The Works of John Sheffield Earl of Mulgrave, Marquis of Normanby, and Duke of Buckingham. In two volumes ... The third edition, Corrected |
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THE TEMPLE OF DEATH.
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 | The Works of John Sheffield |  |
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THE TEMPLE OF DEATH.
In Imitation of the French.
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In those cold Climates, where the Sun appears
Unwillingly, and hides his Face in Tears;
A dismal Vale lies in a desart Isle,
On which indulgent Heav'n did never smile.
There a thick Grove of aged Cypress Trees,
Which none without an awful Horror sees,
Into its wither'd Arms, depriv'd of Leaves,
Whole Flocks of ill-presaging Birds receives.
Poisons are all the Plants that Soil will bear,
And Winter is the only Season there.
Millions of Graves o'erspread the spacious Field,
And Springs of Blood a thousand Rivers yield;
Whose Streams, oppress'd with Carcasses and Bones,
Instead of gentle Murmurs, pour forth Groans.
Unwillingly, and hides his Face in Tears;
A dismal Vale lies in a desart Isle,
On which indulgent Heav'n did never smile.
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Which none without an awful Horror sees,
Into its wither'd Arms, depriv'd of Leaves,
Whole Flocks of ill-presaging Birds receives.
Poisons are all the Plants that Soil will bear,
And Winter is the only Season there.
Millions of Graves o'erspread the spacious Field,
And Springs of Blood a thousand Rivers yield;
Whose Streams, oppress'd with Carcasses and Bones,
Instead of gentle Murmurs, pour forth Groans.
Within this Vale a famous Temple stands,
Old as the World itself, which it commands;
Round is its Figure; and four Iron Gates
Divide Mankind, by Order of the Fates.
Thither, in Crouds, come to one common Grave
The Young, the Old, the Monarch, and the Slave.
Old Age and Pains, those Evils Man deplores,
Are rigid Keepers of th'eternal Doors;
All clad in mournful Blacks, which sadly load
The sacred Walls of this obscure Abode:
And Tapers, of a pitchy Substance made,
With Clouds of Smoke increase the dismal Shade.
Old as the World itself, which it commands;
Round is its Figure; and four Iron Gates
Divide Mankind, by Order of the Fates.
Thither, in Crouds, come to one common Grave
The Young, the Old, the Monarch, and the Slave.
Old Age and Pains, those Evils Man deplores,
Are rigid Keepers of th'eternal Doors;
All clad in mournful Blacks, which sadly load
The sacred Walls of this obscure Abode:
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With Clouds of Smoke increase the dismal Shade.
A Monster void of Reason and of Sight,
The Goddess is, who sways this Realm of Night:
Her Pow'r extends o'er all things that have Breath,
A cruel Tyrant, and her Name is Death.
The fairest Object of our wond'ring Eyes
Was newly offer'd up her Sacrifice;
Th'adjoining Places where the Altar stood,
Yet blushing with the fair Almeria's Blood.
When griev'd Orontes, whose unhappy Flame
Is known to all who e'er converse with Fame,
His Mind possess'd by Fury and Despair,
Within the sacred Temple made this Prayer:
The Goddess is, who sways this Realm of Night:
Her Pow'r extends o'er all things that have Breath,
A cruel Tyrant, and her Name is Death.
The fairest Object of our wond'ring Eyes
Was newly offer'd up her Sacrifice;
Th'adjoining Places where the Altar stood,
Yet blushing with the fair Almeria's Blood.
When griev'd Orontes, whose unhappy Flame
Is known to all who e'er converse with Fame,
His Mind possess'd by Fury and Despair,
Within the sacred Temple made this Prayer:
Great Deity! Who in thy Hands do'st bear
That Iron Scepter which poor Mortals fear;
Who, wanting Eyes thyself, respectest none,
And neither spar'st the Laurel, nor the Crown!
O thou, whom all Mankind in vain withstand,
Each of whose Blood must one day stain thy Hand!
