University of Virginia Library

Mirana, a Funeral Eclogue:

To the Memory of that Excellent Lady Eleonora, late Countess of Abingdon.

Damon. Alexis.
ALEXIS.
Damon , the Spring is now in all her Bloom,
And, like the Phœnix, mounts in her Perfume:
If ought on Earth like Paradise can show,
'Tis at this Time a Paradise below.
But ah! shou'd some malignant fatal Blast
At once lay all her blooming Beauties wast;
Now quite Disrob'd that was but now so Gay,
As if December had succeeded May!
Shou'd you so strange an Alteration see,
Wou'd it not make as strange a Change in thee!

DAMON.
I know not well, unless that Change shou'd come;
Which Heav'n avert!—'twould be a dreadful Doom.

ALEXIS.
'Tis come! 'tis come—If any Earthly thing,
Mirana was the Mirrour of the Spring;
Chast as the Morn, soft as her smooth pac'd Hours,
Clear as her Fountains, Beauteous as her Flow'rs,
And Fruitful as her warm Prolifick Show'rs,
Her Glories all were blown, and fresh as May,
When one black Moment tore 'em all away!
No Sickness did her Charming Fabrick seize,
No Sign, no Fear, no Thought of a Disease;
All calm, all hush'd in Midnight Rest we lay,
Dreaming, alas! of a more Joyful Day:
When, like a Storm, or sudden Trumpet's Blast,
And dreadful too, as it had been the last,
As swift, as loud the dismal Tydings spread,
And did as much confound—she's dead! she's dead!
With Horror struck, and stupid with Surprize,
We scarce at first believ'd our Ears, or Eyes;
Then wish'd Those cou'd not hear, nor These cou'd see;
While all that saw her turn'd as Pale as SHE!
O Darkn'd Light! O Day shut up too soon!
'Tis just as if the Sun shou'd set at Noon;
Now Glorious, drest in all the Blaze of Light,
And now, but wink, and all Eternal Night?
Ah! why shou'd so much Sweetness Heav'n display,
Just only to be seen, and snatch'd away!
Why have the Vertuous still the shortest Stay?
Yes, Cruel Pow'rs! a Sentence so severe,
The Loss of one so Young, so Good, so Fair,
So like your selves, her Nature so Divine!
Wou'd justify us if we shou'd Repine.

DAMON.
Beware that Thought—and if you can allow
Reason may lessen Grief, hear Reason now.
'Tis true, we own her Doom too soon was past,
Her Fate was sudden, and her Loss is vast.
But think (for sure you may remember well)
Think how her Sister, dear Urania, fell,
When ev'ry Arte'ry, Fibre, Nerve and Vein
Were by Convulsions torn, and fill'd with Pain.
We griev'd that there such Cruelty was shown;
And shall we murmur because here was none?
So quick and willing she resign'd her Breath,
As if 'twere her Translation, not her Death!
Not He who did the Firy Coach 'employ
Went thro' an easier Passage to his Joy.
A kindly Sleep did the keen Arrow hide
In Ambuscade—and she but wak'd and dy'd
The Pale-fac'd Tyrant did but half his Part,
Not pierce, but gently touch'd her with his Dart;
Enough, indeed, to take her from our Eyes,
But then enough to mount her to the Skies.
Nor yet did he intend an Envious Blow,
But took her when at full prepar'd to go;
Nor cou'd he take her otherwise than so:
Her Life (so much she Labour'd to excell)
Was one continu'd Course of doing well.
Never before so much Uprightness shin'd
From the strait Compass of a Female Mind.
Ve'rtue's Columbus! she new Worlds explor'd,
And, which was greater yet, the Old Restor'd.
A Life so led must place her with the Blest;
To grieve, then, is to Envy Her her Rest.

ALEXIS.
O you mistake!—but be mistaken still,
All Men will mourn where Worth can Grief instill;
And because she was Good must we be Ill?
Who now feels not true Sorrow pierce his Mind
Has not the smallest Touch of Human Kind.
Talk not of putting Passion out to School,
To weep by Reason, and to mourn by Rule.
For such a Loss 'tis Cruel to be Wise,
Not to have breaking Hearts, and flowing Eyes,
Not to be drest in all the Pomp of Grief,
And all without a Thought, too, of Relief.
I'll draw the Scene, and, as You are a Man,
Refrain your Self from Weeping—if you can.
'Tis done.—Now see Her that was late so Fair,
Joy to the Eye, and Musick to the Ear!
An Angels Voice with Magick tun'd her Tongue,
And when she mov'd, she carry'd Paradise along!
There! see her stretch'd amidst a weeping Crowd,
Still as the Grave, and paler than her Shroud!
Observe what a dark ashy Semblance lies
Upon her, lately, Life-reviving Eyes!
Think on those Lights for ever clos'd and set,
Where so much Mildness, so much Brightness met!
See there! where Beauty did in Pomp remain,
With all the Shining Graces in her Train,
Eternal Silence, Fate and Horror reign!

DAMON.
Is this, Alexis, this the Heav'nly Fair?
Alas! how diffe'rent Life and Death appear!
I shrink, methinks, and inwardly can see
What a much more affrighting Figure I shall quickly be!

ALEXIS.

DAMON.
I saw, my Friend, I saw before You spoke
Her Tears o'erflowing as her Heart were broke;
While to the Partial Powr's she seem'd to say,
Good a Life might claim a longer Stay.

