs worst Pangs I prove , I fled from you , but could not fly from Love . Oh do not then , my lovely Swain , accuse My Want of Truth , nor charge on me thy Woes : For every Pain which racks thy faithful Breast , A thousand more my anxious Soul opprest ; Sorrows for which Description's all too faint , And equal Misery alone can paint . Dearer than Light to these fond Eyes you are , My first , my last , and still my only Care . My hapless Flame nor Time nor Absence cures , Still constant to the Vows which made me yours . Ah ! why then in that sadly-pleasing Strain ? Why does Moneses of his Wrongs complain ? Forbear to send me what thy Muse inspir'd , By ill-requited Love , and Absence fir'd : Deep in my Soul thy soft Reproaches steal , And all thy Griefs redoubled there I feel ; Still round my Heart plays the same lambient Flame , Each Wish , and every fond Desire the same . Nor can thy Pen one piercing Woe reveal , Which thy Ardelia does not equal feel . Ah , dear Idea of my lovely Swain ! Ah , soft Remembrance of my former Pain ! Why to my anxious Breast do you return ? Why wake a Flame which must for ever burn ? Still shall that lovely Image charm my View , And those dear Accents all my Grief renew : Still must I love , tho' Honour Love deny , And bids me from the dangerous Charmer fly . Ah then how vain , how fruitless all my Care ? This welcome Absence , this confirm'd Despair ? This cruel Contest between Love and Fame ? These endless Pangs for which I want a Name ? Why does Moneses still love on ? Why share In all those Sorrows I alone should bear ? All tender as thou wert , all soft and kind , I flew , and with thee left my Soul behind ; I left thee , fancied Honour to pursue , Just to myself , but more unjust to you . Why then my Image dost thou still retain ? Why for a Wretch unworthy thee complain ? O rather hate me , drive me from your Breast , By Scorn and Hate be all thy Soul possest : Let its fond Heart thy once-lov'd Chains resign , Compleat thy Cure , and O assist in mine . Why did I love ? Why did my easy Heart Admit the dear , but ah too dangerous Dart ? Why did I not the pleasing Torment shun ? Why fondly listen to thy soothing Tongue ? Quick to my Heart the subtle Poison stole , Charm'd all my Senses , and enslav'd my Soul ; And less the Beauty of thy matchless Form , Then thy prevailing Eloquence could charm . Oh come once more , Moneses , and renew Those tender Vows , and I'll believe them true : Let me once more behold those melting Eyes , Where Love a thousand nameless Charms supplies : The soft Enchantment shall my Fears controul , And Love claim all his Empire in my Soul . Ah ! whether would my boundless Wishes rove ? Still , still am I enslav'd by guilty Love ! Still shall its lawless Fires my Soul profane , And is my boasted Virtue but a Name ? No ; I'll forget thee , drive thee from my Breast , Thou dear Undoer of my Peace and Rest . Yet how forget , when every Thought is thine ? Even Life itself were easier to resign . To lonely Shades in vain I fly for Ease , There secret sigh , and feed the sweet Disease . On thy dear Name I call , and all around The whisp'ring Winds repeat the charming Sound . 'Tis thus I wear the anxious Hours away , 'Till Night restores the Sorrows of the Day . Then does thy Image to my Eyes appear ; But ah ! with Looks averse , and Frowns severe ; Still as you seem to chide me with your Eyes , My own in streaming Tears to yours replies , Oh stay , I cry , thou charming Phantom stay , Or with thee take my fleeting Soul away ! In vain I call , my clasping Arms you shun , And waking find the dear Delusion gone . Thus , does Ardelia haunt thy boding Dream ; Does she like thee all cold and cruel seem ? Or does the pensive Shade soft Sorrows wear , Heave the faint Sigh , and shed the mimick Tear ? On thy lov'd Breast her painful Head recline , And tell thee that her Torments equal thine . Why can I not this fatal Flame remove ? Or why , O why is it a Crime to love ? By Turns my Reason and my Passion sway , As Honour triumphs , and as Love betray ; My tortur'd Breast conflicting Passions tear , And Love and Virtue wage unequal War : Now all its sacred Precepts I pursue , Lost for a while is every Thought of you . But oh ! again the guilty Lover burns , And all the Woman in my Soul returns ; Again my Bosom glows with soft Desire , And hope returning fans the fatal Fire . Seas rolls between us , but the active Mind Still springs to thee , and leaves its load behind . Oh should some happy Chance to us unknown , Without a Crime confirm me all thy own . Blest be these tender Griefs , these anxious Fears , These never-ceasing Sighs and flowing Tears ! Oh ! let my Soul the pleasing Hope retain , One Hour of Joy repays whole Years of Pain ! To suff'ring Martyrs thus such Hopes are given ; Such Views of promis'd Joys and future Heaven . For this resign'd they calmly meet their Fate , Conscious of Blessings in a happier State .