 | Poems on several grave and important subjects (1719) |  |
The DIRGE.
A Pastoral Eclogue, Sacred to the Memory of my deceas'd Brother.
In
Scotia scarcely had the radiant Sun
Another Year in circling Course begun,
E'er young Sylvander, prostrate on the Ground,
Beneath a Thorn in pensive Mode was found.
While other Shepherds pass'd the jovial Days
In gay Carousing and diverting Plays;
Like Philomel, complaining of her Pain,
He sung his Sorrows in a mournful Strain.
Great his Distress, and woful was his Theme,
Which thus alone he sadly did proclaim:
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
Another Year in circling Course begun,
26
Beneath a Thorn in pensive Mode was found.
While other Shepherds pass'd the jovial Days
In gay Carousing and diverting Plays;
Like Philomel, complaining of her Pain,
He sung his Sorrows in a mournful Strain.
Great his Distress, and woful was his Theme,
Which thus alone he sadly did proclaim:
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
The Day which I with dear Menalcas spent,
In by-gone Years in Love and Merriment,
Is now the Day of his untimely Fate,
The woful Subject of my Soul's Regret.
Curs'd, ever curs'd, be that unhappy Day;
Let ne'er the Sun on it his Beams display:
May Clouds for ever all its Glories hide,
And fearful Tempests scatter all its Pride.
Let other Days shun its Society,
Hence Mortals hate it all as much as I.
Let general Grief thro' Ratho Plains be spread,
Since he, their Joy and Ornament, is dead.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
In by-gone Years in Love and Merriment,
Is now the Day of his untimely Fate,
The woful Subject of my Soul's Regret.
Curs'd, ever curs'd, be that unhappy Day;
Let ne'er the Sun on it his Beams display:
May Clouds for ever all its Glories hide,
And fearful Tempests scatter all its Pride.
27
Hence Mortals hate it all as much as I.
Let general Grief thro' Ratho Plains be spread,
Since he, their Joy and Ornament, is dead.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
As I this Morning cast mine Eyes abroad,
I soon observ'd it did portend no good;
Some dismal Omens of my present Woe
Appear'd, which henceforth I'll account most true.
The Wind was Eastern, cloudy was the Sky,
And cloath'd with Snow I saw the Pastures ly,
The Streams stood still in icy Fetters bound,
The Plough was fixed in the frosty Ground,
The aged Trees beneath their Burden groan'd,
The Flocks were trembling, and the Birds bemoan'd;
Behind our Village, on a craggy Rock,
Methought I heard the ugly Raven croak;
The Nightingale that used to repair
To this same Thorn, and charm the neighbouring Air
With pleasing Notes, now, like a widow'd Dove,
I saw lamenting thro' the naked Grove.
While dear Menalcas was alive, the Tree
Was never, never from her Musick free:
But now since he, the best Musician's gone,
Cooing she wanders thro' the Scenes alone;
And, like my self, she mourns where'er she goes:
The very Hedges seem to share her Woes.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
I soon observ'd it did portend no good;
Some dismal Omens of my present Woe
Appear'd, which henceforth I'll account most true.
The Wind was Eastern, cloudy was the Sky,
And cloath'd with Snow I saw the Pastures ly,
The Streams stood still in icy Fetters bound,
The Plough was fixed in the frosty Ground,
The aged Trees beneath their Burden groan'd,
The Flocks were trembling, and the Birds bemoan'd;
28
Methought I heard the ugly Raven croak;
The Nightingale that used to repair
To this same Thorn, and charm the neighbouring Air
With pleasing Notes, now, like a widow'd Dove,
I saw lamenting thro' the naked Grove.
While dear Menalcas was alive, the Tree
Was never, never from her Musick free:
But now since he, the best Musician's gone,
Cooing she wanders thro' the Scenes alone;
And, like my self, she mourns where'er she goes:
The very Hedges seem to share her Woes.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
29
While he, sweet Youth, indulg'd us with his Stay,
The Flocks were sprightly, and the Birds were gay,
The Fields delightful, and compos'd the Sky,
The Groves were glad, our Bow'rs with Melody
Of Pipe and Voice resounded, every Face,
Just like his own, serene and chearful was.
Musick and pow'rful Eloquence display'd
Their Charms in him, who all our Passions sway'd;
Dispell'd our Cares, and yielded true Delight:
But since he's gone, our Joys have taken flight.
Our Huts are silent, as the gloomy Graves;
And Melancholy fills the rural Caves.
No Shepherds whistling on the Plains we hear.
No Plays and Dances on the Green appear.
With him his dear Companions now have lost
All the Delights their rural Life could boast.
