Poems upon several occasions with a voyage to the island of love : also The lover in fashion, being an account from Lydicus to Lysander of his voyage from the island of love / by Mrs. A. Behn ; to which is added a miscellany of new poems and songs, by several hands.

The LOSS.

WEep, weep Lysander, for the lovely Maid, To whom thy sacred Vows were paid; Regardless of thy Love, thy Youth, thy Vows, The Dull Advice of Honour now pursues; Oh say my lovely Charmer, where Is all that softness gone? Your tender Voice and Eyes did were, VVhen first I was undone. Oh whether are your Sighs and Kisses fled? VVhere are those clasping Arms, That left me oft with Pleasures dead, VVith their Excess of Charms?

VVhere is the Killing Language of thy Tongue, That did the Ravisht Soul surprize? VVhere is that tender Rhetorick gone, That flow'd so softly in thy Eyes? That did thy heavenly face so sweetly dress, That did thy wonderous Soul so well express? All fled with Honour on a Phantom lost; Where Youth's vast store must perish unpossest. Ah my dear Boy thy loss with me bemoan, The lovely Fugitive is with Honour gone!

Love laughing spread his Wings and mounting flies, As swift as Lightning through the yielding Skies, Where Honour bore away the Trembling Prize. There at her Feet the Little Charmer falls, And to his Aid his powerful softness calls: Assails her with his Tears, his Sighs and Crys, Th' unfailing Language of his Tongue and Eyes.

Return, said he, return oh fickle Maid, Who solid Joys abandon'st for a shade; Turn and behold the Slaughter of thy Eyes; See—the Heart-broken Youth all dying lyes. Why dost thou follow this Phantastick spright? This faithless Ignis Fatuus of the Light? This Foe to Youth, and Beauties worst Disease, Tyrant of Wit, of Pleasure, and of Ease; Of all substantial Harms he Author is, But never pays us back one solid Bliss. —You'l urge, your Fame is worth a thousand Joys; Deluded Maid, trust not to empty noise, A sound, that for a poor Esteem to gain, Damns thy whole Life t' uneasyness and pain. Mistaken Virgin, that which pleases me I cannot by another tast and see; And what's the complementing of the World to thee? No, no, return with me, and there receive, What poor, what scanted Honour cannot give,

Starve not those Charms that were for pleasure made, Nor unpossest let the rich Treasure fade. When time comes on; Honour that empty word, Will leave thee then fore-slighted Age to guard, Honour as other faithless Lovers are. Is only dealing with the young and fair; Approaching Age makes the false Hero fly, He's Honour with the Young, but with the old necessity. —Thus said the God! and all the while he spoke, Her Heart new Fire, her Eyes new softness took. Now crys, I yield, I yield the Victory! Lead on young Charming Boy, I follow thee; Lead to Lysander, quickly let's be gone, I am resolv'd to Love, and be undone; I must not, cannot, Love at cheaper rate, Love is the word, Lysander and my fate.

Thus to my Arms Love brought the trembling Maid; Who on my Bosom sighing, softly, said:

Take charming Victor—what you must—subdue— 'Tis Love—and not Aminta gives it you, Love that o're all, and every part does reign, And I shou'd plead—and struggle—but in vain; Take what a yielding Virgin—can bestow, I am—dis-arm'd—of all resistance now.— Then down her Cheeks a tender shower did glide, The Trophies of my Victory, Joy, and Pride: She yields ye Gods (I cry'd) and in my Arms, Gives up the wonderous Treasure of her Charms. —Transported to the Bower of Bliss we high, But once more met Respect upon the way, But not as heretofore with Meen and Grace, All formal, but a gay and smiling Face; A different sort of Air his looks now wears, Galljard and Joyful every part appears. And thus he said—

Go happy Lovers, perfect the desires, That fill two Hearts that burn with equal Fires;

Receive the mighty Recompence at last, Of all the Anxious hours you've past, Enter the Bower where endless Pleasures flow, Young Joys, new Raptures all the year, Respect has nothing now to do, He always leaves the Lover here. Young Loves attend and here supply all want, In secret Pleasures I'm no confident.

Respect here left me: and He scarce was gone, But I perceiv''d a Woman hasting on, Naked she came; all lovely, and her Hair, Was loosely flying in the wanton Air: Love told me 'twas Occasion, and if I, The swift pac'd Maid shou'd pass neglected by. My Love, my Hopes, and Industry were vain, For she but rarely e're return'd again. I stopt her speed, and did implore her Aid, Which granted, she Aminta did perswade. Into the Palace of true Joys, to hast, And thither 'twas, we both arriv'd at last.

