Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SILVIO'S COMPLAINT: A SONG, TO A FINE SCOTCH TUNE, by APHRA BEHN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SILVIO'S COMPLAINT: A SONG, TO A FINE SCOTCH TUNE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: In the blooming time o'th year
Last Line: For wishing to be king.
Alternate Author Name(s): Astraea; Behn, Afara; Behn, Apharra; Amis, Ayfara
Subject(s): May (month); Singing & Singers; Spring; Wishes; Youth; Songs


I
In the Blooming Time o'th' year,
In the Royal Month of May:
Au the Heaves were glad and clear,
Au the Earth was Fresh and Gay.
A Noble Youth but all Forlorn,
Lig'd Sighing by a Spring:
'Twere better I's was nere Born,
Ere wisht to be a King.

II

Then from his Starry Eyne,
Muckle Showers of Christal Fell:
To bedew the Roses Fine,
That on his Cheeks did dwell.
And ever 'twixt his Sighs he'd cry,
How Bonny a Lad I'd been,
Had I, weys me, nere Aim'd high,
Or wisht to be a King.

III

With Dying Clowdy Looks,
Au the Fields and Groves he kens:
Au the Gleeding Murmuring Brooks,
(Noo his Unambitious Friends)
Tol which he eance with Mickle Cheer
His Bleating Flocks woud bring:
And crys, woud God I'd dy'd here,
Ere wisht to be a King.

IV

How oft in Yonder Mead,
Cover'd ore with Painted Flowers:
Au the Dancing Youth I've led,
Where we past our Blether Hours.
In Yonder Shade, in Yonder Grove,
How Blest the Nymphs have been:
Ere I for Pow'r Debaucht Love,
Or wisht to be a King.

V

Not add the Arcadian Swains,
In their Pride and Glory Clad:
Not au the Spacious Plains,
Ere coud Boast a Bleether Lad.
Where ere I Pip'd, or Danc'd, or Ran,
Or leapt, or whirl'd the Sling:
The Flowry Wreaths I still won,
And wisht to be a King,

VI

But Curst be yon Tall Oak,
And Old Thirsis be accurst:
There I first my peace forsook,
There I learnt Ambition first.
Such Glorious Songs of Hero's Crown'd,
The Restless Swain woud Sing:
My Soul unknown desires found,
And Languisht to be King.

VII

Ye Garlands wither now,
Fickle Glories vanish all:
Ye Wreaths that deckt my Brow,
To the ground neglected fall.
No more my sweet Repose molest,
Nor to my Fancies bring
The Golden Dreams of being Blest
With Titles of a King.

VIII

Ye Noble Youths beware,
Shun Ambitious powerful Tales:
Distructive, False, and Fair,
Like the Oceans Flattering Gales.
See how my Youth and Glories lye,
Like Blasted Flowers i'th' Spring:
My Fame Renown and all dye,
For wishing to be King.





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