University of Virginia Library

Urania, a Funeral Eclogue.

To the Memory of Mrs. Wharton.

Damon. Alexis.
DAMON.
Alexis , why that Cloud upon your Brow?
Has Beaute'ous Chloris lately broke her Vow,
And the sad Tydings reach'd your Ears but now?
It must be so—that must be, sure, the Cause
Which from Your Eyes this Bleeding Deluge draws.

ALEXIS.
Were it no more than a frail Nymph unkind,
It rather shou'd divert, than wound my Mind;
For he that grieves when such their Love estrange,
As well may grieve because the Wind will change.
No, Damon, no; my Sorrows fetch their Spring
From a more sad, a more Important Thing.
Were all my Life to be one Mourning Day,
Or cou'd my Heart dissolve in Tears away,
'Twere yet a Tribute for our Loss too small;
Our Loss I call it, for it wounds us all.

DAMON.
Still to your Tears you call a fresh Supply,
And still conceal the sad Occasion why.

ALEXIS.
Can it be possible you shou'd not know
The Fatal Cause that has unmann'd me so,
When Sorrow does such dismal Sounds diffuse,
And ev'ry Nymph and Swain's expiring with the News?
These beat their Breasts, and t'other rend their Hair,
Like Lovers that are wedded to Despair,
Shrieking as if the last tremendous Doom,
The Dreadful Change of Time and Place were come.

DAMON.
No longer in Suspence then let me stay;
No Grief can wound me more than this Delay.

ALEXIS.
Take then, O Damon! take the worst in Brief,
The worst! for not the Gods can give Relief.
Urania! sweet Urania! justly fam'd,
And never but with Admiration Nam'd;
Adorn'd with ev'ry Vertue, ev'ry Grace,
These in her Mind, and t'other in her Face:
Urania! in whose Temper we might find
All we believe of the Celestial Kind:
God in his Works she early did Rehearse
With Heav'nly Ardour, and harmonious Verse;
Her Verse! that makes it Disputable yet
Which most cou'd Charm, her Beauty or her Wit.
Ev'n She!—O Damon! You may guess the rest.—

DAMON.
Is Dead?

ALEXIS.
And with her all our Joys deceas'd
Nor Dies she single:—back the Blood retires,
The Eye can nothing see it more admires,
Hope's at an End, and Love it self expires!

DAMON.
O killing Sentence! which I die to know!
Or dost thou try me, and but feign thy Woe?
Ah! undeceive me quickly, if 'tis so.—
But see! thy Eyes run o'er! in them I view
The fatal News y'ave told me is too true!

ALEXIS.
Too true indeed!—when I my Thoughts advance,
Reflecting on the Turns of Fate and Chance;
What various Accidents disturb our Rest,
All level'd at the Beaut'eous and the Best,
Subject to ev'ry Wrong, and worn with Care,
(Of which, Urania! thou hast had thy Share;)
How swift by an unpitying partial Doom
They're snatch'd from hence, and hurry'd to the Tomb;
Leaving the Wicked and the Vain to wast,
And glut on Blessings they cou'd never taste;
I hardly can the impious Thought forbear,
That Heav'n sits unconcern'd at all that passes here.
What Favour does the Fair and Chast attend
But black'ning Tongues, or an untimely end,
A fatal Consort or a treach'rous Friend?
Thus in the Bloom of Youth her Verdure fades
O Brightness cast into perpetual Shades!
Mean while th'Adulterer's Frolick pleas'd and Gay,
And circulating Comforts Crown the Day,
Successively they each their Part dispence;
And this unequal Dealing's Providence!

DAMON.
Alexis, do not blame Divine Decree,
And the strict Laws of strong Necessity;
For since Eternal Justice cannot err,
What that Inflicts we shou'd with Patience bear.
'Tis not for Souls unglorify'd to pry
Into Incomprehensibility:
Ev'n Reason fails us; 'tis to Faith alone
The Secret Paths of Providence are shown:
The seeming Inconsistencies it joyns,
Brings to one Centre all the different Lines,
And shews us all is Good that Heav'n designs.
But were this Argument not half so strong,
You know, Alexis, all must die e'er long.

ALEXIS.
True, Damon, but not all must Die so young.
As for the Aged let 'em pass away,
And drop into their Tenements of Clay,
The Doom is just; they've had what Life can give
And wou'd be Burthen'd longer to receive.
But she, you know, like a Meridian Sun,
Had all her Sweetness, all her Lustre on;
A Glorious Light, tho' not arriv'd at Noon!
Ah Vertue! why allow'd no longer Date?
Ah! Treach'rous Hope! and Ah! Relentless Fate!

DAMON.
What Reason is there to Indulge your Grief
When 'tis but just to try, and have Relief?
Think her (as sure she is) among the blest,
And has begun the Sabbath of her Rest;
Think her releas'd from all that World of Woe
Under whose Weight she Labour'd here below;
And you will find to more Account 'twill turn
To bless her Change, than thus Immoderately to Mourn.
Repine not then, Alexis; 'tis not well;—
Yet, since y'are on the Subject, prithee tell
By what sad Fate the Sweet Urania fell.

