I had a mind the Pastoral to prove, Searching for happiness in Love, And finding Venus painted with a Dove, A little naked Boy hard by, The Dove, which had no gall, 40 The Boy no dangerous arms at all; They do thee wrong, great Love, said I, Much wrong, great Love! ----scarce had I spoke Ere into my unwary bosom came An inextinguishable flame: From fair Amira's eyes the lightning broke, That left me more than thunder-strook; She carries tempest in that lovely name: Love's mighty and tumultuous pain Disorders Nature like an hurricane. 50 Yet couldn't I believe such storms could be, When I launch'd forth to sea; Promis'd myself a calm and easy way, Though I had seen before Piteous ruins on the shore, And on the naked beach Leander breathless lay. IV. To extricate myself from Love Which I could ill obey, but worse command, I took my pencils in my hand, With that artillery for conquest strove, 60 Like wise Pygmalion then did I Myself design my deity; Made my own saint, made my own shrine: If she did frown, one dash could make her smile, All bickerings one easy stroke could reconcile, Plato feign'd no idea so divine: Thus did I quiet many a froward day, While in my eyes my soul did play, Thus did the time, and thus myself beguile; Till on a day, but then I knew not why, 70 A tear fall'n from my eye, Wash'd out my saint, my shrine, my deity: Prophetic chance! the lines are gone, And I must mourn o'er what I doted on: I find even Giotto's circle has not all perfection. V. To Poetry I then inclin'd; Verse that emancipates the mind, Verse that unbends the soul; That amulet of sickly fame, Verse that from wind articulates a name; 80 Verse for both fortunes fit, to smile and to condole. Ere I had long the trial made, A serious thought made me afraid: For I had heard Parnassus' sacred hill Was so prodigiously high, Its barren top so near the sky; The ether there So very pure, so subtil, and so rare, 'Twould a chameleon kill, The beast that is all lungs, and feeds on air: 90 Poets the higher up that hill they go, Like pilgrims, share the less of what's below: Hence 'tis they ever go repining on, And murmur more than their own Helicon. I heard them curse their stars in ponderous rhymes, And in grave numbers grumble at the times; Yet where th' illustrious Cowley led the way, I thought it great discretion there to go astray. VI.