T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Disappointment
By Aphra Behn (1640–1689)(Poems, 2nd ed., c. 1697) ONE day the Amorous Lysander, | |
| By an impatient Passion sway’d, | |
| Surprised fair Cloris, that loved Maid, | |
| Who could defend herself no longer. | |
| All things did with his Love conspire; | 5 |
| The gilded Planet of the Day, | |
| In his gay Chariot drawn by Fire, | |
| Was now descending to the Sea, | |
| And left no Light to guide the World, | |
| But what from Cloris’s Brighter Eyes were hurled. | 10 |
| In a lone Thicket made for Love, | |
| Silent as yielding Maids Consent, | |
| She with a Charming Languishment, | |
| Permits his Force, yet gently strove; | |
| Her Hands his Bosom softly meet, | 15 |
| But not to put him back designed, | |
| Rather to draw him on inclined: | |
| Whilst he lay trembling at her Feet, | |
| Resistance ’tis in vain to show; | |
| She wants the pow’r to say—Ah! what d’ye do? | 20 |
| Her Brighter Eyes, sweet, and yet severe, | |
| Where Love and Shame confus’dly strive, | |
| Fresh Vigor to Lysander’s Fire, | |
| And breathing faintly in his Ear, | |
| She cry’d—Cease, Cease—your vain Desire, | 25 |
| Or I’ll call out—What would you do? | |
| My dearest Honor even to You? | |
| I cannot, must not give—Retire, | |
| Or take this Life, whose chiefest part | |
| I gave you with the Conquest of my Heart. | 30 |
| But she as much unused to Fear, | |
| As he was capable of Love, | |
| The blessed minute to improve, | |
| Kisses her Mouth, her Neck, her Hair; | |
| Each Touch her new Desire Alarms, | 35 |
| His burning trembling Hand she prest | |
| Upon her swelling Snowy Breast, | |
| While she lay panting in his Arms, | |
| All her unguarded Beauties lie | |
| The Spoils and Trophies of the Enemy. | 40 |
| And now without Respect or Fear, | |
| He seeks the Object of his Vows, | |
| (His Love no Modesty allows) | |
| By swift degrees advancing—where | |
| His daring Hand that Altar seiz’d, | 45 |
| Where Gods of Love do Sacrifice: | |
| That Awful Throne, the Paradise | |
| Where Rage is calm’d, and Anger pleas’d; | |
| That Fountain where Delight still flows, | |
| And gives the Universal World Repose. | 50 |
| Her Balmy Lips encountering his, | |
| Their Bodies, as their Souls, are joined; | |
| Where both in Transports Unconfined | |
| Extend themselves upon the Moss. | |
| Cloris half dead and breathless lay; | 55 |
| Her soft Eyes cast a Humid Light, | |
| Such as divides the Day and Night; | |
| Or falling Stars, whose Fires decay: | |
| And now no signs of Life she shows, | |
| But what in short-breathed sighs returns and goes. | 60 |
| He saw how at her Length she lay; | |
| He saw her rising Bosom bare; | |
| Her loose thin Robes, through which appear | |
| A Shape design’d for Love and Play; | |
| Abandoned by her Pride and Shame, | 65 |
| She does her softest joys dispense, | |
| Offering her Virgin’s Innocence | |
| A Victim to Love’s Sacred Flame; | |
| Whilst the o’er-ravish’d Shepherd lies | |
| Unable to perform the Sacrifice. | 70 |
| Ready to taste a thousand Joys, | |
| The too transported hapless Swain | |
| Found the vast Pleasure turned to Pain; | |
| Pleasure which too much Love destroys: | |
| The willing Garments by he laid, | 75 |
| And Heaven all opened to his view, | |
| Mad to possess, himself he threw | |
| On the Defenceless Lovely Maid. | |
| But Oh! what envying Gods conspire | |
| To snatch his Power, yet leaves him the Desire. | 80 |
| Nature’s Support (without whose Aid | |
| She can no Human Being give) | |
| Itself now wants the Art to live; | |
| Faintness its slackened Nerves invade: | |
| In vain th’ enraged Youth essayed | 85 |
| To call its fleeting Vigor back, | |
| No motion ’twill from Motion take; | |
| Excess of Love his love betrayed: | |
| In vain he toils, in vain Commands; | |
| The insensible fell weeping in his Hand. | 90 |
| In this so Amorous Cruel Strife, | |
| Where Love and Fate were too severe, | |
| The poor Lysander in dispair | |
| Renounc’d his Reason with his Life: | |
| Now all the brisk and active fire | 95 |
| That should the noblest parts inflame, | |
| Serv’d to increase his Rage and Shame, | |
| And left no spark for New Desire: | |
| Not all her Naked Charms cou’d move | |
| Or calm that Rage that had debauch’d his Love. | 100 |
| Cloris returning from the Trance | |
| Which Love and soft Desire had bred, | |
| Her timorous Hand she gently laid | |
| (Or guided by Design or Chance) | |
| Upon that Fabulous Priapas, | 105 |
| That Potent God, as Poets feign; | |
| But never did young Shepherdess, | |
| Gath’ring of Fern upon the Plain, | |
| More nimbly draw her Fingers back, | |
| Finding beneath the verdant Leaves a Snake. | 110 |
| Than Cloris her fair Hand withdrew, | |
| Finding that God of her Desires | |
| Disarm’d of all his Awful Fires, | |
| And Cold as Flow’rs bathed in the Morning Dew. | |
| Who can the Nymph’s Confusion guess? | 115 |
| The Blood forsook the hinder Place, | |
| And strew’d with Blushes all her Face, | |
| Which both Disdain and Shame exprest: | |
| And from Lysander’s Arms she fled, | |
| Leaving him fainting on the Gloomy Bed. | 120 |
| Like Lightning through the Grove he flies, | |
| Or Daphne from the Delphic God, | |
| No Print upon the grassy Road | |
| She leaves, t’instruct Pursuing Eyes. | |
| The Wind that wanton’d in her Hair, | 125 |
| And with her Ruffled Garments played, | |
| Discover’d in the Flying Maid | |
| All that the God e’er made, if Fair. | |
| So Venus, when her Love was slain, | |
| With Fear and Haste flew o’er the Fatal Plain. | 130 |
| The Nymph’s resentment none but I | |
| Can well Imagine or Console: | |
| But none can guess Lysander’s Soul, | |
| But those who sway’d his Destiny. | |
| His silent Grief swelled up to Storms, | 135 |
| And not one God his Fury spares; | |
| He curs’d his Birth, his Fate, his Stars; | |
| But more the Shepherdess’s Charms, | |
| Whose soft bewitching Influence | |
| Had Damn’d him to the Hell of Impotence. | 140 |