« 이전계속 »
The nymph at this stands as if of sense quite
void, Or as no sense but seeing she enjoy’d. At last from her full breast (of its close fire The sparks) these broken accents did expire. “ Oh why (as Arethusa, or the joy Of Galatea) cannot I (sweet boy) Melt to a food for thee? then (my fair sun!) Thou might'st (to bathe thee) to my bosom run." More would sh’ have said: but her full passion
stopt Her door of speech, and her eyes' foodgates op't. Struck with despair so dead, she scarce appears To breathe, or live, but by her sighs and tears; Yet though her silent tongue no words impart, Her speaking thoughts discours'd thus with her
heart. “ Fond Salmacis! why flag thy hopes ? thy mind What fears deject? on ; nor be e'er declin'd; But boldly thy fair enemy assail. See! thy desired prey's within the pale : And love (perhaps in pity of thy pain,) Offers what was deny'd thee by disdain. Be resolute; and him, whose conquering eyes Made thee his captive late, now make thy prize. Fear not; for pardon justly hope he may Who plunders him that does deny to pay.”
Thus she, rekindling her half-quench'd desires, Her cheeks with blushes, heart with boldness fires. Then forward moves a little; and anon, Full speed, unto the lake does madly run. But in the midst of her career repents, And stops; suspended ’twixt two cross intents,
Like to a wavering balance : on, afraid ;
He, who love's fires ne'er felt in his cold breast,
kiss. Yet struggling, he her wishes did deny, And from her shunn’d embraces strove to fly. But whilst he labours to get loose, this breast She faster cleaves; and his lips harder prest. So when Jove's bird a snake hath truss’d, his wings The more that plies, the more that 'bout 'em clings; And leaves it doubtful to the gazer's view, To tell which more is pris’ner of the two. Fearful to lose yet her new-gotten prize, The nymph to Heaven (sighing) erects her eyes: “And shall my love” (says she) “triumph in vain, Nor other trophy than a bare kiss gain? O Jove! if what fame sings of thee be true, If e'er thou didst a bull's fierce shape indue, And on thy back from the Phænician shore, Thro’ seas thy amorous theft in triumph bore, Assist my vows; and grant that I may prove As happy in this conquest of my love: No force let our embraces e'er disjoin ; Breast unto breast unite; our souls entwine ;
Tie heart to heart; and let the knitting charms
Jove heard her prayers; and, suddenly as strange,
Yet thus united, they with difference Retain’d their proper reason, speech, and sense. He liv'd and she apart, yet each in either; Both one might well be said, yet that one neither.
This story by a river's side (as they Sat and discours’d the tedious hours away) Amintas to the coy Iole told : Then adds: “O thou more fair, in love more cold Than he! Heaven yet may make thee mine in spite, That can such difference, ice and fire, unite.” This with a sigh the shepherd spake ; whilst she With a coy smile mock'd his simplicity. But now the setting Sun posting away, Put both an end to their discourse and day:
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF LYRIAN AND
BY ST. AMANT.
Out of French.
Under that pleasant clime, where Nature plac'd
The cheerful fields, and solitary groves,
Ye gods! how oft resolv'd he, yet declin'd,
Before those eyes h’ ador'd so, to display
This seen, in her does scorn and anger move:
What said he not his passion to excuse ? What flourishes us'd not his willing Muse, To prove his love (of which the noble ground Was her perfections) could no crime be found, If neither reason's self, nor justice, ought (Those for which Heaven is lov’d) as crimes be
thought! That the world's sovereign planet which the Earth And mortal's fates does govern from their birth, By firm decrees inrolled in the skies Had destin'd him a servant to her eyes.