An Elegy on Marie Antoinette of Austria, Ci-Devant Queen of France: with a poem on the last interview between The King of Poland and Loraski. Written by Ann Yearsley |
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An Elegy on Marie Antoinette, of Austria, Ci-Devant Queen of France. |
 | An Elegy on Marie Antoinette |  |
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An Elegy on Marie Antoinette, of Austria, Ci-Devant Queen of France.
How may I stay pale Murder's ruthless Hand!
How plead with Men, who Mercy most despise!
Time eager shakes for them his ebbing Sand,
Soon shall their Spirits rove thro' troubled Skies.
How plead with Men, who Mercy most despise!
Time eager shakes for them his ebbing Sand,
Soon shall their Spirits rove thro' troubled Skies.
Yet Time shall linger on this tragic Tale,
As down the Steeps of Fate he drives the Hours;
His Sighs be heard along the shadowy Vale,
And Pity follow, wrapt in pearly Show'rs.
As down the Steeps of Fate he drives the Hours;
His Sighs be heard along the shadowy Vale,
And Pity follow, wrapt in pearly Show'rs.
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Haste, hoary Sire! seek in some wild afar,
Where Angel-Melody conceals her Lyre,
Broke are its Chords by Iron-footed War,
Rebellion growls, when Nature should inspire.
Where Angel-Melody conceals her Lyre,
Broke are its Chords by Iron-footed War,
Rebellion growls, when Nature should inspire.
Bow down, ye Woods! Stream lend thy softest Song,
Sea, roll thou gently to thy roughest Shore!
Wind, o'er the Tow'rs of France the Strain prolong,
And drown in Notes of Woe, Rebellion's Roar.
Sea, roll thou gently to thy roughest Shore!
Wind, o'er the Tow'rs of France the Strain prolong,
And drown in Notes of Woe, Rebellion's Roar.
Rise ev'ry Grace that gilds a pitying world!
Lo! Melody leans on the Wing of Time:
Murder is musing!....Ocean sleeps uncurl'd,
While sacred Sorrow fills the farthest Clime.
Lo! Melody leans on the Wing of Time:
Murder is musing!....Ocean sleeps uncurl'd,
While sacred Sorrow fills the farthest Clime.
Marie! the beauteous Marie yields to Woe,
Deep in yon Cell reclines the Mourner's Head,
Her Charms are with'ring, while her Troubles grow,
Her Fancy wanders round her Marble Bed.
Deep in yon Cell reclines the Mourner's Head,
Her Charms are with'ring, while her Troubles grow,
Her Fancy wanders round her Marble Bed.
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The Moon looks pensive to her sleepless Eye,
Damps shine unnotic'd on her Prison Wall,
Her gentle Spirit fain would pass the Sky,
She fancies yet her murder'd Lord may call.
Damps shine unnotic'd on her Prison Wall,
Her gentle Spirit fain would pass the Sky,
She fancies yet her murder'd Lord may call.
O never, never! Marie, may thy Lord
Look back on this injurious World!....No More
Love, Peace or Comfort, thee their Joys afford,
Yet, all shall greet thee on a brighter Shore.
Look back on this injurious World!....No More
Love, Peace or Comfort, thee their Joys afford,
Yet, all shall greet thee on a brighter Shore.
Being shall never an Extinction know,
Tho' gloomy Guilt may “wish eternal Sleep,”
O'er boundless Region's MIND must ever go,
While Nature o'er our broken Forms may weep.
Tho' gloomy Guilt may “wish eternal Sleep,”
O'er boundless Region's MIND must ever go,
While Nature o'er our broken Forms may weep.
Much injur'd Beauty! Envy soils thy Fame,
(The motley-Million poisons more than thine,)
Yet Truth shall burst! in awful Glory flame,
And all shall vanish, but her spotless Line.
(The motley-Million poisons more than thine,)
Yet Truth shall burst! in awful Glory flame,
And all shall vanish, but her spotless Line.
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Thy Record Truth! shall on her Tomb be hung!
Gallia shall read it with a tearful Eye;
Envy in Silence drop her blister'd Tongue,
While gen'rous Virtue lifts thy Tablet high.
Gallia shall read it with a tearful Eye;
Envy in Silence drop her blister'd Tongue,
While gen'rous Virtue lifts thy Tablet high.
Thus Melody from Gallia wand'ring, fill'd
The Valley, Grove, and Woodland, with her Strain,
The list'ning Shepherd, in her Rule unskill'd,
Felt all her Langours,....but he felt in Vain!
The Valley, Grove, and Woodland, with her Strain,
The list'ning Shepherd, in her Rule unskill'd,
Felt all her Langours,....but he felt in Vain!
On burnish'd Spears now Phœbus strikes his Beam,
The Tone of gentle Languishment recedes;
Horror advances, all her Spectres scream,
This Moment Marie's Woe-fraught Bosom bleeds.
The Tone of gentle Languishment recedes;
Horror advances, all her Spectres scream,
This Moment Marie's Woe-fraught Bosom bleeds.
O'er her pale Beauties, Hist'ry stands amaz'd,
The Pencil trembles as she draws her Lines,
While Marie, on whom Crowds with Pleasure gaz'd,
On the cold Bosom of her Lord reclines.
The Pencil trembles as she draws her Lines,
While Marie, on whom Crowds with Pleasure gaz'd,
On the cold Bosom of her Lord reclines.
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Turn Death to thy Dominion!....rise ye Pair,
The Darkness of the Grave ill suits the Soul;
Together soar beyond the Realms of Air
And, lost in grateful Wonder, view THE WHOLE.
The Darkness of the Grave ill suits the Soul;
Together soar beyond the Realms of Air
And, lost in grateful Wonder, view THE WHOLE.
There, will you see the willing Ages run,
With all their Atoms in an endless Round;
Obedient to the Father of the Sun,
Whose Breathing joins them thro' the vast profound.
With all their Atoms in an endless Round;
Obedient to the Father of the Sun,
Whose Breathing joins them thro' the vast profound.
There, will you own that Nature never Wars
With her great MASTER, tho' her Forms may change,
Tho' Treason, Murder, all the Soul abhors,
Must, in the universal Mixture, range
On Earth, if soft Reflection may avail,
To soothe the gentle Mind at this sad Scene,
Oft to yon Moon, she'll breathe your hapless Tale,
And o'er your slighted Grave be ever seen.
With her great MASTER, tho' her Forms may change,
Tho' Treason, Murder, all the Soul abhors,
Must, in the universal Mixture, range
On Earth, if soft Reflection may avail,
To soothe the gentle Mind at this sad Scene,
Oft to yon Moon, she'll breathe your hapless Tale,
And o'er your slighted Grave be ever seen.
| An Elegy on Marie Antoinette | |