ALEXIS.
View next Three Daughters and Six Noble Sons
In whom the Blood of dear Mirana runs;
Look how the Mother has fill'd ev'ry Eye,
Tho' some so Young, they weep and know not why.
And here, Methinks, we may too plainly see
The hard, and rash Resolve of Destiny.
Their Minds, just molded, the Impression took,
Truth from her Soul, and Sweetness from her Look,
When in one Moment she was from 'em torn,
That Living Precept! whom we all must mourn.
Where can they now the like Example find?
At least, the like among the Beaute'ous Kind?
Who can, like Her, a Constant System be
Of Prudence, Meekness, Love and Purity?
Who now can raise their Souls to fit the Frame
That was design'd 'em by the Noble Dame?
Or cloath 'em round with Vertue for their Guard,
And make that easie which we make so hard?
Weep all you Tuneful Nine with one Consent,
And just as when Urania dy'd Lament.
And you her Children as your Tale's the same,
With equal Sorrows give her down to Fame.
What juster Cause can for our Tears be known
Than Honour, Grace, Renown and Sweetness gone?
Think what the Pale-fac'd Tyrant has engrost,
And what your selves, and what the World has lost?
Mirtillo, you are old enough to know;
Inform the Younger as they riper grow,
That with their Knowledge still their Tears may flow!

DAMON.
The fair Melissa, Friend, you do not mind,
(Mirtillo's Consort) sighing from behind:
There! wrapt in Sables, see the Mourner lies,
With all her Soul transfus'd into her Eyes!

ALEXIS.
Sorrow indeed, does play the Tyrant there.—
But see! ah see a sadder Object here!
How like the Dead the Living does appear!
See how her Lord in silent Anguish stands,
With Eyes erected and uplifted Hands!
He knows not what to say, or think, or do,
Confounded with the unexpected Blow!
Hardn'd in Woe, and loathing all Relief,
He seems himself the Statue of his Grief.
Ah! why with so much Violence inclin'd
For present Sorrow?—he'll hereafter find
Too much, when her Endearments all appear
Fresh to his Mind, and fix her Image there:
For tho' remov'd from our Corpo'real Sight,
He'll see her by an intellectual Light,
Not barr'd by Distance, and not veil'd by Night.
Each Day will to his sad Remembrance bring
The dear Reflection of some dute'ous thing.
The Noblest, yet the Humblest of her Kind!
The finest Form! and the most finish'd Mind!
A Cabinet fill'd with the Richest Charms
That ever Husband lock'd within his Arms?
So Tender, so Obedient all her Life,
As if his Guardian Angel, not his Wife.
So Chearful, Chast, and Studious of his Ease,
So truly kind, and so resolv'd to Please,
She gave him (as his Fate were in her Pow'r)
In nineteen Years not one afflictive Hour.
Design and Strife were Strangers to her Heart,
But Peace and Truth and That were ne'er apart.
Anger might knock, but he no entrance found:
He durst not tread that Path, 'twas Holy Ground.
Her Temper was to Piety so true,
Not her whole Life one rapid Motion knew,
Like a smooth Stream it did unmurm'uring roll,
Clear as her Eyes, and even as her Soul!
But see! her Hero can refrain no more,
His Heart is bursting, and his Eyes run o'er!
In vain he does let fall that plente'ous Show'r,
No Rain cou'd e'er revive a faded Flow'r!
Can you behold all this and Weep not too?—

DAMON.
No more Reproof—alas! my Friend, I do!
Nature is Pow'rful; to her Law I bow,
Tho' Contradicting what I said but now.

ALEXIS.
'Tis as it shou'd be—they who truly grieve,
Ne'er stand to ask their second Thoughts the leave:
True Grief, without Controul, will reign alone,
And seizing on the Fort, makes all her own.
But we'll retire, and next observe the Poor
And Naked, that in Numbers crowd the Door.
These long she Cloath'd, and those as long has fed;
She griev'd to see a Man that wanted Bread.
Ill was his Chance, tho' distant, that cou'd be
Remov'd from her diffusive Charity.
Where e'er she came, like Nile, she'd Plenty bring,
The Stream Conspicuous, but unknown the Spring.
Look how they grieve each other to behold,
And, tho' 'tis Summer, shake to think of Winter's cold.
See on that Hand the Sick despairing lie;
Now she is gone, they must the sooner Die,
Their speediest, surest, cheapest Remedy.
What help the Art of Physick cou'd afford
They had unask'd, and many she restor'd.
No wretched Creature who his Health had lost
Need, to regain it, spare the smallest Cost:
Nay when she fear'd her Judgment wou'd not do
(And much she strove to know, and much she knew)
Then she wou'd pay for the Physician's too.
Observe how they Expostulate with Fate,
That did not grant her Life a longer Date.
In sparing HER, ye Cruel Pow'rs! (they cry)
Y'ad kept us fearless of Mortality:
Now we must Languish, Pine, and drop away,
For who so Rich will care the Poor shou'd stay?
The JEWISH DORCAS was recall'd by Prayer,
Why is that Method ineffectual here?
She was as Good, and we as much her Care:
But ah! we do not tread th'Apostles Path;
She had the Vertue, but we want the Faith.
O Wond'rous! O Exemplar Soul! if e'er
True Innocence did in thy Sex appear;
If ever we cou'd yet Perfection see,
We have the nearest View of it in THEE!—
But least malicious Men shou'd Disbelieve,
And think we Flatter, or but vainly grieve,
Hear Friend, my sacred Imprecation hear,
And let both of us kneel, and both be bare.
Doom me (ye Pow'rs) to Misery, Strifes and Shame,
Let mine be the most ignominious Name;
Let me each Day be with new Griefs perplext,
Curst in this Life, nor happy in the next,
If I believe she has her LIKE survives;
Or if I think her not the best of Mothers and of Wives.

DAMON.
Thy wish shall have the Suffrage of us all.—
But hark!—'tis so, our Bleating Charge does call:
Close, close the mournful Scene, and let the Curtain fall.