O thou, who ev'ry Eye that sees the Light,
Closest for ever in the Shades of Night!
Goddess, attend, and hearken to my Grief,
To which thy Pow'r alone can give Relief.
Alas! I ask not to defer my Fate,
But wish my hapless Life a shorter Date;
And that the Earth would in its Bowels hide
A Wretch, whom Heav'n invades on ev'ry Side:
That from the Sight of Day I could remove,
And might have nothing left me but my Love.
That Iron Scepter which poor Mortals fear;
Who, wanting Eyes thyself, respectest none,
And neither spar'st the Laurel, nor the Crown!
O thou, whom all Mankind in vain withstand,
Each of whose Blood must one day stain thy Hand!
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Closest for ever in the Shades of Night!
Goddess, attend, and hearken to my Grief,
To which thy Pow'r alone can give Relief.
Alas! I ask not to defer my Fate,
But wish my hapless Life a shorter Date;
And that the Earth would in its Bowels hide
A Wretch, whom Heav'n invades on ev'ry Side:
That from the Sight of Day I could remove,
And might have nothing left me but my Love.
Thou only Comforter of Minds oppress'd;
The Port where weary'd Spirits are at rest;
Conductor to Elysium, take my Life;
My Breast I offer to thy sacred Knife:
So just a Grace refuse not, nor despise
A willing, tho' a worthless Sacrifice.
Others (their frail and mortal State forgot)
Before thy Altars are not to be brought
Without Constraint; the Noise of dying Rage,
Heaps of the Slain of ev'ry Sex and Age,
The Blade all reeking in the Gore it shed,
With sever'd Heads and Arms confus'dly spread;
The rapid Flames of a perpetual Fire,
The Groans of Wretches ready to expire:
This Tragick Scene in Terror makes them live,
Till that is forc'd, which they should freely give;
Yielding unwillingly what Heav'n will have,
Their Fears eclipse the Glory of their Grave:
Before thy Face they make indecent Moan,
And feel a hundred Deaths in fearing one:
Thy Flame becomes unhallow'd in their Breast,
And he a Murderer, who was a Priest.
But against me thy strongest Forces call,
And on my Head let all the Tempest fall;
No mean Retreat shall any Weakness show,
But calmly I'll expect the fatal Blow;
My Limbs not trembling, in my Mind no Fear,
Plaints in my Mouth, nor in my Eyes a Tear.
Think not that Time, our wonted sure Relief,
That universal Cure for ev'ry Grief,
Whose Aid so many Lovers oft have found,
With like Success can ever heal my Wound:
Too weak the Pow'r of Nature, or of Art,
Nothing but Death can ease a broken Heart.
And that thou may'st behold my helpless State,
Learn the extremest Rigour of my Fate.
The Port where weary'd Spirits are at rest;
Conductor to Elysium, take my Life;
My Breast I offer to thy sacred Knife:
So just a Grace refuse not, nor despise
A willing, tho' a worthless Sacrifice.
Others (their frail and mortal State forgot)
Before thy Altars are not to be brought
Without Constraint; the Noise of dying Rage,
Heaps of the Slain of ev'ry Sex and Age,
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With sever'd Heads and Arms confus'dly spread;
The rapid Flames of a perpetual Fire,
The Groans of Wretches ready to expire:
This Tragick Scene in Terror makes them live,
Till that is forc'd, which they should freely give;
Yielding unwillingly what Heav'n will have,
Their Fears eclipse the Glory of their Grave:
Before thy Face they make indecent Moan,
And feel a hundred Deaths in fearing one:
Thy Flame becomes unhallow'd in their Breast,
And he a Murderer, who was a Priest.
But against me thy strongest Forces call,
And on my Head let all the Tempest fall;
No mean Retreat shall any Weakness show,
But calmly I'll expect the fatal Blow;
My Limbs not trembling, in my Mind no Fear,
Plaints in my Mouth, nor in my Eyes a Tear.
