Reflections on the death of Louis XVI By Ann Yearsley |
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SEQUEL TO REFLECTIONS ON THE DEATH OF LOUIS XVI. |
 | Reflections on the death of Louis XVI |  |
SEQUEL TO REFLECTIONS ON THE DEATH OF LOUIS XVI.
No Act is pure that guiltless Nature wounds,
True to her Working plays the human Heart,
And ev'ry Nerve obeys her secret Touch;
What then is Murder!
True to her Working plays the human Heart,
And ev'ry Nerve obeys her secret Touch;
What then is Murder!
3
That Chamber late, so sacred to thy Woes,
Is now the Dwelling of thy blooming Boy;
His Eyes yet seek thee,—thy unfeeling Foes
Rush on his Sight, and the fond Dream destroy.
Is now the Dwelling of thy blooming Boy;
His Eyes yet seek thee,—thy unfeeling Foes
Rush on his Sight, and the fond Dream destroy.
For oh! the Charts of Mem'ry hold but Dreams,
Of th'eternal past!—e'en thy lov'd Form
Now thro' the Waste of Thought, but faintly gleams,
Like a pale Sun amid th'unwelcome Storm.
Of th'eternal past!—e'en thy lov'd Form
Now thro' the Waste of Thought, but faintly gleams,
Like a pale Sun amid th'unwelcome Storm.
4
LOUIS! thy Murd'rers willingly would shroud
Thy Virtues, and invelope Reason's Ray;
Yet hover on some Glory-skirted Cloud,
And rouze thy lov'd Eliza from Dismay.
Thy Virtues, and invelope Reason's Ray;
Yet hover on some Glory-skirted Cloud,
And rouze thy lov'd Eliza from Dismay.
Ah, cheer her flutt'ring Spirit!—see she falls
A gentle Victim to thy hapless Fate!
Still on her lost lamented Sire she calls,
None hears, save Fury list'ning at her Grate.
A gentle Victim to thy hapless Fate!
Still on her lost lamented Sire she calls,
None hears, save Fury list'ning at her Grate.
Fury! thou Curse! whence art thou? wherefore bred?
To drink the Drops that warm the human Heart?
To burn the Brain, and make thy Vot'ries red,
With Crimson Guilt, at which their Children start!
To drink the Drops that warm the human Heart?
To burn the Brain, and make thy Vot'ries red,
With Crimson Guilt, at which their Children start!
Fiend! can'st thou pity? view Eliza's Cares!
Her beating Veins, the Agonies that rave
Thro' all her tender Frame,—her guiltless Tears,
Her early Beauties sinking to the Grave.
Her beating Veins, the Agonies that rave
Thro' all her tender Frame,—her guiltless Tears,
Her early Beauties sinking to the Grave.
5
No!—I'll not plead with Fury; she was known
Never to glut on human Pangs, or turn
From the black Carnage, Guilt is all her own,
She looks with Joy e'en on her Hireling's Urn:
Never to glut on human Pangs, or turn
From the black Carnage, Guilt is all her own,
She looks with Joy e'en on her Hireling's Urn:
Deceives the Soldier with a ghastly Smile,
Goads on S***n**e, and o'er his gloomy Face
Spreads this sad Motto, mid the Traits of Guile
“His Deed, thro' Ages, Gallia shall disgrace.”
Goads on S***n**e, and o'er his gloomy Face
Spreads this sad Motto, mid the Traits of Guile
“His Deed, thro' Ages, Gallia shall disgrace.”
Ah S***n**e thou must die! and should thy GOD
Deal but such Mercy as thou gav'st thy King:
Wilt thou like LOUIS, mildly meet the Rod,
Trusting to Man thy future Fame to sing?
Deal but such Mercy as thou gav'st thy King:
Wilt thou like LOUIS, mildly meet the Rod,
Trusting to Man thy future Fame to sing?
From thee shall Heav'n-born Mercy frighted fly,
Her Pinions may not catch thy venomn'd Breath:
Lest thy contagious Breathing taint the Sky,
And fill vast Realms with nought but Blood and Death.
Her Pinions may not catch thy venomn'd Breath:
Lest thy contagious Breathing taint the Sky,
And fill vast Realms with nought but Blood and Death.
6
Sure there are better Worlds!—believe me, when
I view the finish'd Drama of poor Life,
I turn unchearful from the Ways of Men,
My thinking Pow'rs feel an unending Strife.
I view the finish'd Drama of poor Life,
I turn unchearful from the Ways of Men,
My thinking Pow'rs feel an unending Strife.
Many shall own with me, that feeble Man
Wasting his Life in Vision, ne'er could spread
In this wide Desart a convincing Plan,
Whereby the studious Spirit may be led.
Wasting his Life in Vision, ne'er could spread
In this wide Desart a convincing Plan,
Whereby the studious Spirit may be led.
Yes, the wild Doings of Mankind would rend
The Mind from her firm Base: Come then ye Pow'rs!
Who o'er my solitary Pillow bend,
And chain unseen Life's variegated Hours.
The Mind from her firm Base: Come then ye Pow'rs!
Who o'er my solitary Pillow bend,
And chain unseen Life's variegated Hours.
Be your's the Work to reconcile the Breast,
To happier Prospects, mid this rueful Scene;
To whisper LOUIS owns eternal Rest;
To whisper Comfort to his mourning Queen.
To happier Prospects, mid this rueful Scene;
To whisper LOUIS owns eternal Rest;
To whisper Comfort to his mourning Queen.
7
Calm this Impatience which so swiftly runs,
Mingled with Horror thro' the pitying Mind;
Teach the brave few of Gallia's moral Sons,
That yet some white-wing'd Hour remains behind.
Mingled with Horror thro' the pitying Mind;
Teach the brave few of Gallia's moral Sons,
That yet some white-wing'd Hour remains behind.
When Peace and Virtue, thro' the vernal Shade,
Shall lead their radiant Images along,
Order fill up the Gulf by Murder made,
And martyr'd LOUIS, hear the sacred Song:
Shall lead their radiant Images along,
Order fill up the Gulf by Murder made,
And martyr'd LOUIS, hear the sacred Song:
That Song, which Virtue and bright Truth inspire
The Sons of social Love, shall oft relate;
While Shades of Pity sweeping o'er the Lyre
Shall touch the Mem'ry with a Monarch's Fate.
The Sons of social Love, shall oft relate;
While Shades of Pity sweeping o'er the Lyre
Shall touch the Mem'ry with a Monarch's Fate.
Daughters of Melody begin the Sound,
To the soft Breeze your trembling Notes shall flow;
Shades of departed Warriours echo round,
And aid the dreadful Symphony of Woe.
To the soft Breeze your trembling Notes shall flow;
Shades of departed Warriours echo round,
And aid the dreadful Symphony of Woe.
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