Oh Lysidas, no Mortal Sense affords, No Wit, no Eloquence can furnish Words; Fit for the soft Discription of the Bower, Some Love-blest God in the Triumphing hour, Can only guess, can only say what 'tis; Yet even that God but faintly wou'd express, Th' unbounded pleasures of the Bower of Bliss. A slight, a poor Idea may be given, Like that we fancy when we paint a Heav'n, As solid Christal, Diamonds, shining Gold, May fancy Light, that is not to be told. To vulgar Senses, Love like Heaven shou'd be (To make it more Ador'd) a Mystery: Eternal Powers! when ere I sing of Love, And the unworthy Song immortal prove; To please my wandering Ghost when I am Dead, Let none but Lovers the soft stories read; Praise from the Wits and Braves I'le not implore; Listen ye Lovers all, I ask no more;

That where Words fail, you may with thought supply, If ever any lov'd like me, or were so blest as I. The Prospect and Bower of Bliss.

I.

TIS all eternal Spring around, And all the Trees with fragrant flowers are Crown'd; No Clouds, no misty Showers obscure the Light, But all is calm, serene and gay, The Heavens are drest with a perpetual bright, And all the Earth with everlasting May. Each minute blows the Rose and Jesamine, And twines with new-born Eglantine, Each minute new Discoveries bring; Of something sweet, of something ravishing.

II.

Fountains, wandering Brooks soft rills, That o're the wanton Pebbles play; And all the Woods with tender murmuring fills, Inspiring my Love inciting Joy; (The sole, the solemn business of the day) Through all the Groves, the Glades and thickets run, And nothing see but Love on all their Banks along; A thousand Flowers of different kinds, The neighbouring Meads adorn; Whose sweetness snatcht by flying Winds, O're all the Bow'r of Bliss is born; Whether all things in nature strive to bring, All that is soft, all that is ravishing.

III.

The verdant Banks no other Prints retain, But where young Lovers, and young Loves have lain. For Love has nothing here to do, But to be wanton, soft and gay,

And give a lavish loose to joy. His emptyed Quiver, and his Bow, In flowry Wreaths with rosy Garlands Crown'd, In Myrtle shades are hung, As Conquerors when the Victories won, Dispose their glorious Trophies all around. Soft Winds and Eccho's that do haunt each Grove, Still whisper, and repeat no other Songs than Love. Which round about the sacred Bower they sing, Where every thing arrives that's sweet and ravishing.

IV.

A thousand gloomy VValks the Bower contains, Sacred all to mighty Love; A thousand winding turns where Pleasure reigns; Obscur'd from day by twining Boughs above, Where Love invents a thousand Plays, Where Lovers act ten thousand Joys: Nature has taught each little Bird, A soft Example to afford;

They Bill and Look, and Sing and Love, And Charm the Air, and Charm the Grove; Whilst underneath the Ravisht Swain is lying, Gazing, Sighing, Pressing, Dying; Still with new desire warm'd, Still with new Joy, new Rapture charm'd; Amongst the green soft Rivulets do pass, In winding Streams half hid in Flowers and Grass, Who Purl and Murmur as they glide along, And mix their Musick with the Shepherds Pipe and Song, Which Eccho's through the sacred Bower repeat, Where every thing arrives that's ravishing and sweet.

V.

The Virgin here shows no disdain, Nor does the Shepherd Sigh in vain, This knows no Cruelty, nor that no Pain: No Youth complains upon his rigorous fair; No injur'd Maid upon her perjur'd dear, 'Tis only Love, fond Love finds entrance here;

The Notes of Birds, the Murmuring Boughs, VVhen gentle VVinds glide through the Glades, Soft Sighs of Love, and oft breath'd Vows, The tender VVhisperings of the yielding Maids, Dashing Fountains, Purling Springs, The short breath'd crys from faint resistance sent. (Crys which no aid desires or brings) The soft effects of Fear and Languishment; The little struggling of the fair, The trembling force of the young Conqueror, The tender Arguments he brings, The pretty Non-sence with which she assails, VVhich as she speaks, she hopes it nought prevails. But yielding owns her Love above her Reasonings, Is all is heard: Silence and shade the rest. VVhich best with Love, which best with Joys consist, All which young Eccho's through the Bower does sing, VVhere every thing is heard, that's sweet and ravishing.

VI.

Recesses Dark, and Grotto's all conspire, To favour Love and soft desire; Shades, Springs and Fountains flowry Beds, To Joys invites, to Pleasure leads, To Pleasure which all Humane thought exceeds. Heav'n, Earth, and Sea, here all combine, To propagate Love's great design, And render the Appointments all Divine. After long toyl, 'tis here the Lover reaps, Transporting softnesses beyond his hopes; 'Tis here fair Eyes, all languishing impart The secrets of the fond inclining Heart; Fine Hands and Arms for tender Pressings made, In Love's dear business always are imploy'd: The soft Inchantments of the Tongue, That does all other Eloquence controul,

Is breath'd with broken Sighs among, Into the Ravish'd Shepherds Soul, VVhilst all is taken, all is given, That can compleat a Lovers Heav'n: And Io Peans through the VVoods do ring, From new fletch'd God, in Songs all Ravishing.

Oh my dear Lysidas! my faithful Friend, Woud I cou'd here with all my Pleasures end: 'Twas Heaven! 'twas Extasie! each minute brought New Raptures to my Senses, Soul and Thought; Each Look, each Touch, my Ravisht fancy charm'd, Each Accent of her Voice my Blood Alarm'd; I pant with every Glance, faint with a Kiss, Oh Judge my Transports then in higher Bliss. A while all Dead, between her Arms I lay, Unable to possess the conquer'd Joys; But by degrees my Soul its sense retriev'd; Shame and Confusion let me know I liv'd.

