The Poetical works of Wm. Falconer With the life of the author. Cooke's Edition. Embellished with superb engravings |
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OCCASIONAL ELEGY. |
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 | The Poetical works of Wm. Falconer |  |
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OCCASIONAL ELEGY.
The scene of death is clos'd, the mournful strains
Dissolve in dying languor on the ear:
Yet pity weeps, yet sympathy complains,
And dumb suspense awaits o'erwhelm'd with fear.
Dissolve in dying languor on the ear:
Yet pity weeps, yet sympathy complains,
And dumb suspense awaits o'erwhelm'd with fear.
But the sad Muses, with prophetic eye,
At once the future and the past explore!
Their harps oblivion's influence can defy,
And waft the spirit to th' eternal shore.
At once the future and the past explore!
Their harps oblivion's influence can defy,
And waft the spirit to th' eternal shore.
Then, O Palemon! if thy shade can hear
The voice of Friendship still lament thy doom,
Yet to the sad oblations bend thine ear,
That rise in vocal incense o'er thy tomb.
The voice of Friendship still lament thy doom,
Yet to the sad oblations bend thine ear,
That rise in vocal incense o'er thy tomb.
In vain, alas! the gentle maid shall weep,
While secret anguish nips her vital bloom;
O'er her soft frame shall stern diseases creep,
And give the lovely victim to the tomb.
While secret anguish nips her vital bloom;
O'er her soft frame shall stern diseases creep,
And give the lovely victim to the tomb.
Relentless phrenzy shall the Father sting,
Untaught in Virtue's school distress to bear;
Severe Remorse his tortur'd soul shall wring;
'Tis his to groan, and perish in despair.
Untaught in Virtue's school distress to bear;
Severe Remorse his tortur'd soul shall wring;
'Tis his to groan, and perish in despair.
Ye lost companions of distress, adieu!
Your toils, and pains, and dangers, are no more!
The tempest now shall howl, unheard by you,
While ocean smites in vain the trembling shore.
Your toils, and pains, and dangers, are no more!
The tempest now shall howl, unheard by you,
While ocean smites in vain the trembling shore.
On you the blast, surcharg'd with rain and snow,
In winter's dismal nights no more shall beat:
Unfelt by you the vertic sun may glow,
And scorch the panting earth with baleful heat.
In winter's dismal nights no more shall beat:
Unfelt by you the vertic sun may glow,
And scorch the panting earth with baleful heat.
No more the joyful maid, the sprightly strain
Shall wake the dance to give you welcome home;
Nor hopeless Love impart undying pain,
When far from scenes of social joy you roam.
Shall wake the dance to give you welcome home;
Nor hopeless Love impart undying pain,
When far from scenes of social joy you roam.
No more on yon' wide wat'ry waste you stray,
While hunger and disease your life consume,
While parching thirst that burns without allay,
Forbids the blasted rose of health to bloom.
While hunger and disease your life consume,
While parching thirst that burns without allay,
Forbids the blasted rose of health to bloom.
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No more you feel Contagion's mortal breath,
That taints the realms with misery severe;
No more behold pale Famine, scattering death,
With cruel ravage desolate the year.
That taints the realms with misery severe;
No more behold pale Famine, scattering death,
With cruel ravage desolate the year.
The thund'ring drum, the trumpet's swelling strain
Unheard, shall form the long emhattl'd line:
Unheard, the deep foundations of the main
Shall tremble, when the hostile squadrons join.
Unheard, shall form the long emhattl'd line:
Unheard, the deep foundations of the main
Shall tremble, when the hostile squadrons join.
Since grief, fatigue, and hazards, still molest
The wand'ring vassals of the faithless deep,
Oh! happier now escape to endless rest,
Than we who still survive to wake and weep.
The wand'ring vassals of the faithless deep,
Oh! happier now escape to endless rest,
Than we who still survive to wake and weep.
What tho' no funeral pomp, no borrow'd tear,
Your hour of death to gazing crowds shall tell;
Nor weeping friends attend your sable bier,
Who sadly listen to the passing bell.
Your hour of death to gazing crowds shall tell;
Nor weeping friends attend your sable bier,
Who sadly listen to the passing bell.
The tutor'd sigh, the vain parade of woe,
No real anguish to the soul impart:
And oft', alas! the tears that friends bestow,
Belie the latent feeling of the heart.
No real anguish to the soul impart:
And oft', alas! the tears that friends bestow,
Belie the latent feeling of the heart.
What tho' no sculptur'd pile your name displays,
Like those who perish in their country's cause!
What tho' no epic Muse, in living lays,
Record your dreadful daring with applause!
Like those who perish in their country's cause!
What tho' no epic Muse, in living lays,
Record your dreadful daring with applause!
Full oft' the flattering marble bids renown
With blazon'd trophies deck the spotted name;
And oft', too oft', the venal Muses crown
The slaves of vice with never-dying fame.
With blazon'd trophies deck the spotted name;
And oft', too oft', the venal Muses crown
The slaves of vice with never-dying fame.
Yet shall Remembrance, from Oblivion's veil,
Relieve your scene, and sigh with grief sincere;
And soft compassion at your tragic tale
In silent tribute pay her kindred tear.
Relieve your scene, and sigh with grief sincere;
And soft compassion at your tragic tale
In silent tribute pay her kindred tear.
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