Streams from Helicon Or, Poems On Various Subjects. In Three Parts. By Alexander Pennecuik ... The Second Edition. Enter'd in Stationer's Hall |
 | I. |
| II. |
 | III. |
| THE Mourning Muse,
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 | Streams from Helicon |  |
195
THE Mourning Muse,
Occasioned by the Death of that excellent Gentleman James Deans of Woodhuslee, Esq; Who died at his Country Seat 7th May 1720.
To the virtuous Lady his Widow.
Madam,
Accept your Cousins mournful Tale,
Written when gloomy Sadness did prevail.
Pardon the Errors of the low Propine,
Since Grief and Sorrow dictate ev'ry Line.
Written when gloomy Sadness did prevail.
Pardon the Errors of the low Propine,
Since Grief and Sorrow dictate ev'ry Line.
Gracious Relict of the Man I lov'd,
Altho' your bosom Blessing be remov'd,
Yet do not sink with an excess of Grief,
The Covenant of Grace brings fresh Relief.
Ere long you'll see him in Immanuels Land
And get the Palm of Vict'ry in your Hand.
He'll bid you welcome to the Courts above;
There you'll like Angels sing, like Angels love.
That God, whom you do love so well below,
Will Heav'ns bright Crown and Robes on you bestow.
Altho' your bosom Blessing be remov'd,
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The Covenant of Grace brings fresh Relief.
Ere long you'll see him in Immanuels Land
And get the Palm of Vict'ry in your Hand.
He'll bid you welcome to the Courts above;
There you'll like Angels sing, like Angels love.
That God, whom you do love so well below,
Will Heav'ns bright Crown and Robes on you bestow.
Sweet Soul, remember Heav'n's been very kind:
Fair is the Offspring he has left behind.
In these rejoyce, they do his Image bear:
God mixes Mercy with the mourning Tear.
O may some Angel, from Realms of Light,
Descend his shining Epitaph to write.
No mortal Wit his Character can give;
Our Verse can only on his Marble live.
Fair is the Offspring he has left behind.
In these rejoyce, they do his Image bear:
God mixes Mercy with the mourning Tear.
O may some Angel, from Realms of Light,
Descend his shining Epitaph to write.
No mortal Wit his Character can give;
Our Verse can only on his Marble live.
Taitte.
All Flesh is Grass, they wither as the Flower:
The cruel Grave doth every Man devour.
He's gone, whom all Men lov'd: Alas he's fled
To the dark lonely Regions of the Dead.
So precious was his Life, it could not last:
Fine was the Threed, but 'twas a slender Twist.
O Death, why do you press for Volunteers?
There's many an aged Man with hoary Hairs,
Leaning o'er Props, and noding o'er the Grave,
Bowing the Back, as if they'd entrance crave:
And yet, O Grave, thou shuts thy ugly Mouth,
But gapes, and swallows up the lovely Youth.
O Death, great is thy Tyranny and Lust,
To pull the blooming Hero to the Dust.
Ah! must the Good, the Gallant, and the Brave
Kiss thy wan Cheeks, and moulder in the Grave.
Must thy cold Arms the blooming Youth embrace,
And will you blow the Roses from his Face.
He, like the Rose, did wear a lovely Bloom,
But soon was cropt, he wither'd ere 'twas Noon.
The cruel Grave doth every Man devour.
He's gone, whom all Men lov'd: Alas he's fled
To the dark lonely Regions of the Dead.
So precious was his Life, it could not last:
Fine was the Threed, but 'twas a slender Twist.
O Death, why do you press for Volunteers?
There's many an aged Man with hoary Hairs,
Leaning o'er Props, and noding o'er the Grave,
Bowing the Back, as if they'd entrance crave:
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But gapes, and swallows up the lovely Youth.
O Death, great is thy Tyranny and Lust,
To pull the blooming Hero to the Dust.
Ah! must the Good, the Gallant, and the Brave
Kiss thy wan Cheeks, and moulder in the Grave.
Must thy cold Arms the blooming Youth embrace,
And will you blow the Roses from his Face.