I saw the trembling dis-appointed Maid, With charming angry Eyes my fault up-braid, While Love and Spight no kind Excuse affords, My Rage and Softness was above dull Words, And my Misfortune only was exprest, By Sighing out my Soul into her Brest: A thousand times I breath'd Aminta's name, Aminta! call'd! but that increas'd my flame. And as the Tide of Love flow'd in, so fast My Low, my Ebbing Vigor out did hast. But 'twas not long, thus idly, and undone I lay, before vast Seas came rowling on, Spring-tides of Joy, that the rich neighboring shoar And down the fragrant Banks it proudly bore, O're-flow'd and ravisht all great Natures store. Swoln to Luxurious heights, no bounds it knows, But wantonly it Triumphs where it flows. Some God inform Thee of my blest Estate, But all their Powers divert thee from my Fate.

'Twas thus we liv'd the wonder of the Groves, Fam'd for our Love, our mutual constant Loves. Young Amorous Hero's at her Feet did fall, Despair'd and dy'd, whilst I was Lord of All; Her Empire o're my Soul each moment grew, New Charms each minute did appear in view, And each appointment Ravishing and New. Fonder each hour my tender Heart became, And that which us'd t' allay, increas'd my Flame.

But on a day, oh may no chearful Ray, Of the Sun's Light, bless that succeeding day! May the black hours from the account be torn, May no fair thing upon thy day be born! May fate and Hell appoint thee for their own, May no good deed be in thy Circle done! May Rapes, Conspiricies and Murders stay, Till thou com'st on, and hatch em in thy day! —'Twas on this day all Joyful Gay and Fair, Fond as desire, and wanton as the Air; Aminta did with me to the blest Bower repair.

Beneath a Beechy Shade, a flowry Bed, Officious Cupid's for our Pleasure spred, Where never did the Charmer ere impart, More Joy, more Rapture to my ravisht Heart: 'Twas all the first; 'twas all beginning Fire! 'Twas all new Love! new Pleasure! new Desire! —Here stop my Soul— Stop thy carreer of Vanity and Pride, And only say,—'Twas here Aminta dy'd: The fleeting Soul as quickly dis-appears, As leaves blown off with Winds, or falling Stars; And Life its flight assum'd with such a pace; It took no farewel of her lovely Face. The Fugitive not one Beauty did surprize, It scarce took time to languish in her Eyes, But on my Bosom bow'd her charming Head; And sighing, these surprizing words she said: "Joy of my Soul, my faithful tender Youth, Lord of my Vows, and Miracle of Truth:

Thou soft obliger-: of thy Sex the best, Thou blessing too Extream to be possest; The Angry God, designing we must part, Do render back the Treasure of thy Heart; When in some new fair Breast, it finds a room, And I shall ly-neglected-in my Tomb— Remember-oh remember-the fair she, Can never love thee, darling Youth, like me. Then with a Sigh she sunk into my Brest, While her fair Eyes, her last farewel exprest; To aiding God's I cry'd; but they were Deaf, And no kind pow'r afforded me relief: I call her name, I weep, I rave and faint, And none but Eccho's answer my Complaint; I Kiss and Bathe her stiffening Face with Tears, Press it to mine, as cold and pale as her's; The fading Roses of her Lips I press, But no kind Word the silenc'd Pratlers will confess; Her lovely Eyes I kiss, and call upon, But all their wonted answering Rhetorick's gone.

Her charming little Hands in vain I ask, Those little Hands no more my Neck shall grasp; No more about my Face her Fingers play, Nor brede my Hair, or the vain Curls display, No more her Tongue beguiling Stories tell, Whose wonderous Wit cou'd grace a Tale so well; All, all is fled, to Death's cold Mansion gone, And I am left benighted and undone, And every day my Fate is hasting on. From the inchanting Bower I madly fly, That Bower that now no more affords me Joy. Love had not left for me one Bliss in store, Since my Aminta cou'd dispence no more. —Thence to a silent Desert I advance, And call'd the Desert of Remembrance; A solitude upon a Mountain plac'd, All gloomy round, and wonderous high and vast, From whence Love's Island all appears in view, And distant Prospects renders near and true;

Each Bank, each Bower, each dear inviting Shade, That to our Sacred Loves was conscious made. Each flowry Bed, each Thicket and each Grove, Where I have lain Charm'd with Aminta's Love. (Where e're she chear'd the day, and blest the Night) Eternally are present to my Sight. Where e're I turn, the Landskip does confess, Something that calls to mind past happiness. This Lysidas, this is my wretched state, 'Tis here I languish, and attend my Fate. But e're I go, 'twou'd wonderous Pleasure be, (If such a thing can e're arrive to me) To find some Pity (Lysidas) from thee. Then I shou'd take the Wing, and upward fly, And loose the Sight of this dull World with Joy.

Your Lysander.