ALEXIS.
A Mortal, but a Lingering Disease
Upon the Spirits of her Life did seize;
Her Strength decreas'd, and ev'ry Fatal Day
Still took a part, till all was born away.
Pale, Wan and Meagre did her Cheeks appear,
Tho' once a Spring of Roses flourish't there.
Thus long she lay, with Strong Convulsions torn,
Which yet were with a Saint-like Patience born;
Till Nature ceasing, rather forc't to cease,
Gave her a Painful, yet a kind Release.
Go, sacred Nymph, ascend the Spangl'd Sphere,
For it has wanted long thy Lustre there.
Faithful and Loving to the last she prov'd;
And better did deserve to be belov'd.
Here Colon I cou'd—

DAMON.
Mention not his Name,
But let your Subject be the Matchless Dame.

ALEXIS.
So many are her Vertues, and so vast,
And crowd upon my Memory so fast,
'Tis hard to fix on which I shall begin;
As 'twill be hard to leave, when once I'm in.
Her Language was from all that Dross refin'd
That floats in the Converse of Womankind:
So distant all her Conduct from Offence,
'Twou'd still begin, and end in Innocence.
Her Ardour for Celestial Things did show
She learn't to be an Angel here below.
Our SAVIOUR's Precept is to pray for those
That are our Mortal and Inveterate Foes;
Hard Lesson! hard to us, so prone to Err;
But 'twas a very easie One to HER.
So fixt to Truth, and fervent in her Prayer,
As if she only breath'd Ætherial Air.
The Poor no other Merit need pretend;
Affliction made her still the faster Friend.
Nor was her Charity to Sides confin'd,
But flew where e'er she Worth, or Wit cou'd find,
As much disdaining Limits as her Mind.
If e'er her Words to an Invective ran,
'Twas to th'Ungiving, Thankless, Prosper'ous Man,
Who much Receiving, yet from none wou'd part,
But view'd the Poor without a Yerning Heart.
So close with Chastity her Mind was wrought,
That all her Life knew not a Blemish'd Thought:
And as she there did her own Sex excell,
So she as much did Ours in Writing well:
Her tuneful Numbers pleas'd the Nicest Ear,
And the most Haughty Swains were Proud to hear.
Whether her Song with Friendship's Pow'r is fraught,
Or to her Private Inju'ries turn her Thought;
Whether with Love she our Affection wins,
Or Paint a SAVIOUR Suffering for our Sins,
She's all a Wonder!—like her Soul, serene!
Like Venus, Lovely! and like Dian', clean!
Ah Sweet Urania! of all Womankind
Where hast thou left one like thy self behind—
Unless the Chast Mirana? who but She?
Thy Vertuous Sister! for in HER we see,
Thou dear departed Saint, how much w'ave lost in THEE!

DAMON.
Thou hast, Alexis, so Divinely shown
The Vertues of the Nymph for whom you moan,
In such sad Numbers told what Grief supplies
This deep Dejection, and these flowing Eyes;
That I, ev'n I (tho' what I wou'd not do)
Have caught thy Frailty, and am melting too.

ALEXIS.
That pious Grief Heav'n cannot but forgive
Which makes the Vertu'ous in our Memories live.—
But see! if now thy Tears so freely fall,
There goes a Sight that will engross 'em all!
The Sweet Urania (Ah too rigid Doom!)
By Virgins born to her Eternal Home!
See with what mournful Pomp the Scene appears,
The Swains all Speechless, and the Nymphs all Tears.
Instead of Flow'ry Wreaths, with Chaplets crown'd
Their Temples are with Funeral-Cypress bound,
In vain their Silence; for their Looks impart,
A lasting Anguish, and a Bleeding Heart!
Ha! Damon! see! on the sad Bier display'd,
Where all the Riches of the Earth is laid!
You sigh! But Ah! you know you sigh in vain;
You'll never more behold her tread the Plain!
No more you'll hear that soft harmonious Voice,
Which none yet ever heard but did rejoyce!
For ever ceas'd are all her Matchless Lays!
Heav'n has clos'd up the Volume of her Days!
O Grief! that thus I yet repeat her Name,
Can say, She's dead! and not become the same!

DAMON.
Cease, dear Alexis, lest it shou'd be said
We fail'd in our last Office to the Dead:
It cannot add to our Affliction more
To see her laid in Dust—the worst alas is o'er!
Nor shall our scatter'd Flocks be yet our Care,
This more Important Duty calls us there,
With Dazies, Pinks and Daffodils and all
That Flora yields to Celebrate her Fall,
And Crown the Herse of the Departed Fair,
That, Living, was the Crown of Vertue here:
Profuse of Sweets, we not a Flower will save,
But empty all the Spring upon her Grave.