 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
46
On the Death of Miss Molly Lombe.
Inscrib'd to Mrs. Lombe.
Insatiate Death! could'st thou not glut thy Rage
With hoary Victims bent with Care and Age?
Whose weighty Sorrows with their years encrease,
Invoke thy Pow'r, and beg for a Release:
Oh! why must this fair Child resign her Breath?
Thy blooming Sacrifice, insatiate Death!
In her sweet Form, united Graces strove
To raise our Fondness, and allure our Love.
Her Infant Tongue with broken Accents fraught,
Half-form'd her Words, yet perfect was her Thought.
Sure dawning Reason ne'er appear'd so strong,
Ne'er shone so bright before in one so young.
With hoary Victims bent with Care and Age?
Whose weighty Sorrows with their years encrease,
Invoke thy Pow'r, and beg for a Release:
Oh! why must this fair Child resign her Breath?
Thy blooming Sacrifice, insatiate Death!
In her sweet Form, united Graces strove
To raise our Fondness, and allure our Love.
Her Infant Tongue with broken Accents fraught,
Half-form'd her Words, yet perfect was her Thought.
47
Ne'er shone so bright before in one so young.
Oft has the Mother, with fond Transport, prest
The little Charmer to her tender Breast;
Would round her Neck her happy Arms extend,
And promise to her self a future Friend.
But Fate unkind has all her Wishes crost,
And with the Child the promis'd Friend is lost.
In vain do we expect a distant Joy,
When one short Moment can our Hopes destroy.
For oh! she's gone! her Parents left to mourn
The sweetest Innocent that e'er was born!
The Glass is broke, hardly a Minute run,
And Life is finish'd tho' but new begun.
The little Charmer to her tender Breast;
Would round her Neck her happy Arms extend,
And promise to her self a future Friend.
But Fate unkind has all her Wishes crost,
And with the Child the promis'd Friend is lost.
In vain do we expect a distant Joy,
When one short Moment can our Hopes destroy.
For oh! she's gone! her Parents left to mourn
The sweetest Innocent that e'er was born!
The Glass is broke, hardly a Minute run,
And Life is finish'd tho' but new begun.
48
Methinks, I see the Father's Sorrows flow,
And hear the Mother vent her rising, Woe;
Alas! my Child, my darling Child is dead,
My past Delight and future Pleasure fled.
The rich Endowments of her Youth are gone,
Th' expected Wonders of her Age are flown;
Silent's the Tongue that once could move so sweet,
With Words too wise for Children to repeat.
See! where she lyes, extended, void of Breath,
And all her Beauties swallow'd up in Death:
His icy Hand does all her Sweetness blast,
And to the Ground the faded Blossom's cast:
Ah! why am I preserv'd such Grief to see?
Would I had dy'd, my dearest Babe, for Thee!
And hear the Mother vent her rising, Woe;
Alas! my Child, my darling Child is dead,
My past Delight and future Pleasure fled.
The rich Endowments of her Youth are gone,
Th' expected Wonders of her Age are flown;
Silent's the Tongue that once could move so sweet,
With Words too wise for Children to repeat.
See! where she lyes, extended, void of Breath,
And all her Beauties swallow'd up in Death:
His icy Hand does all her Sweetness blast,
And to the Ground the faded Blossom's cast:
Ah! why am I preserv'd such Grief to see?
Would I had dy'd, my dearest Babe, for Thee!
Thus Nature prompts, thus Fondness will complain,
But Reason dictates in another Strain;
She chides our Tears, and bids us wipe our Eyes,
To view the little Saint in Paradise,
With Glory crown'd, and never ending Joys.
But Reason dictates in another Strain;
49
To view the little Saint in Paradise,
With Glory crown'd, and never ending Joys.
And, Thou bright Nymph, to whom her Birth she owes;
To ease thy Pain, and mitigate thy Woes,
Reflect; to thee the mighty Favour's giv'n
To see thy honour'd Offspring call'd to Heav'n;
Remov'd from hence to a divine Abode,
And made the blest Companion of a God.
That God who still thy Lucia's Life doth spare,
The only Branch of thy maternal Care.
This tender Plant shall flourish in thy Dome,
An Earnest of his Favours yet to come:
Then cease thy Grief, fair Mourner, thou shalt see,
Unnumber'd Blessings are reserv'd for Thee.
To ease thy Pain, and mitigate thy Woes,
Reflect; to thee the mighty Favour's giv'n
To see thy honour'd Offspring call'd to Heav'n;
Remov'd from hence to a divine Abode,
And made the blest Companion of a God.
That God who still thy Lucia's Life doth spare,
The only Branch of thy maternal Care.
This tender Plant shall flourish in thy Dome,
An Earnest of his Favours yet to come:
Then cease thy Grief, fair Mourner, thou shalt see,
Unnumber'd Blessings are reserv'd for Thee.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |