Tixall Poetry/The Dying Lover

by unknown author

XV.

The Dying Lover.

 

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Walking among thicke shades alone,
 I heard a dying voice,
Which sighing said, now she is gone,
 He make no other choice.
I lookt, and saw it was a swaine,
 Who to the flying wind,
Did of some neighboring nimph complaine,
 To faire, and to unkind.

Hee told me how he saw her first,
 And with what gratious eyes,
And gentle speech that flame she nurst,
 Which since she did dispise.
His vowcs she did as fast receive,
 As he could breath them to her;
Love in her eyes proclaim'd her leave,
 That he alone should woo her.

They fed there flocks still neer one place,
 And att one instant mett,
He gazing on her lovely face,
 Fell deeper in the nett.
She seem'd of her new captive glad,
 Proud of his bondage he;
Noe sheapard ere a prospect had
 Of more felicitie.

If his eyes spoke, her eyes replyd,
 And in there language said,
Lets noe more strive a flame to hide,
 By every looke betrayd.
But the false maid or never lov'd,
 Or gave so quickly ore,
Ere his was to the hight improvd,
 Her kindnes was noe more.

Even her dissembling she let fall,
 And let him plainly see,
That though his hart she did inthral,
 Her owne was ever free.
Now, least his case should pity move,
 She shuns his very sight,
And leaves him to that hopeles love,
 She did create in spite.

Her name I could not make him tell,
 Though vowing him my aid;
He said he never would reveale
 In life, or death, the maid.
Then a wild looke the sheapard gave,
 And falling underneath
A beech, where he had seene her last,
 Resignd his utmost breath.