Aphra Behn(1640?–1689)
The Disappointment
O n e day the a m o r o u s Lysander,4
By an impatient p a s s i o n swayed,
S u r p r i s e d fair Cloris,5 that loved maid,
W h o could d e f e n d her self no longer.
All things did with his love conspire;
T h e gilded planet of the day,6
In his gay chariot drawn by fire,
W a s n o w d e s c e n d i n g to the sea,
A n d left no light to guide the world,
But what from Cloris' brighter eyes was hurled.
In a lone thicket m a d e for love,
Silent as yielding maids' consent,
S h e with a c h a r m i n g l a n g u i s h m e n t ,
Permits his force, yet gently strove;struggled
Her h a n d s his b o s o m softly meet,
B u t not to put him b a c k designed,
Rather to draw em on inclined;
Whilst he lay trembling at her feet,
R e s i s t a n c e 'tis in vain to show;
She wants 0 the power to say—Ah! What d'ye do7lacks
ill
Her bright eyes sweet, and yet severe,
Where love and shame confusedly strive,
Fresh vigor to Lysander give;
And breathing faintly in his ear,
She cried—Cease, cease—your vain desire,
Or I'll call out—What would you do
My dearer honor ev'n to you
I cannot, must not give—retire,
Or take this life, whose chiefest part
I gave you with the conquest of my heart.
IV
But he as much unused to fear,
As he was capable of love,
The blessed minutes to improve,employ to advantage
Kisses her mouth, her neck, her hair;
Each touch her new desire alarms,
His burning trembling hand he prest
Upon her swelling snowy brest,
While she lay panting in his arms.
All her unguarded beauties lie
The spoils and trophies of the enemy.
v
And now without respect or fear,
He seeks the object of his vows,
(His love no modesty allows)
By swift degrees advancing—where
His daring hand that altar seized,
Where gods of love do sacrifice:
That awful8 throne, that paradise
Where rage is calmed, and anger pleased;
That fountain where delight still flows,
And gives the universal world repose.
VI
Her balmy lips encount'ring his,
Their bodies, as their souls, are joined;
Where both in transports unconfined
Extend themselves upon the moss.
Cloris half dead and breathless lay;
Her soft eyes cast a humid light,
Such as divides the day and night;
Or falling stars, whose fires decay:
And now no signs of life she shows,
But what in short-breathed sighs returns and goes.
He saw how at her length she lay;
He saw her rising bosom bare;
Her loose thin robes, through which appear
A shape designed for love and play;
Abandoned by her pride and shame,
She does her softest joys dispense,
Off'ring her virgin-innocence
A victim to love's sacred flame;
While the o'er-ravished shepherd lies
Unable to perform the sacrifice.
Ready to taste a thousand joys,
The too transported hapless swain 0rustic fellow
Found the vast pleasure turned to pain;
Pleasure which too much love destroys:
The willing garments by he laid,
And heaven all opened to his view,
Mad to possess, himself he threw
On the defenseless lovely maid.
But Oh what envying gods conspire
To snatch his power, yet leave him the desire!
Nature's support, (without whose aid
She can no human being give)9
It self now wants 0 the art to live;lacks I capacity
Faintness its slackened nerves invade:
In vain th' enraged youth essayed 0tried
To call its fleeting vigor back,
No motion 'twill from motion take;
Excess of love his love betrayed;
In vain he toils, in vain commands;
The insensible1 fell weeping in his hand.
x
In this so amorous cruel strife,
Where love and fate were too severe,
The poor Lysander in despair
Renounced his reason with his life:
Now all the brisk and active fire
That should the nobler part inflame,
Served to increase his rage and shame,
And left no spark for new desire:
Not all her naked charms could move
Or calm that rage that had debauched his love.
Cloris returning from the trance
Which love and soft desire had bred,
Her timorous hand she gently laid
(Or guided by design or chance)whether
Upon that fabulous Priapus,2
That potent god, as poets feign;
But never did young shepherdess,
Gath'ring of fern upon the plain,
More nimbly draw her fingers back,
Finding beneath the verdant leaves a snake;
Than Cloris her fair hand withdrew,
Finding that god of her desires
Disarmed of all his awful fires,
And cold as flowers bathed in the morning dew.
Who can the Nymph's confusion guess
The blood forsook the hinder place,
And strewed with blushes all her face,
Which both disdain and shame expressed:
And from Lysander's arms she fled,
Leaving him fainting on the gloomy bed.
Like lightning through the grove she hies,
Or Daphne from the Delphic God,3
No print upon the grassy road
She leaves, t' instruct pursuing eyes.
The wind that wantoned in her hair,
And with her ruffled garments played,
Discovered in the flying maid
All that the gods e'er made, if fair.
So Venus, when her love was slain,
With fear and haste flew o'er the fatal plain.4
The Nymph's resentments none but I
Can well imagine or condole:
But none can guess Lysander's soul,
But 0 those who swayed his destiny.except
His silent griefs swell up to storms,
And not one god his fury spares;
He c u r s e d his birth, his fate, his stars;
B u t m o r e the s h e p h e r d e s s ' s c h a r m s ,
W h o s e soft b e w i t c h i n g i n f l u e n c e
H a d d a m n ' d him to the hell of i m p o t e n c e .