CHAP. IV
Tho all the lower World should ransackt be,
There could be found no parallel for thee:
Thy Eyes like Doves, thy fair intangling Locks,
Curl'd, and soft as Gileads Milky Flocks:
Like them thy Pearly Teeth appear, for so
Unsully'd from the Christal Streams they go.
But oh! To what may I thy Lips compare?
Since fragrant Roses Bloom not half so fair.
The Morning ne'r with such a Crimson blusht,
When from the Arms of sooty Night she rusht.
The ripe Pomgranates Scarlets are but faint,
To those fresh Beauties that thy Cheeks do paint.
Thy Neck and Breasts, in Whiteness, do out-goe
Ungather'd Lillies, or descending Snow.
And till the dawn of that expected Day,
When all my Radiant Glories I display,
And Chase, at once, the Injurious Shades away:
I'll on the Hills of Frankincense reside,
And pass the time with thee my Charming Bride;
My Love in whom such vast perfections meet,
As renders her transcendently compleat:
Then, come with me, from Lebanon, my Spouse,
O come, and look beyond this Scene of woes:
Thou may'st, and yet it is but darkly, see
The bright abodes I have prepar'd for thee:
So sweet she looks, that in blest Transports I,
Meet the believing glances of her eye;
My All on Earth, my Sister, and my Spouse;
Whom, from a Vast Eternity I chose:
Not Golden Goblets, Crown'd with noble Wine
E're gave such Elevating Joys as Thine;
Such, as the soft expressions of thy Love;
So much those dear, those charming accents move.
My Love is like a Flowry Mansion Wall'd,
Or some reserved Chrystal Fountain seal'd;
Whose Waves, untouch't, through secret Channels slide,
Untainted, as the Silver Streams, that glide
From Heaven, assaulting Lebanon; and fair,
As Beauteous Edens Gilded Currents were.
(Bride.)
Were I a Garden, every Flower in me
Should proudly yield their conscious Sweets to thee,
The ruddy fruits should thy arrival greet,
And Smile, and gently bend, thy Lips to meet.
(Bridegroom.)
So strongly thy kind Invitations move,
I will my Garden see, my Garden, and my Love.
Not Hybla's Hives such precious Sweets can yield,
Nor Clusters brought from rich Engady's Field,
Which, to my lips, I'll raise with eager hast;
My Lips that long'd the Heavenly Fruit to tast.
Tho all the lower World should ransackt be,
There could be found no parallel for thee:
Thy Eyes like Doves, thy fair intangling Locks,
Curl'd, and soft as Gileads Milky Flocks:
Like them thy Pearly Teeth appear, for so
Unsully'd from the Christal Streams they go.
But oh! To what may I thy Lips compare?
Since fragrant Roses Bloom not half so fair.
The Morning ne'r with such a Crimson blusht,
When from the Arms of sooty Night she rusht.
The ripe Pomgranates Scarlets are but faint,
To those fresh Beauties that thy Cheeks do paint.
Thy Neck and Breasts, in Whiteness, do out-goe
Ungather'd Lillies, or descending Snow.
And till the dawn of that expected Day,
When all my Radiant Glories I display,
And Chase, at once, the Injurious Shades away:
I'll on the Hills of Frankincense reside,
And pass the time with thee my Charming Bride;
My Love in whom such vast perfections meet,
As renders her transcendently compleat:
Then, come with me, from Lebanon, my Spouse,
O come, and look beyond this Scene of woes:
Thou may'st, and yet it is but darkly, see
The bright abodes I have prepar'd for thee:
So sweet she looks, that in blest Transports I,
Meet the believing glances of her eye;
My All on Earth, my Sister, and my Spouse;
Whom, from a Vast Eternity I chose:
Not Golden Goblets, Crown'd with noble Wine
E're gave such Elevating Joys as Thine;
Such, as the soft expressions of thy Love;
So much those dear, those charming accents move.
My Love is like a Flowry Mansion Wall'd,
Or some reserved Chrystal Fountain seal'd;
Whose Waves, untouch't, through secret Channels slide,
Untainted, as the Silver Streams, that glide
From Heaven, assaulting Lebanon; and fair,
As Beauteous Edens Gilded Currents were.
(Bride.)
Were I a Garden, every Flower in me
Should proudly yield their conscious Sweets to thee,
The ruddy fruits should thy arrival greet,
And Smile, and gently bend, thy Lips to meet.
(Bridegroom.)
So strongly thy kind Invitations move,
I will my Garden see, my Garden, and my Love.
Not Hybla's Hives such precious Sweets can yield,
Nor Clusters brought from rich Engady's Field,
Which, to my lips, I'll raise with eager hast;
My Lips that long'd the Heavenly Fruit to tast.