Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ARAMANTHA, by RICHARD LOVELACE



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ARAMANTHA, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Up with the jolly bird of light
Last Line: And separated minds can tell.


UP with the jolly bird of light,
Who sounds his third retreat to night,
Fair Aramantha from her bed
Ashamed starts, and rises red
As the carnation-mantled morn,
Who now the blushing robe doth spurn,
And puts on angry grey, whilst she,
The envy of a deity,
Arrays her limbs, too rich indeed
To be enshrin'd in such a weed;
Yet lovely 'twas, and strait, but fit,
Not made for her, but she to it:
By nature it sate close and free,
As the just bark unto the tree:
Unlike love's martyrs of the town,
All day imprison'd in a gown,
Who, rack'd in silk 'stead of a dress,
Are clothed in a frame or press,
And with that liberty and room
The dead expatiate in a tomb.
No cabinets with curious washes,
Bladders, and perfumed plashes,
No venom-temper'd water's here,
Mercury is banished this sphere:
Her pail's all this, in which wet glass
She both doth cleanse and view her face.
Far hence all Iberian smells,
Hot amulets, pomander spells;
Fragrant gales, cool air, the fresh
And natural odour of her flesh
Proclaim her sweet from th' womb as morn.
Those colour'd things were made not born,
Which, fix'd within their narrow straits,
Do look like their own counterfeits.
So like the Provence rose she walk'd,
Flower'd with blush, with verdure stalk'd;
Th' officious wind her loose hair curls,
The dew her happy linen purls,
But wets a tress, which instantly
Sol with a crisping beam doth dry.

Into the garden is she come,
Love and delight's Elysium;
If ever earth show'd all her store,
View her discolour'd budding floor;
Here her glad eye she largely feeds,
And stands, 'mongst them, as they 'mong weeds;
The flowers, in their best array,
As to their queen their tribute pay,
And freely to her lap proscribe
A daughter out of ev'ry tribe:
Thus as she moves, they all bequeath
At once the incense of their breath.
The noble heliotropion
Now turns to her, and knows no sun;
And as her glorious face doth vary,
So opens loyal golden Mary;
Who, if but glanced from her sight,
Straight shuts again as it were night.
The violet (else lost i' th' heap)
Doth spread fresh purple for each step;
With whose humility possess'd,
Sh' enthrones the poor girl in her breast.
The July-flow'r that hereto thriv'd,
Knowing herself no longer liv'd,
But for one look of her upheaves,
Then 'stead of tears straight sheds her leaves.
Now the rich-robed tulip, who
Clad all in tissue close doth woo
Her, (sweet to th' eye but smelling sour),
She gathers to adorn her bower.
But the proud honeysuckle spreads
Like a pavilion her heads,
Contemns the wanting commonalty,
That but to two ends useful be,
And to her lips thus aptly plac'd,
With smell and hue presents her taste.
So all their due obedience pay,
Each thronging to be in her way:
Fair Aramantha with her eye
Thanks those that live, which else would die;
The rest, in silken fetters bound,
By crowning her are crown and crown'd.
And now the sun doth higher rise,

Our Flora to the meadow hies;
The poor distressed heifers low,
And as sh' approacheth gently bow,
Begging her charitable leisure
To strip them of their milky treasure.
Out of the yeomanry o' th' herd,
With grave aspect, and feet prepar'd,
A rev'rend lady cow draws near,
Bids Aramantha welcome here;
And from her privy purse lets fall
A pearl or two, which seem to call
This adorn'd, adored fairy
To the banquet of her dairy.
Soft Aramantha weeps to see
'Mongst men such inhumanity,
That those who do receive in hay,
And pay in silver twice a day,
Should, by their cruel barb'rous theft,
Be both of that and life bereft.
But 'tis decreed, whene'er this dies,
That she shall fall a sacrifice
Unto the gods, since those that trace
Her stem show 'tis a godlike race,
Descending in an even line
From heifers and from steers divine,
Making the honour'd extract full
In IÖ and Europa's bull.
She was the largest, goodliest beast
That ever mead or altar blest;
Round as her udder, and more white
Than is the Milky Way in night;
Her full broad eye did sparkle fire,
Her breath was sweet as kind desire,
And in her beauteous crescent shone,
Bright as the argent-horned moon.
But see! this whiteness is obscure,
Cynthia spotted, she impure;
Her body writhell'd, and her eyes
Departing lights at obsequies;
Her lowing hot to the fresh gale
Her breath perfumes the field withal;
To those two suns that ever shine,
To those plump parts she doth enshrine,

