University of Virginia Library

Forbear! is Tenderness an Elegy?
Ah, what will sadness do with such a theme?
Say, is not love our happiness supreme?
Say, is it not the soul of Poesy?
Then bid the gentle Muse
A fair title choose;
Bid her invoke the dear Idalian boy;
Bid her invoke the tuneful Nine,
And let all sing this source of joy,
Let all confess the subject is divine!
Avaunt, the sombrous lay,
'Tis jubilee to day;
And all the Aonian maids should sing
The triumph (not the tear) till Aganippe ring:
Away! away! it is not so;
Cease! cease! that jarring song of woe!
To sprightlier measures suit the lyre,
And paint the bliss of innocent desire;
Or if the Muse must needs complain,
Soft let her touch the tender strain;
O, bid her breathe the music of the lute,
Or whispering warble of the melting flute;
In thrilling notes of lovely anguish,
Let every tone be taught to languish;
Then change, and change again, till Echo, in reply,
Leap from her chrystal cave to join the harmony.
So ran the rhapsody of fire,
Soon as young Marius saw the plaintive lyre;
Fain would he have in ev'ry line
The rose to blush, the lilly shine;
Fain would he mix the summer ray
With all the breathing balms of May;
Hebe's rich bloom, with Venus' eye,
Praise every tear, and boast of every sigh.
And stop (said he) the jarring string,
Again I bid ye strew the flowers of spring;
From themes of extasy,
Far, far, be Elegy!
Then did he vaunt the passion of his heart,
And triumph'd in the wound, and gloried in the smart.
Lead on to Mira's bower, exclaim'd the youth,
For Marius there she twines the tender flower;
First hear and reverence the voice of truth,
I said—Then thus employ'd th' instructive hour:
Is Love indeed, the drop which Heav'n
In mercy to mankind has giv'n?
Is it indeed, that cordial pow'r,
Our little being's fairest flow'r?
Which doth for ev'ry ill a recompense impart?
O stripling, ere you quite decide,
The passion turn on every side;
Count well your losses, count your gains,
Deduct your pleasures from your pains.
Haply this drop will then appear
Form'd of an agonizing tear;
Haply, the drops of bitterest woe
Do from this vaunted source more copiously flow!
Ah, see the subject meet of solemn Elegy;
If joy smile there, say doth not sorrow blend
Her pointed poisons, and her searching sigh?
Behold, fond youth, the family of pain,
All mingle mischief in fair Venus' train;
First Doubt displays her troubled air,
And near her glooms the fiend Despair:
Suspicion points th' ambiguous leer,
And Grief presents her wounding tear;
Fell Jealousy, accursed power!
Comes forward at the midnight hour,
Robs all he doats upon of breath,
Then calls on Suicide for Death!
Pale Penury is also there,
And wan Uncertainty and Care!
And ev'n the nuptial couch appears.
Oft steep'd in Sorrow's baneful tears:
Absence (the death of lovers) too,
With Disappointment, is in view;
And Expectation, lively power!
Frets often at the passing hour;
Possession's self your raptures chide,
And seats Indifference near your bride;
The warmest vows, the balmiest kiss,
Oft end, alas, my friend, in this,
Chill the chang'd lip, which glow'd before,
And bid the pulses throb no more.
The household demons too, I see,
Fit subjects for an Elegy.
For these, the world you need not roam,
Observe that little world at home;
Vexations on vexations rise,
And joy with grief decides the prize.
The fire-side frailties all are there,
In form of vapour, freak, and air;
The look of spleen, the word of strife,
The pets, the pouts, of married life;
The quick retort, the tart reply,
The saucy toss, the sulky sigh,
The female fit, the mannish pride,
The sullens shown on either side;
Th' obedient faint, the hectic dear,
Hysteric catch, convenient tear;
The wilful whine, the mutual wishes,
The petty wrangle about dishes;
The bounce which tells a quarrel nigh,
The bitten lip, th' indignant eye,
The silly flaunt, the cutting leer,
The solid slap, the sorer sneer;
The hard-slap'd door, which marks the last disdain,
Till all chez vous doth ring with rage again.
All these and many a worse distress,
With sickness, folly, wretchedness;
May grow, my friend, ev'n in your Mira's bower,
So ponder—ere you crop the attracting flower;
Ponder it well, and will then deny,
That Love, fond Love, affords full scope for Elegy?
The youth impatient heard
And listen'd to each word,
Then spake:—All this, perchance, is true,
But where's th' exceptions of the chosen few?
Dost thou involve mankind alike,
In this misfortune and dislike?
Shame on thy lyre, and on its strain,
Break, prithee break, the chords in twain!
Or learn a truer touch to know,
And do not jumble matters so;
Why, knowst thou not discordant fool,
I'm an exception to the rule?
Mira, who now expects me yonder,
Is not more mine, than Nature's wonder;
The Sun looks jealous from his throne,
And sees his lustrous eye outshone.
Doubt, she can never, for her truth
Shall bless and decorate our youth;
Suspicion she shall never know,
My own fair faith informs me so;
Secure from Jealousy's alarms,
I'll lock her ever in my arms;
And Penury she need not fear,
Behold what hands for toil are here!
Possession shall but more endear,
And I will kiss off every tear;
The warmest vows I will repeat,
Till all the pulses stronger beat;
And as for absence,—lo the sun
Declines—Adieu, dear friend, I'm gone.
Mutter, still mutter on (cold reasoner) whilst I
Hasten to Mira's bower, and laugh at Elegy.

The moral of the verse is plain,
At once the lover owns and welcomes pain;
The dear bewitching woe, we all confess,
And feel a charm in our distress;
The Petrachs and the Lauras all complain,
But love prompts every sigh, and bliss directs the strain.
The solemn Seer, and matron Muse, may school,
Each lover's an exception to the rule;
Each Marius has a Mira in the bower,
Where Hymen lights his torch, and Venus shows her power.