"All Hearts you Conquer, as you Conquer mine"

— Hopkins, John (b. 1675)

Place of Publication
Printed by Tho. Warren
"All Hearts you Conquer, as you Conquer mine"
Metaphor in Context
The Beauteous Salmacis, who Lov'd her ease,
By her own Fountain Passes happy Days.
There she delights, there do her wishes please.
This Nymph was still unpractis'd in the chace,
She ne'er contended in a painful race.
Lov'd not to mingle with Diana's Train,
Nor draw the Bow, nor Hunt upon the Plain.
Oft her laborious Sisters bid her rise,
To Join with them, and get some stately Prize.
They urg'd her oft with Words repeated o'er,
To follows Staggs, or to pursue the Boar.
All would not do, she would no Quiver seize,
Nor for their toil forgo her pleasant ease.
But in her Fountain she delights to play,
By Night rests there, and there she Bathes by Day.
Still in that liquid Glass she drest her Charms,
And her fair Eyes with Loving glances Arms.
There still she learnt what Gesture best became,
There practic'd Charms, such as could raise a Flame.
Oft from one side she to the other Swims,
Then in fine Lawn arrays her Beauteous Limbs.
Oft, on soft Moss, stretcht at their length they lay,
And thro' the White, transparent Robes their Lovely shape display.
To the full view she leaves her Bosom bare,
Spreads o'er her Shoulders her loose, flowing Hair,
And shews her Face, her Neck, and Breasts exceeding fair.
Languishing now, on blooming Banks she lies,
And plucks such Flow'rs as please her Curious Eyes.
When she perciev'd, as she was busy'd there,
The Charming Son of Hermes coming near,
Who, soon as seen, the Virgin's wishes mov'd,
For he deserv'd to be by all belov'd.
His blooming Beauties she admir'd much more,
Than the fair Flow'rs for which she long'd before.
At the first sight, her wishes fill'd her Soul,
While soft Emotions in her Bosom rowl.
Her Fires grew fiercer, as he nearer came,
And now she fondly burns with glowing Flame.
Much she desir'd, yet still conceal'd she lies,
Till with soft looks she deckt her sparkling Eyes.
'Till she appear'd with all her utmost Art;
'Till all her Beauties bloom'd in every part,
That she might win the Charmer, and surprize a Heart.
With all her skill she does each Feature Arm,
And sets her Dress, who of her self might Charm.
She now at last in all her Robes applies,
To the dear Youth in looks, and moving sighs,
And by her melting Words she shews him how she dies.
With gaining ways, and soft, bewitching snares,
Her Passion thus she to the Swain declares.
Such are your Charms, dear Boy, your Beauties such,
All Nymphs must Love you, none can Love too much.
Pleasing your form, sure you are all Divine,
All Hearts you Conquer, as you Conquer mine.
Such are the wond'rous glories of your Face,
You were not born sure of a Mortal race.
Such, such the sparkling brightness of your Eyes,
Such the strange force which in their glances lies,
You are some God descended from the Skies.
Ah! you so much can on a suddain move,
I know, I know that you were born above,
You are the Son to the fair Queen of Love.
If I mistake, if then you are not so,
But the sweet Off-spring of some Prince below.
Happy, ah! thrice, thrice happy must they be,
Who are related, and ally'd to thee.
Blest are thy Parents: and that Woman's Breast,
Which gave thee Food, is infinitely blest,
But the fair Partn'r of thy Bed much more than all the rest.
If such there be, ah! do but grant me this,
Let me Embrace thee, let me fondly Kiss,
And by close stealth deprive her of her Bliss.
But if you yet from Nuptial vows are free,
Make me your Joyful Bride, ah! seal them now with me
The Love-sick Nymph thus far her Passion mov'd,
Thus told the Charming Youth how well she Lov'd
When fierce desires her farther Speech debarr'd,
And the Youth Blush'd for the fond things he heard
Still in his Blushes did he Lovelier seem,
Still more she wish'd to be belov'd by him.
So Apples blush upon the Sunny side,
Or polish'd Iv'ry with Vermillion dy'd.
So in Eclipses does the Moon appear,
When stains of Red her strugling Face does wear.
Closer she comes, and now in Am'rous pain,
She thinks to seize upon the Lovely Swain.
With bashful Anger her Embrace he shuns,
And from the Maid disdaining proudly, runs.
With nice reserve he flies the tempting snare,
Forbear, he cries, loose idle Nymph, forbear,
Or I'll forsake the place, and leave you there.
She, at this Menace from the Youth, reply'd.
'Tis yours, fair Swain, and so she stept aside.
Yet in a thicket of close, shrubby Trees,
She hides secure, and all his Actions sees.
He now believing there was none to view,
To the fair Banks of the Nymph's Fountain drew.
And sporting now, trips nimbly back again,
With bolder steps o'er all the Flow'ry plain.
Now, growing warm, he crosses o'er the Meads,
Comes to the Stream, and to the Knees he wades.
Then, to the Greens he takes the nearer ways,
His Silken Garments on the ground he lays.
And to the longing Maid, all, all the Man displays.
His Naked Beauties her fond sight amaz'd,
Who with impatient, eager wishes gaz'd.
Her sparkling Eyes, while she the Youth desires,
Glow with bright Beams, and shoot out shining Fires.
Their rays the Sun's on Silver streams surpass,
Or when reflected by a Chrystal Glass.
Mad to possess, and to enjoy the Swain,
She almost thinks to tell her Loves again,
So very much she burns with the transporting pain.
Now, from the Flow'ry Bank, to which he came,
The Lovely Boy leapt down into the Stream.
Then, with his Snowy Arms he loosely plays,
And sports, and wantons thro his liquid ways.
Still as he swims, his glitt'ring Limbs appear,
Thro' the smooth Streams, so undisturb'd, and clear.
Like Iv'ry Statues, which the Life surpass,
Or like a Lilly in a Chrystal Glass.
The ravish'd Virgin Cries, he's now my own,
And, strait disrob'd of all, impatient grown,
Pursues her eager Joys, and plunges to him down.
About his Neck, and o'er his strugling Wast,
Her circling Arms with longing folds she cast.
On ev'ry side she clasps him, as he swims,
And locks him closely with her twining Limbs.
So, when an Eagle with a Serpent flies,
Fast in his Talons, and then Mounts the Skies.
Around his Head, and Feet the Serpent clings,
And wreaths her tail about his spacious Wings.
Still, tho' detain'd, and forc'd, the strugling Boy
With all his Pow'rs resists the Virgin's Joy.
In vain, ingrateful, foolish Youth, she cries,
In vain, your scornful Pride my coming bliss denies.
Grant, grant ye Pow'rs! that no unhappy day,
May snatch this youth from my embrace away.
Propitious Pow'rs to the Nymph's Pray'rs incline,
For strait in one their diff'rent Figures twine.
And as their Souls Join'd when their transports flew,
Their Bodies mingled with each other too.
Searching "conque" and "heart" in HDIS (Poetry)
Only 1 entry in ESTC (1700).

Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses. A Collection of Poems. In Three Volumes. By Mr. John Hopkins. (London: Printed by Tho. Warren, 1700). <Link to ESTC><Link to EEBO>
Date of Entry

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