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Anne Kingsmill Finch - Alcidor
Work rating: Low

While Monarchs in stern Battle strove 
  For proud Imperial Sway; 
Abandon`d to his milder Love, 
Within a silent peaceful Grove, 
  Alcidor careless lay. 

Some term`d it cold, unmanly Fear; 
  Some, Nicety of Sense, 
That Drums and Trumpets cou`d not hear, 
The sullying Blasts of Powder bear, 
  Or with foul Camps dispense. 

A patient Martyr to their Scorn, 
  And each ill-fashion`d Jest; 
The Youth, who but for Love was born, 
Remain`d, and thought it vast Return, 
  To reign in Cloria`s Breast. 

But oh! a ruffling Soldier came 
  In all the Pomp of War: 
The Gazettes long had spoke his Fame; 
Now Hautboys his Approach proclaim, 
  And draw in Crouds from far. 

Cloria unhappily wou`d gaze; 
  And as he nearer drew, 
The Man of Feather and of Lace 
Stopp`d short, and with profound Amaze 
  Took all her Charms to view. 

A Bow, which from Campaigns he brought, 
  And to his Holsters low, 
Herself, and the Spectators taught, 
That Her the fairest Nymph he thought, 
  Of all that form`d the Row. 

Next day, ere Phoebus cou`d be seen, 
  Or any Gate unbarr`d; 
At hers, upon th` adjoining Green, 
From Ranks, with waving Flags between, 
  Were soften`d Trumpets heard. 

The Noon do`s following Treats provide, 
  In the Pavilion`s Shade; 
The Neighborhood, and all beside, 
That will attend the amorous Pride, 
  Are welcom`d with the Maid. 

Poor Alcidor! thy Hopes are cross`d, 
  Go perish on the Ground; 
Thy Sighs by stronger Notes are toss`d, 
Drove back, or in the Passage lost; 
  Rich Wines thy Tears have drown`d. 

In Women`s Hearts, the softest Things 
  Which Nature cou`d devise, 
Are yet some harsh, and jarring Strings, 
That, when loud Fame, or Profit rings, 
  Will answer to the Noise. 

Poor Alcidor! go Fight or Dye; 
  Let thy fond Notions cease: 
Man was not made in Shades to lie, 
Or his full Bliss, at ease, enjoy, 
  To Live, or Love in peace.
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