He, like the Rose, did wear a lovely Bloom,
But soon was cropt, he wither'd ere 'twas Noon.
The fairest Flowers the soonest do decay;
The Rose in July dies, that's born in May.
A precious Plant doth seldom more than sprout,
But noxious Weeds can scarce be rooted out.
Ravens and Birds of Prey live very long:
The Lark and Nightingale die wondrous soon.
Generous Spirits, like the purest Fire,
Shine with a lambent Flame, but soon expire.
The Rose in July dies, that's born in May.
A precious Plant doth seldom more than sprout,
But noxious Weeds can scarce be rooted out.
Ravens and Birds of Prey live very long:
The Lark and Nightingale die wondrous soon.
Generous Spirits, like the purest Fire,
Shine with a lambent Flame, but soon expire.
Down to the thoughtless Grave the Charmer goes,
'Mongst Sculls and Worms to take a long Repose:
Whose sweet facetious Tales still charm'd our Ears.
Then we were swell'd with Joy, as now with Tears.
'Mongst Sculls and Worms to take a long Repose:
Whose sweet facetious Tales still charm'd our Ears.
Then we were swell'd with Joy, as now with Tears.
O Grave, with Grief and Sorrow I'd despair,
Did I not know that he was Adam's Heir:
Nay, That the blessed Jesus once lay there.
And that his Spirit drinks immortal Air,
Mingles with Heav'ns loud Quires and warbles there.
The hymning Guards, which scout on Heav'ns Frontier,
Salute his Soul; they're glad to see it there.
Did I not know that he was Adam's Heir:
Nay, That the blessed Jesus once lay there.
And that his Spirit drinks immortal Air,
Mingles with Heav'ns loud Quires and warbles there.
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Salute his Soul; they're glad to see it there.
Ye precious Souls, who at the Altar stand,
And with your Incense save a sinful Land,
Approach with Rev'rence to his burial Place;
Declare it Holy by your Rites of Grace;
Plant Bays and Laurels on the mournful Cell;
Upon his Grave perpetual Greenness dwell.
Pilgrims must know it is not common Dust;
O! he was Wise, and Good, and Kind and Just.
O may it be with Roses overgrown,
Still in their Pride and never fully blown.
And with your Incense save a sinful Land,
Approach with Rev'rence to his burial Place;
Declare it Holy by your Rites of Grace;
Plant Bays and Laurels on the mournful Cell;
Upon his Grave perpetual Greenness dwell.
Pilgrims must know it is not common Dust;
O! he was Wise, and Good, and Kind and Just.
O may it be with Roses overgrown,
Still in their Pride and never fully blown.
Angels descend and guard the awful Dust
Till he appear in Judgment with the Just.
Till he appear in Judgment with the Just.
From me he shall a grateful Tribute have,
I'll kneel and pay my Homage to his Grave.
I'll kneel and pay my Homage to his Grave.
O Philomel, like me with Grief opprest,
Come hither to his Tomb, and build your Nest.
Upon his peaceful Grave distend your Throat,
With a poetick and a mournful Note.
Come here, ye mournful Quires of every Wing,
My sweet tongu'd Birds, I'll teach you what to sing.
Fly from the Oozie Pool each sick'ning Swan,
And with your dying Song lament the Man.
Come hither to his Tomb, and build your Nest.
Upon his peaceful Grave distend your Throat,
With a poetick and a mournful Note.
Come here, ye mournful Quires of every Wing,
My sweet tongu'd Birds, I'll teach you what to sing.
Fly from the Oozie Pool each sick'ning Swan,
And with your dying Song lament the Man.
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But chearful Lark, I charge you not to come:
Go to the Window of his Lady's Room,
And sing your native Notes and Anthems there.
For when she sees you fly aloof i'th' Air,
She'll mind he sings above, and so will she;
This will allay her Grief for Woodhuslee.
Go to the Window of his Lady's Room,
And sing your native Notes and Anthems there.
For when she sees you fly aloof i'th' Air,
She'll mind he sings above, and so will she;
This will allay her Grief for Woodhuslee.
Eheu quam tenui pendunt mortalia filo.
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