"Not all her arts my steady soul shall move, / And she shall find that Reason conquers Love"

— Lyttelton, George, first Baron Lyttelton (1709-1773)


Place of Publication
Glasgow
Publisher
Printed by Andrew Foulis
Date
1777
Metaphor
"Not all her arts my steady soul shall move, / And she shall find that Reason conquers Love"
Metaphor in Context
O pain to think, another shall possess
Those balmy lips which I was wont to press;
Another on her panting breast shall lie,
And catch sweet madness from her swimming eye!
I saw their friendly flocks together feed,
I saw them hand in hand walk o'er the mead:
Would my clos'd eyes had sunk in endless night,
Ere I was doom'd to bear that hateful sight!
Where-e'er they pass'd be blasted every flower,
And hungry wolves their helpless flocks devour!
Ah wretched swain! could no examples move
Thy heedless heart to shun the rage of love?
Hast thou not heard how poor Menalcas[1] dy'd
A victim to Parthenia's fatal pride?
Dear was the youth to all the tuneful plain,
Lov'd by the nymphs, by Phoebus lov'd in vain:
Around his tomb their tears the Muses paid,
And all things mourn'd but the relentless maid.
Would I could die like him, and be at peace,
These torments in the quiet grave would cease;
There my vex'd thoughts a calm repose would find,
And rest as if my Delia still were kind.
No, let me live her falshood to upbraid;
Some god perhaps my just revenge will aid.--
Alas! what aid, fond swain, wouldst thou receive?
Could thy heart bear to see its Delia grieve?
Protect her, Heaven! and let her never know
The slightest part of hapless Damon's woe:
I ask no vengeance from the powers above;
All I implore is never more to love--
Let me this fondness from my bosom tear,
Let me forget that e'er I thought her fair.
Come, cool Indifference, and heal my breast;
Wearied, at length, I seek thy downy rest:
No turbulence of passion shall destroy
My future ease with flattering hopes of joy.
Hear, mighty Pan, and all ye Sylvans hear,
What by your guardian deities I swear;
No more my eyes shall view her fatal charms,
No more I'll court the trait'ress to my arms;
Not all her arts my steady soul shall move,
And she shall find that Reason conquers Love
.--
Provenance
Searching "conque" and "soul" in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
02/14/2005

The Mind is a Metaphor is authored by Brad Pasanek, Assistant Professor of English, University of Virginia.