Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TRIPLE LEAGUE TO MRS. SUSAN DOVE, by ELIZABETH THOMAS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TRIPLE LEAGUE TO MRS. SUSAN DOVE, by                    
First Line: Pensive eliza lately sat
Last Line: That charming iris still is mine.
Subject(s): Cupid; Fate; Friendship; Soul; Eros; Destiny


Pensive Eliza lately sate,
Bewailing her unhappy Fate;
Careless her Dress, and wild her Air,
Her self an Emblem of Despair:
Upon her Hand, she lean'd her Head,
And sighing first, these Words she said:
Ye Fates! why am I thus perplex'd,
And why thus daily teaz'd and vex'd?
Each Hour, new Troubles you prepare,
And I am born but to despair.

The first dear Friendship I profest,
Center'd in noble Celia's Breast!
Her Soul was great! her Friendship true!
Her Conversation always new:
But ravish'd hence, ah me! She's gone,
And left me here to mourn alone.

No not alone Clemena said,
That fair! but ah forgetful Maid;
There still is one, will prove as true
As e'er bright Celia did to you;
See where Clemena does attend,
And willingly wou'd be your Friend
Why shou'd you then your Grief pursue,
She loves! and is related too.

Thus Phoenix like, she did disclose,
And out of Celia's Ashes rose:
Fair Iris too bestow'd a Part
Of her majestick gen'rous Heart:
'Twas then of all I wish'd possess'd,
Was poor Eliza, more than bless'd.

But this too happy was to last,
And much I fear my Joys are past;
To rural Shades, Clemena's gone,
And I no more am thought upon:
Unkindly thus she leaves her Friend,
And now will neither come nor send.

Direct me now, ye sacred Nine,
Whilst here I for Clemena pine,
Will not dear Iris thus conclude,
Eliza's either false, or rude?
She paus'd ---
When straight there shin'd a glorious Ray,
The gloomy Grott was bright as Day;
A fragrent Scent her Spirits cheer'd,
And whilst these Omens she rever'd,
Young Cupids came, and wanton'd there,
And gentle Zephirs fann'd the Air:
Room! Room! for her whom we adore!
A Cupid cry'd, and said no more:
But as she spoke there came along
Most beauteous Iris, fair and young;
So fine, so gay, so wond'rous Bright,
As was the first created Light:
Yet she both kind, and good appears,
And quite disperses all my Fears.

As when, in Dead of Night alone,
A poor Unhappy! makes his Moan,
Dismal Horror, silent Care,
Sighs, and Groans, and deep Despair,
Do this poor Mortal quite surround,
And's little Stock of Sense confound:
But if an Angel pity take,
And to's Relief a Tour doth make,
Soon as the heaven'ly Beams appear,
So soon is vanish'd all his Fear.

Such you, my Lovely Angel, came,
Expell'd my Doubts, and clear'd her Fame;
You did ev'n all a Friend cou'd do,
And for some Hours, you gave me you.

But say, sweet Nymph, can you forgive,
The Slights you did that Day receive?
If so: Pray send me in a Line,
That charming Iris still is mine.





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