Classic Poem

There on th'extreamest Beach, and farthest Sand
Deserted Ariadna seem'd to stand,
New wak'd, and raving with her Love she flew
To the dire Shoar, from whence she might pursue
With longing Eyes, but all alas in vain!
The winged Bark o'er the tempestuous Main;
For bury'd in fallacious Sleep she lay
While thro' the Waves false Theseus cut his way,
Regardless of her Fate who sav'd his Youth;
Winds bore away his Promise and his Truth.
Like some wild Bachanal unmov'd she stood,
And with fix'd Eyes survey'd the raging Floud.
There with alternate Waves the Sea does rowl,
Nor less the tempests that distract her Soul;
Abandon'd to the Winds her flowing Hair,
Rage in her Soul exprest, and wild Despair:
Her rising Breasts with Indignation swell,
And her loose Robes disdainfully repell.
The shining Ornaments that drest her Head,
When with the glorious Ravisher she fled,
Now at their Mistress Feet neglected lay,
Sport of the wanton Waves that with them play.
But she nor them regards, nor Waves that beat
Her snowy Legs, and wound her tender feet,
On Theseus her lost Senses all attend,
And all the Passions of her Soul depend.