University of Virginia Library

FLORIANA,

A Pastoral upon the Death of her Grace the Dutchess of SOUTHAMPTON.

DAMON.
Tell me my Thyrsis, tell thy Damon, why
Does my lov'd Swain in this sad posture lye?
What mean these Streams still falling from thine Eyes,
Fast as those Sighs from thy swoln Bosom rise?
Has the fierce Wolf broke thro' the fenced ground?
Have thy Lambs stray'd? or has Dorinda frown'd?

Thyrsis.
The Wolf? Ah! let him come, for now he may:
Have thy Lambs stray'd? let 'em for ever stray:
Dorinda frown'd? No, She is ever mild;
Nay, I remember but just now she smil'd:
Alas! she smil'd; for to the lovely Maid
None had the fatal Tidings yet convey'd:
Tell me then Shepherd, tell me, canst thou find
As long as thou art true, and she is kind,
A Grief so great, as may prevail above
Even Damon's Friendship, or Dorinda's Love?

Damon.
Sure there is none.

Thyrs.
But, Damon, there may be:
What if the charming Floriana die?

Dam.
Far be the Omen!

Thyr.
But suppose it true.

Dam.
Then should I grieve, my Thyrsis, more than you.
She is—

Thyrs.
Alas! she was, but is no more;
Now, Damon, now, let thy swoln Eyes run o'er:
Here to this Turf by thy sad Thyrsis grow,
And when my Streams of Grief too shallow flow,
Let in thy Tide to raise the Torrent high,
'Till both a Deluge make, and in it die.

Dam.
Then that to this wisht height the Flood might swell,
Friend, I will tell thee.

Th.
Friend, I thee will tell,
How young, how good, how beautiful she fell.
Oh! she was all for which fond Mothers pray,
Blessing their Babes when first they see the Day.
Beauty and She were one; for in her Face
Sate Sweetness temper'd with Majestick Grace;
Such pow'rful Charms as might the proudest awe,
Yet such attractive Goodness as might draw
The humblest, and to both give equal Law.
How was she wonder'd at by every Swain?
The Pride, the Light, the Goddess of the Plain:
On all she shin'd, and spreading Glories cast
Diffusive of her self, where-e'er she past,
There breath'd an Air sweet as the Winds that blow
From the blest Shoars where fragrant Spices grow:
Even me sometimes she with a Smile would grace,
Like the Sun shining on the vilest Place.
Nor did Dorinda bar me the Delight
Of feasting on her Eyes my longing Sight:
But to a Being so sublime, so pure,
Spar'd my Devotion, of my Love secure.

Dam.
Her Beauty such: but Nature did design
That only as an answerable Shrine
To the Divinity that's lodg'd within.
Her Soul shin'd through, and made her Form so bright,
As Clouds are gilt by the Sun's piercing Light.
In her smooth Forehead we might read exprest
The even Calmness of her gentle Breast:
And in her sparkling Eyes as clear was writ
The active Vigour of her youthful Wit.
Each Beauty of the Body or the Face
Was but the shadow of some inward Grace.
Gay, sprightly, cheerful, free, and unconfin'd,
As Innocence could make it, was her Mind;
Yet prudent, though not tedious nor severe,
Like those, who being dull, would grave appear;
Who out of Guilt do Chearfulness despise,
And being sullen, hope Men think 'em wise.
How would the listning Shepherds round her throng,
To catch the words fell from her charming Tongue!
She all with her own Spirit and Soul inspir'd,
Her they all lov'd, and her they all admir'd.
Ev'n mighty Pan, whose pow'rful Hands sustains
The Sovereign Crook that mildly aws the Plains,
Of all his Cares made her the tender'st part;
And great Lovisa lodg'd her in her Heart.

Thyr.
Who would not now a solemn Mourning keep,
When Pan himself and fair Lovisa weep?
When those blest Eyes by the kind Gods design'd
To cherish Nature, and delight Mankind,
All drown'd in Tears, melt into gentler Showers
Than April-Drops upon the springing Flowers;
Such Tears as Venus for Adonis shed,
When at her Feet the lovely Youth lay dead;
About her, all her little weeping Loves
Ungirt her Cestos, and unyok'd her Doves.

Dam.
Come pious Nymphs, with fair Lovisa come,
And visit gentle Floriana's Tomb;
And as you walk the melancholy Round,
Where no unhallow'd Feet prophane the Ground,
With your chast Hands fresh Flow'rs and Odours shed
About her last obscure and silent Bed;
Still praying, as you gently move your Feet,
Soft be her Pillow, and her Slumber sweet.

Thyr.
See where they come, a mournful lovely Train,
As ever wept on fair Arcadia's Plain:
Lovisa mournful far above the rest,
In all the Charms of beauteous Sorrow drest:
Just are her Tears, when she reflects how soon
A Beauty, second only to her own,
Flourisht, lookt gay, was wither'd, and is gone!

Dam.
O she is gone! gone like a new born flower,
That deck'd some Virgin Queens delicious Bower;
Torn from the Stalk by some untimely blast,
And 'mongst the vilest Weeds and Rubbish cast:
But Flow'rs return, and coming Springs disclose
The Lilly whiter, and more fresh the Rose;
But no kind Season back her Charms can bring,
And Floriana has no second Spring.

Thyr.
O she is set! set like the falling Sun;
Darkness is round us, and glad Day is gone!
Alas! the Sun that's set, again will rise,
And gild with richer Beams the Morning-Skies:
But Beauty, though as bright as they it shines,
When its short Glory to the West declines,
O there's no Hope of the returning Light;
But all is long Oblivion, and eternal Night.