ODE TO LOVE. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY DUDLEY AND WARD. George Monck Berkeley 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. T142950 K111746.000 Berkeley, George Monck, 1763-1793. Poems: by the late George-Monck Berkeley, Esq. ... With a preface by the editor, consisting of some anecdotes of Mr. Monck Berkeley and several of his friends. London printed by J. Nichols; and sold by Messrs. Leigh and Sotheby; Mr. Edwards; Mr. Cooke, Oxford; Mr. Todd, York; Messrs. Simmons and Co.; Messrs. Flackton, Marrable, and Claris; and Mr. Bristow, Canterbury 1797 pp. 86-91. viii,DCXXXII,212p.,plate: port.; 4⁰.

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ODE TO LOVE . TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY DUDLEY AND WARD . ALL hail to thee , resistless pow'r ! Before whose shrine all Nature bows , And fondly breathes her ardent vows ! Hail , parent of the blissful hour ! Hail , theme of Sappho's trembling lyre ! Hail , theme of Petrarch's plaintive strain ! Hail , mystic source of joy and pain ! Hail , theme of Nature's woodland choir ! With mazy dance , and breathing song , The joys around thy altar throng . Though , amid thy smiling train , Jocund pleasures tread the plain ; Yet mark yon spectre's gloomy air , Who , whilst the Graces fondly twine Their roseate wreaths around thy shrine , Insidious plants the cypress there . Say , Cupid , now what phantom drear Approaches near , On whose torn breast The serpent rears his scaly crest , Tearing , with venom'd tooth , The seat of life and truth ; Whilst through the gaping wound black gore , In sullen tide , is seen to pour . Thy matted hair , Thy frantic stare , Thy green eye fell ; These , jealous fiend , thy name will tell . See , as the Loves disporting round , Dance to the rebeck's jocund sound , With rage inspir'd , By vengeance fir'd , Whilst , horror-struck , the Graces gaze ; See madly through the Daedal maze , As coupled now with writhing pain , In hurried step he treads the plain ; And , spurning , Love , thy wily song , Disperses thus thy frighted throng . O! thou who , 'mid the roaring wave , An early fate to Sappho gave ; Who lur'd with Syren strain , And promis'd joy , The Grecian boy , To plow the wint'ry main , Though quench'd in night Thy faithless light , That beam'd on high , And let a lover die . Amid the elemental war He ask'd in vain the dove-drawn car , That erst thy goddess-mother bore From Neptune's realm to Paphos' shore : But deaf to Hero's ardent pray'rs , But heedless of a lover's cares , And deaf to sad Leander's cries , You sought , false pow'r , serener skies . Then , Heloise , thy victim fell . Ah! see her stretch'd in yonder cell . By all thy fiercest passions borne , Berest of hope , through thee forlorn . Attentive hear each groan , each sigh , And mark the lamps that dimly burn Around her lover's holy urn . Now pouring slow Sad notes of woe , See Petrarch seek his Laura's grave . Hark! how the saddening strain Wanders o'er Vauclusa's plain . Thine are his lays , And thine the praise Thou kindledst first the fatal fire , Then tun'd to grief his plaintive lyre . Round Laura's tomb , With cheerless gloom , Thy cypress sad is seen to wave , Whilst Pity's self slow pausing there , With Lethe's blissful balm , The mourner's pangs could calm ; But yonder groan , that pierc'd the air , Proclaimeth all thy reign despair . Since such thy pow'r , since such thy deeds , Since gor'd by thee each bosom bleeds , From me thy shafts , dread Godhead , turn ; Ne'er shall my breast devoted burn . Thy cup Circean freely give To those who wish with thee to live . Thy arts I spurn , thy joys despise ; Minerva's smile alone I prize .