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.

To my Heart.

WHat ail'st thou, oh thou trembling thing To Pant and Languish in my Breast, Like Birds that fain wou'd try the callow wing And leave the Downy nest? Why hast thou fill'd thyself with thought Strange, new, fantastick as the Air? Why to thy Peaceful Empire hast thou brought That restless Tyrant, Care? But oh alas, I ask in vain Thou answer'st nothing back again, But in soft sighs Amintor's name.

Oh thou betrayer of my liberty, Thou fond deceiver, what's the youth to thee! What has he done, what has he said That thus has conquer'd or betray'd?

He came and saw but 'twas by such a light, As scarce distinguisht day from night; Such as in thick-grown shades is found When here and there a peircing Beam Scatters faint spangl'd Sun-shine on the ground And casts about a melancholy gleam, But so obscure I cou'd not see The charming Eyes that wounded thee, But they, like gems, by their own light Betray'd their value through the gloom of Night.

I felt thee heave at every look, And stop my Language as I spoke. I felt thy Blood fly upward to my Face, While thou unguarded lay Yeilding to every word, to every Grace, Fond to be made a prey. I left thee watching in my Eyes And listning in my Eare.

Discovering weakness in thy sighs Uneasy with thy fear. Suffering Imagination to deceive, I found thee willing to believe, And with the treacherous shade conspire, To let into thyself a dangerous fire.

Ah foolish wanderer, say, what woud st thou do. If thou shou'dst find at second view, That all thou fanciest now were true, If thou shou'dst find by day those charms, Which thus observ'd threaten undoing harms. If thou shou'dst find that awful meen, Not the effects of first Address, Nor of my conversation disesteem But noble native sullenness; If thou shouldst find that soft good-natur'd voyce (Unused to insolence and noise,) Still thus adorn'd with modesty.

And his minds virtues with his wit agree, Tell me, thou forward lavish fool, What reason cou'd thy fate controul, Or save the ruin of thy Soul?

Cease then to languish for the coming day, That may direct his wandering steps that way, When I again shall the loud form survey.