As when a sort of wolves infest the night With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light, The noise may chase sweet slumber from our eyes, But never reach the mistress of the skies; So with the news of Saccharissa's wrongs, Her vexed servants blame those envious tongues; Call Love to witness that no painted fire Can scorch men so, or kindle such desire; While, unconcern'd, she seems moved no more With this new malice than our loves before; 10 But from the height of her great mind looks down On both our passions without smile or frown. So little care of what is done below Hath the bright dame whom Heaven affecteth so! Paints her, 'tis true, with the same hand which spreads Like glorious colours through the flow'ry meads, When lavish Nature, with her best attire, 17 Clothes the gay spring, the season of desire; Paints her, 'tis true, and does her cheek adorn With the same art wherewith she paints the morn; With the same art wherewith she gildeth so Those painted clouds which form Thaumantias' bow. OF HER PASSING THROUGH A CROWD OF PEOPLE. As in old chaos (heaven with earth confused, And stars with rocks together crush'd and bruised) The sun his light no further could extend Than the next hill, which on his shoulders lean'd; So in this throng bright Saccharissa fared, Oppress'd by those who strove to be her guard; As ships, though never so obsequious, fall Foul in a tempest on their admiral. A greater favour this disorder brought Unto her servants than their awful thought 10 Durst entertain, when thus compell'd they press'd The yielding marble of her snowy breast. While love insults,[1] disguised in the cloud, And welcome force, of that unruly crowd. So th'am'rous tree, while yet the air is calm, Just distance keeps from his desired palm;[2] But when the wind her ravish'd branches throws Into his arms, and mingles all their boughs, Though loth he seems her tender leaves to press, 19 More loth he is that friendly storm should cease, From whose rude bounty he the double use At once receives, of pleasure and excuse. [1] 'Insults': exults. [2] 'Palm': Ovalle informs us that the palm-trees in Chili have this wonderful property, that they never will bear any fruit but when they are planted near each other; and when they find one standing barren by itself, if they plant another, be it never so small (which they call the female), it will become prolific.--FENTON. THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE,[1] APPLIED.