Think not that Time, our wonted sure Relief,
That universal Cure for ev'ry Grief,
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With like Success can ever heal my Wound:
Too weak the Pow'r of Nature, or of Art,
Nothing but Death can ease a broken Heart.
And that thou may'st behold my helpless State,
Learn the extremest Rigour of my Fate.
Amidst th'innumerable beauteous Train,
Paris, the Queen of Cities, does contain,
(The fairest Town, the largest, and the best)
The fair Almeria shin'd above the rest.
From her bright Eyes to feel a hopeless Flame,
Was of our Youth the most ambitious Aim;
Her Chains were Marks of Honour to the Brave,
She made a Prince whene'er she made a Slave.
Love, under whose tyrannick Pow'r I groan,
Shew'd me this Beauty e'er 'twas fully blown;
Her tim'rous Charms, and her unpractis'd Look,
Their first Assurance from my Conquest took;
By wounding me she learn'd the fatal Art,
And the first Sigh she had was from my Heart:
My Eyes with Tears moist'ning her snowy Arms,
Render'd the Tribute owing to her Charms.
But, as I soonest of all Mortals paid
My Vows, and to her Beauty Altars made;
So, among all those Slaves that sigh'd in vain,
She thought me only worthy of my Chain.
Love's heavy Burden my submissive Heart
Endur'd not long, before she bore her Part;
My vi'olent Flame melted her frozen Breast,
And in soft Sighs her Pity she express'd;
Her gentle Voice allay'd my raging Pains,
And her fair Hands sustain'd me in my Chains:
Ev'n Tears of Pity waited on my Moan,
And tender Looks were cast on me alone.
My Hopes and Dangers were less mine than hers,
Those fill'd her Soul with Joys, and these with Fears:
Our Hearts, united, had the same Desires,
And both alike burn'd with impatient Fires.
Paris, the Queen of Cities, does contain,
(The fairest Town, the largest, and the best)
The fair Almeria shin'd above the rest.
From her bright Eyes to feel a hopeless Flame,
Was of our Youth the most ambitious Aim;
Her Chains were Marks of Honour to the Brave,
She made a Prince whene'er she made a Slave.
Love, under whose tyrannick Pow'r I groan,
Shew'd me this Beauty e'er 'twas fully blown;
Her tim'rous Charms, and her unpractis'd Look,
Their first Assurance from my Conquest took;
By wounding me she learn'd the fatal Art,
And the first Sigh she had was from my Heart:
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Render'd the Tribute owing to her Charms.
But, as I soonest of all Mortals paid
My Vows, and to her Beauty Altars made;
So, among all those Slaves that sigh'd in vain,
She thought me only worthy of my Chain.
Love's heavy Burden my submissive Heart
Endur'd not long, before she bore her Part;
My vi'olent Flame melted her frozen Breast,
And in soft Sighs her Pity she express'd;
Her gentle Voice allay'd my raging Pains,
And her fair Hands sustain'd me in my Chains:
Ev'n Tears of Pity waited on my Moan,
And tender Looks were cast on me alone.
My Hopes and Dangers were less mine than hers,
Those fill'd her Soul with Joys, and these with Fears:
Our Hearts, united, had the same Desires,
And both alike burn'd with impatient Fires.
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Too faithful Memory! I give thee leave
Thy wretched Master kindly to deceive;
Oh, make me not Possessor of her Charms,
Let me not find her languish in my Arms;
Past Joys are now my Fancy's mournful Themes;
Make all my happy Nights appear but Dreams:
Let not such Bliss before my Eyes be brought;
O hide those Scenes from my tormenting Thought;
And in their Place disdainful Beauty show;
If thou would'st not be cruel, make her so:
And, something to abate my deep Despair,
O let her seem less gentle, or less fair.
But I in vain flatter my wounded Mind;
Never was Nymph so lovely, or so kind:
No cold Repulses my Desires suppress'd;
I seldom sigh'd, but on Almeria's Breast:
Of all the Passions which Mankind destroy,
I only felt Excess of Love and Joy:
Unnumber'd Pleasures charm'd my Sense, and they
Were, as my Love, without the least Allay.