To th' hovering snow of either hand,
That love and cruelty command.
After the breakfast on her teat,
She takes her leave o' th' mournful neat,
Who, by her touch'd, now prize their life,
Worthy alone the hallow'd knife.
Into the neighb'ring wood she's gone,
Whose roof defies the telltale sun,
And locks out ev'ry prying beam;
Close by the lips of a clear stream
She sits and entertains her eye
With the moist crystal, and the fry
With burnish'd silver mail'd, whose oars
Amazed still make to the shores.
What need she other bait or charm
But look? or angle, but her arm?
The happy captive, gladly ta'en,
Sues ever to be slave in vain,
Who instantly, confirm'd in 's fears,
Hastes to his element of tears.
From hence her various windings rove
To a well order'd stately grove;
This is the palace of the wood,
And court o' th' royal oak, where stood
The whole nobility, the pine,
Straight ash, tall fir, and wanton vine,
The proper cedar, and the rest:
Here she her deeper senses bless'd;
Admires great Nature in this pile
Floor'd with green-velvet camomile,
Garnish'd with gems of unset fruit,
Suppli'd still with a self-recruit;
Her bosom wrought with pretty eyes
Of never-planted strawberries;
Where th' winged music of the air
Do richly feast, and for their fare,
Each evening in a silent shade,
Bestow a grateful serenade.
Thus, ev'n tired with delight,
Sated in soul and appetite;
Full of the purple plum and pear,
The golden apple with the fair
Grape, that mirth fain would have taught her,
And nuts which squirrels cracking brought her;
She softly lays her weary limbs,
Whilst gentle slumber now begins
To draw the curtains of her eye;
When straight awaken'd with a cry
And bitter groan, again reposes,
Again a deep sigh interposes.
And now she hears a trembling voice:
"Ah, can there aught on earth rejoice!
Why wears she this gay livery,
Not black as her dark entrails be?
Can trees be green, and to the air
Thus prostitute their flowing hair?
Why do they sprout, not wither'd die?
Must each thing live save wretched I?
Can days triumph in blue and red,
When both their light and life is fled?
Fly, joy, on wings of popinjays,
To courts of fools; there, as your plays,
Die, laugh'd at and forgot; whilst all
That's good mourns at this funeral.
Weep, all ye Graces, and you sweet
Choir, that at the Hill inspir'd meet;
Love, put thy tapers out, that we
And th' world may seem as blind as thee;
And be, since she is lost (ah wound!)
Not heav'n itself by any found."
Now, as a prisoner new cast,
Who sleeps in chains that night his last,
Next morn is wak'd with a reprieve,
And from his trance not dream bid live,
Wonders (his sense not having scope)
Who speaks, his friend or his false hope:
So Aramantha heard, but fear
Dares not yet trust her tempting ear;
And as again her arms o' th' ground
Spread pillows for her head, a sound
More dismal makes a swift divorce,
And starts her thus: "Rage, Rapine, Force!
Ye blue-flam'd daughters o' th' Abyss,
Bring all your snakes, here let them hiss;
Let not a leaf its freshness keep;
Blast all their roots, and as you creep
And leave behind your deadly slime,
Poison the budding branch in 's prime;
Waste the proud bowers of this grove,
That fiends may dwell in it, and move
As in their proper hell, whilst she,
Above, laments this tragedy;
Yet pities not our fate. O fair
Vow-breaker, now betroth'd to th' air,
Why by those laws did we not die,
As live but one, Lucasta! why---"
As he Lucasta nam'd, a groan
Strangles the fainting passing tone;
But as she heard, Lucasta smiles,
Posses her round; she 's slipp'd meanwhiles
Behind the blind of a thick bush,
When, each word temp'ring with a blush,
She gently thus bespake: "Sad swain,
If mates in woe do ease our pain,
Here 's one full of that antic grief
Which, stifled, would for ever live,
But told, expires; pray then, reveal
(To show our wound is half to heal)
What mortal nymph or deity
Bewail you thus?" "Whoe'er you be,"
The shepherd sigh'd, "my woes I crave
Smother'd in me, I in my grave;
Yet be in show or truth a saint,
Or, fiend, breathe anthems, hear my plaint
For her and her breath's symphony,
Which now makes full the harmony
Above, and to whose voice the spheres
Listen, and call her music theirs.
This was I blest on earth with, so
As Druids amorous did grow
Jealous of both, for as one day
This star, as yet but set in clay,
By an embracing river lay,
They steep'd her in the hollow'd brook,
Which from her human nature took,
And straight to heaven with winged fear,
Thus ravish'd with her, ravish her."
The nymph repli'd, "This holy rape
Became the gods, whose obscure shape
They cloth'd with light, whilst ill you grieve
Your better life should ever live,
And weep that she to whom you wish
What heav'n could give, has all its bliss;
Calling her angel here, yet be
Sad at this true divinity:
She 's for the altar not the skies,
Whom first you crown, then sacrifice.
"Fond man thus to a precipice
Aspires, till at the top his eyes
Have lost the safety of the plain,
Then begs of Fate the vales again."
The now confounded shepherd cries,
"Ye all-confounding Destinies!
How did you make that voice so sweet
Without that glorious form to it?
Thou sacred spirit of my dear,
Where'er thou hover'st o'er us, hear!
Imbark thee in the laurel tree,
And a new Phæbus follows thee,
Who, 'stead of all his burning rays,
Will strive to catch thee with his lays;
Or if within the orient vine,
Thou art both deity and wine;
But if thou takest the myrtle grove,
That Paphos is, thou Queen of Love,
And I thy swain who else must die
By no beasts, but thy cruelty.
But you are rougher than the wind:
Are souls on earth than heav'n more kind?
Imprison'd in mortality,
Lucasta would have answer'd me."
"Lucasta!" Aramantha said.
"Is she that virgin-star a maid,
Except her prouder livery,
In beauty poor, and cheap as I?
Whose glory like a meteor shone,
Or aëery apparition,
Admir'd a while but slighted known."
Fierce, as the chafed lion hies,
He rouses him, and to her flies,
Thinking to answer with his spear.
Now, as in war intestine, where,
I' th' mist of a black battle, each
Lays at his next, then makes a breach
Through th' entrails of another, whom
He sees nor knows when he did come,
Guided alone by rage and th' drum,
But stripping and impatient wild,
He finds too soon his only child:
So our expiring desp'rate lover
Far'd, when amaz'd he did discover
Lucasta in this nymph; his sin
Darts the accursed javelin
'Gainst his own breast, which she puts by,
With a soft lip and gentle eye,
Then closes with him on the ground;
And now her smiles have heal'd his wound,
Alexis too again is found;
But not until those heavy crimes
She hath kiss'd off a thousand times,
Who, not contented with this pain,
Doth threaten to offend again.
And now they gaze, and sigh, and weep,
Whilst each cheek doth the other's steep,
Whilst tongues as exorcis'd are calm;
Only the rhet'ric of the palm
Prevailing pleads, until at last,
They chain'd in one another fast,
Lucasta to him doth relate
Her various chance and diff'ring fate:
How chas'd by Hydraphil, and track'd,
The num'rous foe to Philanact,
Who, whilst they for the same things fight,
As bards' decrees and druids' rite,
For safeguard of their proper joys
And shepherd's freedom, each destroys
The glory of this Sicily;
Since, seeking thus the remedy,
They fancy (building on false ground)
The means must them and it confound,
Yet are resolv'd to stand or fall,
And win a little or lose all.
From this sad storm of fire and blood
She fled to this yet living wood;
Where she 'mongst savage beasts doth find