His woful Friends and Parents, plung'd in Grief,
Are wretched now, and void of all Relief.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
The Flocks were sprightly, and the Birds were gay,
The Fields delightful, and compos'd the Sky,
The Groves were glad, our Bow'rs with Melody
Of Pipe and Voice resounded, every Face,
Just like his own, serene and chearful was.
Musick and pow'rful Eloquence display'd
Their Charms in him, who all our Passions sway'd;
Dispell'd our Cares, and yielded true Delight:
But since he's gone, our Joys have taken flight.
Our Huts are silent, as the gloomy Graves;
And Melancholy fills the rural Caves.
No Shepherds whistling on the Plains we hear.
No Plays and Dances on the Green appear.
30
All the Delights their rural Life could boast.
His woful Friends and Parents, plung'd in Grief,
Are wretched now, and void of all Relief.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
Much was he lov'd, as he deserved well:
In him did all the social Virtues dwell.
Sweet was his Temper, winning as his Song,
And moving was the Language of his Tongue.
His Art to all did perfect Nature seem;
Trifles themselves were elegant in him.
He was all Love and Mercy, Truth and Peace;
His Soul was fill'd, and Conduct shin'd with Grace.
No Deed of his procur'd his Neighbour's Hate,
Nor had he any Enemy but Fate.
All that was good in him at once combin'd,
And like a sudden Flash of Lightning shin'd;
But from us early was he snatch'd away,
E'er we had Time his Beauties to survey:
Yet so much of his Qualities we knew,
That we, alas, lament his Absence now.
Deep is our Grief, and cutting is our Wound,
And all our Eyes in floods of Tears are drown'd.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
In him did all the social Virtues dwell.
Sweet was his Temper, winning as his Song,
And moving was the Language of his Tongue.
His Art to all did perfect Nature seem;
Trifles themselves were elegant in him.
He was all Love and Mercy, Truth and Peace;
His Soul was fill'd, and Conduct shin'd with Grace.
No Deed of his procur'd his Neighbour's Hate,
Nor had he any Enemy but Fate.
31
And like a sudden Flash of Lightning shin'd;
But from us early was he snatch'd away,
E'er we had Time his Beauties to survey:
Yet so much of his Qualities we knew,
That we, alas, lament his Absence now.
Deep is our Grief, and cutting is our Wound,
And all our Eyes in floods of Tears are drown'd.
Ah, cruel Death, and cruel Year to me;
And wretched I, who Hansel-Monday see!
But ha! what means yon pure etherial light?
Mine Eyes are dazled, and I lose my Sight.
I hear, methinks, sweet Hymns divinely loud,
The Sound comes downward from yon glorious Cloud.
'Tis our Menalcas with distinguish'd Rays,
'Tis he that offers Songs of heav'nly Praise:
The Sky still brightens as he goes along,
And Angels join in his celestial Song.
Behold! I see Menalcas crown'd.—No more,
Mistaken Mortals, his good Fate deplore.
As into Air the purer Spirits flow,
And are disjoin'd from grosser Dregs below;
So flew his Soul to its congenial Clime,
And soon prevented all the Toils of Time.
Now shall his Grave with rising Flow'rs be drest,
And the green Turf lie gently on his Breast.
No more shall Nature sicken and decay;
The Night shall now give place to chearful Day.
Be glad ye Shepherds, fruitful every Field,
Glide on ye Streams, ye Birds your Music yield,
And Angels, with your silver Wings surround
Menalcas' Urn, and guard the sacred Ground.
Oh, welcome Death, and welcome Year to me;
And happy I, who Hansel-Monday see!
Mine Eyes are dazled, and I lose my Sight.
I hear, methinks, sweet Hymns divinely loud,
The Sound comes downward from yon glorious Cloud.
'Tis our Menalcas with distinguish'd Rays,
'Tis he that offers Songs of heav'nly Praise:
32
And Angels join in his celestial Song.
Behold! I see Menalcas crown'd.—No more,
Mistaken Mortals, his good Fate deplore.
As into Air the purer Spirits flow,
And are disjoin'd from grosser Dregs below;
So flew his Soul to its congenial Clime,
And soon prevented all the Toils of Time.
Now shall his Grave with rising Flow'rs be drest,
And the green Turf lie gently on his Breast.
No more shall Nature sicken and decay;
The Night shall now give place to chearful Day.
Be glad ye Shepherds, fruitful every Field,
Glide on ye Streams, ye Birds your Music yield,
And Angels, with your silver Wings surround
Menalcas' Urn, and guard the sacred Ground.
Oh, welcome Death, and welcome Year to me;
And happy I, who Hansel-Monday see!
| Poems on several grave and important subjects (1719) | |