As pure, alas! but not so sure to last,
For, like a pleasing Dream, they all are past.
From Heav'n her Beauties like fierce Lightnings came,
Which break thro' Darkness with a glorious Flame;
Awhile they shine, awhile our Minds amaze,
Our wondring Eyes are dazled with the Blaze;
But Thunder follows, whose resistless Rage
None can withstand, and nothing can assuage;
And all that Light which those bright Flashes gave,
Serves only to conduct us to our Grave.
Thy wretched Master kindly to deceive;
Oh, make me not Possessor of her Charms,
Let me not find her languish in my Arms;
Past Joys are now my Fancy's mournful Themes;
Make all my happy Nights appear but Dreams:
Let not such Bliss before my Eyes be brought;
O hide those Scenes from my tormenting Thought;
And in their Place disdainful Beauty show;
If thou would'st not be cruel, make her so:
And, something to abate my deep Despair,
O let her seem less gentle, or less fair.
But I in vain flatter my wounded Mind;
Never was Nymph so lovely, or so kind:
No cold Repulses my Desires suppress'd;
I seldom sigh'd, but on Almeria's Breast:
Of all the Passions which Mankind destroy,
I only felt Excess of Love and Joy:
Unnumber'd Pleasures charm'd my Sense, and they
Were, as my Love, without the least Allay.
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For, like a pleasing Dream, they all are past.
From Heav'n her Beauties like fierce Lightnings came,
Which break thro' Darkness with a glorious Flame;
Awhile they shine, awhile our Minds amaze,
Our wondring Eyes are dazled with the Blaze;
But Thunder follows, whose resistless Rage
None can withstand, and nothing can assuage;
And all that Light which those bright Flashes gave,
Serves only to conduct us to our Grave.
When I had just begun Love's Joys to taste,
(Those full Rewards for Fears and Dangers past)
A Fever seiz'd her, and to Nothing brought
The richest Work that ever Nature wrought.
All things below, alas! uncertain stand;
The firmest Rocks are fix'd upon the Sand:
Under this Law both Kings and Kingdoms bend,
And no Beginning is without an End.
A Sacrifice to Time, Fate dooms us all,
And at the Tyrant's Feet we daily fall:
Time, whose bold Hand will bring alike to Dust
Mankind, and Temples too in which they trust.
(Those full Rewards for Fears and Dangers past)
A Fever seiz'd her, and to Nothing brought
The richest Work that ever Nature wrought.
All things below, alas! uncertain stand;
The firmest Rocks are fix'd upon the Sand:
Under this Law both Kings and Kingdoms bend,
And no Beginning is without an End.
A Sacrifice to Time, Fate dooms us all,
And at the Tyrant's Feet we daily fall:
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Mankind, and Temples too in which they trust.
Her wasted Spirits now begin to faint,
Yet Patience ties her Tongue from all Complaint,
And in her Heart as in a Fort remains;
But yields at last to her resistless Pains.
Thus while the Fever, am'rous of his Prey,
Through all her Veins makes his delightful Way,
Her Fate's like Semele's; the Flames destroy
That Beauty they too eagerly enjoy.
Her charming Face is in its Spring decay'd,
Pale grow the Roses, and the Lilies fade;
Her Skin has lost that Lustre which surpass'd
The Sun's, and well deserv'd as long to last:
Her Eyes, which us'd to pierce the hardest Hearts,
Are now disarm'd of all their Flames and Darts;
Those Stars now heavily and slowly move;
And Sickness triumphs in the Throne of Love.
The Fever ev'ry Moment more prevails,
Its Rage her Body feels, and Tongue bewails:
She, whose Disdain so many Lovers prove,
Sighs now for Torment, as they sigh for Love,
And with loud Cries, which rend the neighb'ring Air,
Wounds my sad Heart, and wakens my Despair.
