T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Disappointment
By Aphra Behn (16401689)(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 |