The miscellaneous works (1739)

In what soft language shall my thoughts get free,
My dear Alexis, when I talk of thee?
Ye muses, graces, all ye gentle train
Of weeping loves, assist the pensive strain!
But why should I implore your moving art?
'Tis but to speak the dictates of my heart;
And all that knew the charming youth will join
Their friendly sighs, and pious tears to mine:
For all that knew his merit must confess,
In grief, for him, there can be no excess.

His soul was form'd to act each glorious part
Of life, unstain'd with vanity, or art.
No thought within his gen'rous mind had birth,
But what he might have own'd to heav'n and earth.
Practis'd by him, each virtue grew more bright,
And shone with more than its own native light.
Whatever noble warmth could recommend
The just, the active, and the constant friend,
Was all his own—but, oh! a dearer name,
And softer ties my endless sorrow claim;
Lost in despair, distracted, and forlorn,
The lover I, and tender husband mourn.
Whate'er to such superior worth was due,
Whate'er excess the fondest passion knew,
I felt for thee, dear youth; my joy, my care,
My pray'rs themselves were thine, and only where
Thou wast concern'd, my virtue was sincere.

113

Whene'er I begg'd for blessings on thy head,
Nothing was cold, or formal, that I said;
My warmest vows to heav'n were made for thee,
And love still mingled with my piety.

O thou wast all my glory, all my pride!
Thro' life's uncertain paths, my constant guide:
Regardless of the world, to gain thy praise,
Was all that could my just ambition raise.

Why has my heart this fond engagement known?
Or why has heav'n dissolv'd the tie so soon?
Why was the charming youth so form'd to move?
Or why was all my soul so turn'd for love?
But virtue here a vain defence had made,
Where so much worth and eloquence could plead.
For he could talk—'twas ecstasy to hear,
'Twas joy, 'twas harmony to ev'ry ear!
Eternal music dwelt upon his tongue,
Soft and transporting as the muses song:
List'ning to him, my cares were charm'd to rest,
And love, and silent rapture fill'd my breast;
Unheeded the gay moments took their flight,
And time was only measur'd by delight.
I hear the lov'd the melting accents still,
And still the kind, the tender transport feel:
Again I see the sprightly passions rise,
And life and pleasure sparkle in his eyes.
My fancy paints him now with ev'ry grace,
But, ah! the dear delusion mocks my fond embrace;
The smiling vision takes its hasty flight,
And scenes of horror swim before my sight.

114

Grief, and despair, in all their terrors rise,
A dying lover pale and gasping lies.
Each dismal circumstance appears in view,
The fatal object is for ever new.
His anguish, with the quickest sense I feel,
And hear this sad, this moving language still.

My dearest wife! my last, my fondest care!
Sure heav'n for thee will hear a dying pray'r:
Be thou the charge of sacred providence,
When I am gone, be that thy kind defence;
Ten thousand smiling blessings crown thy head,
When I am cold, and number'd with the dead.
Think on thy vows, be to my mem'ry just,
My future fame and honour are thy trust.
From all engagements here I now am free,
But that which keeps my ling'ring soul with thee.
How much I love, thy bleeding heart can tell,
Which does, like mine, the pangs of parting feel:
But haste to meet me on those happy plains,
Where mighty love in endless triumph reigns.

He ceas'd; then gently yielded up his breath,
And fell a blooming sacrifice to death:
But, oh! what words, what numbers can express,
What thought conceive the height of my distress?
Why did they tear me from thy breathless clay?
I should have staid, and wept my life away.
Yet, gentle shade, whether thou now dost rove
Thro' some blest vale, or ever-verdant grove;
One moment listen to my grief, and take
The softest vows that constant love can make.

115

For thee all thoughts of pleasure I forego,
For thee my tears shall never cease to flow;
For thee at once I from the world retire,
To feed, in silent shades, a hopeless fire.
My bosom all thy image shall retain,
The full impression there shall still remain.
As thou hast taught my constant heart to prove
The noblest height and elegance of love;
That sacred passion I to thee confine,
My spotless faith shall be for ever thine.

University of Virginia Library

On the death of Mr. Thomas Rowe.