Both Men and Gods I charge now with my Loss,
And, wild with Grief, my Thoughts each other cross;
My Heart and Tongue labour in both Extremes,
This sends up humble Pray'rs, while that blasphemes:
I ask their Help, whose Malice I defy,
And mingle Sacrilege with Piety.
But, that which must yet more perplex my Mind,
To love her truly, I must seem unkind:
So unconcern'd a Face my Sorrow wears,
I must restrain unruly Floods of Tears.
My Eyes and Tongue put on dissembling Forms,
I shew a Calmness in the Midst of Storms;
I seem to hope when all my Hopes are gone,
And almost dead with Grief, discover none.
But who can long deceive a loving Eye,
Or with dry Eyes behold his Mistress die?
When Passion had with all its Terrors brought
Th'approaching Danger nearer to my Thought,
Off on a sudden fell the forc'd Disguise,
And shew'd a sighing Heart in weeping Eyes:
My Apprehensions, now no more confin'd,
Expos'd my Sorrows, and betray'd my Mind.
The Fair afflicted soon perceives my Tears,
Explains my Sighs, and thence concludes my Fears:
With sad Presages of her hopeless Case,
She reads her Fate in my dejected Face;
Then feels my Torment, and neglects her own,
While I am sensible of hers alone;
Each does the other's Burthen kindly bear,
I fear her Death, and she bewails my Fear:
Tho' thus we suffer under Fortune's Darts,
'Tis only those of Love which reach our Hearts.
Yet Patience ties her Tongue from all Complaint,
And in her Heart as in a Fort remains;
But yields at last to her resistless Pains.
Thus while the Fever, am'rous of his Prey,
Through all her Veins makes his delightful Way,
Her Fate's like Semele's; the Flames destroy
That Beauty they too eagerly enjoy.
Her charming Face is in its Spring decay'd,
Pale grow the Roses, and the Lilies fade;
Her Skin has lost that Lustre which surpass'd
The Sun's, and well deserv'd as long to last:
Her Eyes, which us'd to pierce the hardest Hearts,
Are now disarm'd of all their Flames and Darts;
Those Stars now heavily and slowly move;
And Sickness triumphs in the Throne of Love.
The Fever ev'ry Moment more prevails,
Its Rage her Body feels, and Tongue bewails:
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Sighs now for Torment, as they sigh for Love,
And with loud Cries, which rend the neighb'ring Air,
Wounds my sad Heart, and wakens my Despair.
Both Men and Gods I charge now with my Loss,
And, wild with Grief, my Thoughts each other cross;
My Heart and Tongue labour in both Extremes,
This sends up humble Pray'rs, while that blasphemes:
I ask their Help, whose Malice I defy,
And mingle Sacrilege with Piety.
But, that which must yet more perplex my Mind,
To love her truly, I must seem unkind:
So unconcern'd a Face my Sorrow wears,
I must restrain unruly Floods of Tears.
My Eyes and Tongue put on dissembling Forms,
I shew a Calmness in the Midst of Storms;
I seem to hope when all my Hopes are gone,
And almost dead with Grief, discover none.
But who can long deceive a loving Eye,
Or with dry Eyes behold his Mistress die?
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Th'approaching Danger nearer to my Thought,
Off on a sudden fell the forc'd Disguise,
And shew'd a sighing Heart in weeping Eyes:
My Apprehensions, now no more confin'd,
Expos'd my Sorrows, and betray'd my Mind.
The Fair afflicted soon perceives my Tears,
Explains my Sighs, and thence concludes my Fears:
With sad Presages of her hopeless Case,
She reads her Fate in my dejected Face;
Then feels my Torment, and neglects her own,
While I am sensible of hers alone;
Each does the other's Burthen kindly bear,
I fear her Death, and she bewails my Fear:
Tho' thus we suffer under Fortune's Darts,
'Tis only those of Love which reach our Hearts.
Mean while the Fever mocks at all our Fears,
Grows by our Sighs, and rages at our Tears:
Those vain Effects of our as vain Desire,
Like Wind and Oil, increase the fatal Fire.
