Stop thy carreer of Vanity and Pride, And only say,--_’.was 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_ you’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.