Herself more safe than humankind.
Then she relates how Cælia,
The Lady here, strips her array,
And girdles her in homespun bays,
Then makes her conversant in lays
Of birds, and swains more innocent,
That ken not guile or courtshipment.
Now walks she to her bow'r to dine
Under a shade of eglantine,
Upon a dish of Nature's cheer,
Which both grew dress'd and serv'd up there;
That done, she feasts her smell with posies
Pluck'd from the damask cloth of roses,
Which there continually doth stay,
And only frost can take away;
Then wagers which hath most content,
Her eye, ear, hand, her gust or scent.
Entranc'd Alexis sees and hears,
As walking above all the spheres;
Knows and adores this, and is wild
Until with her he live thus mild.
So that which to his thoughts he meant
For loss of her a punishment,
His arms hung up and his sword broke,
His ensigns folded, he betook
Himself unto the humble crook;
And for a full reward of all,
She now doth him her shepherd call,
And in a see of flow'rs instal;
Then gives her faith immediately,
Which he returns religiously;
Both vowing in her peaceful cave
To make their bridal-bed and grave.
But the true joy this pair conceiv'd,
Each from the other first bereav'd,
And then found, after such alarms
Fast pinion'd in each other's arms,
Ye panting virgins, that do meet
Your loves within their winding-sheet,
Breathing and constant still ev'n there;
Or souls their bodies in yon' sphere,
Or angels men return'd from hell,
And separated minds can tell.





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