Grows by our Sighs, and rages at our Tears:
Those vain Effects of our as vain Desire,
Like Wind and Oil, increase the fatal Fire.
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Almeria then, feeling the Destinies
About to shut her Lips, and close her Eyes;
Weeping, in mine fix'd her fair trembling Hand,
And with these Words I scarce could understand,
Her Passion in a dying Voice express'd
Half, and her Sighs, alas! made out the rest.
About to shut her Lips, and close her Eyes;
Weeping, in mine fix'd her fair trembling Hand,
And with these Words I scarce could understand,
Her Passion in a dying Voice express'd
Half, and her Sighs, alas! made out the rest.
'Tis past; this Pang—Nature gives o'er the Strife;
Thou must thy Mistress lose, and I my Life.
I die; but dying thine, the Fates may prove
Their Conquest over me, but not my Love:
Thy Memory, my Glory, and my Pain,
In spite of Death itself shall still remain.
Dearest Orontes, my hard Fate denies,
That Hope is the last Thing which in us dies:
From my griev'd Breast all those soft Thoughts are fled,
And Love survives it, tho' my Hope is dead;
I yield my Life, but keep my Passion yet,
And can all Thoughts, but of Orontes, quit;
Thou must thy Mistress lose, and I my Life.
I die; but dying thine, the Fates may prove
Their Conquest over me, but not my Love:
Thy Memory, my Glory, and my Pain,
In spite of Death itself shall still remain.
Dearest Orontes, my hard Fate denies,
That Hope is the last Thing which in us dies:
From my griev'd Breast all those soft Thoughts are fled,
And Love survives it, tho' my Hope is dead;
I yield my Life, but keep my Passion yet,
And can all Thoughts, but of Orontes, quit;
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My Flame increases as my Strength decays;
Death, which puts out the Light, the Heat will raise:
That still remains, tho' I from hence remove;
I lose my Lover, but I keep my Love.
Death, which puts out the Light, the Heat will raise:
That still remains, tho' I from hence remove;
I lose my Lover, but I keep my Love.
The Sigh which sent forth that last tender Word,
Up tow'rds the Heav'ns like a bright Meteor soar'd;
And the kind Nymph, not yet bereft of Charms,
Fell cold and breathless in her Lover's Arms.
Up tow'rds the Heav'ns like a bright Meteor soar'd;
And the kind Nymph, not yet bereft of Charms,
Fell cold and breathless in her Lover's Arms.
Goddess, who now my Fate hast understood,
Spare but my Tears, and freely take my Blood:
Here let me end the Story of my Cares;
My dismal Grief enough the rest declares.
Judge thou by all this Misery display'd,
Whether I ought not to implore thy Aid:
Thus to survive, Reproaches on me draws;
Never sad Wishes had so just a Cause.
Spare but my Tears, and freely take my Blood:
Here let me end the Story of my Cares;
My dismal Grief enough the rest declares.
Judge thou by all this Misery display'd,
Whether I ought not to implore thy Aid:
Thus to survive, Reproaches on me draws;
Never sad Wishes had so just a Cause.
Come then, my only Hope; in ev'ry Place
Thou visitest, Men tremble at thy Face,
And fear thy Name: Once let thy fatal Hand
Fall on a Swain that does the Blow demand.
Vouchsafe thy Dart; I need not one of those,
With which thou do'st unwilling Kings depose:
A welcome Death the slightest Wound can bring,
And free a Soul already on her Wing.
Without thy Aid, most miserable I
Must ever wish, yet not obtain to die.
Thou visitest, Men tremble at thy Face,
And fear thy Name: Once let thy fatal Hand
Fall on a Swain that does the Blow demand.
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With which thou do'st unwilling Kings depose:
A welcome Death the slightest Wound can bring,
And free a Soul already on her Wing.
Without thy Aid, most miserable I
Must ever wish, yet not obtain to die.
| The Works of John Sheffield | |