Poems on Several Occasions by Samuel Wesley. The Second Edition, with Additions |
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On the DEATH of the Right Hon. Henrietta Countess of Orrery. |
 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
207
On the DEATH of the Right Hon. Henrietta Countess of Orrery.
While the full Breast swells with unutter'd Woe,
While Tears gush genuine, tho' forbid to flow;
While the stol'n Sigh the deep Distress reveals,
The Friend, the Lover, and the Husband feels;
While Orphans scarce their Parent lost deplore,
Whose Age, the less it mourns Her, wants the more:
Late, at her Tomb, a distant Bard appears,
With faithful, fruitless, sympathetick Tears;
Nor asks a Muse's Aid: nor needs there Art
T' express the Anguish of a bleeding Heart.
While Tears gush genuine, tho' forbid to flow;
While the stol'n Sigh the deep Distress reveals,
The Friend, the Lover, and the Husband feels;
While Orphans scarce their Parent lost deplore,
Whose Age, the less it mourns Her, wants the more:
Late, at her Tomb, a distant Bard appears,
With faithful, fruitless, sympathetick Tears;
Nor asks a Muse's Aid: nor needs there Art
T' express the Anguish of a bleeding Heart.
How soon the mightiest earthly Blessings pass!
She was—What now avails us that She was?
Mature for Heav'n, e'er Life had reach'd its Noon;
For Earth, at Sev'nty, She had dy'd too soon.
She Gospel Truth, with steady Faith, believ'd,
And liv'd the glorious Doctrine She receiv'd:
Her pious Breast glow'd with Devotion's Fire,
Whose Flames, ‘the more they tremble, mount the higher.’
Spotless, as Infant Souls, her Life She spent,
Yet humble, as the prostrate Penitent.
Not puff'd by Rank, descended or ally'd,
She seem'd to wonder what was meant by Pride;
Which, boasting Blood, degrades the noblest Veins;
Which, boasting Virtue, ev'ry Virtue stains.
Here Honour pure, with tend'rest Softness join'd,
Softness, transcendent in the softest Kind;
Ill-Fortune found its keenest Rage represt;
The Darts might reach, but scarcely wound her Breast.
So Balls in yielding Wool fall gently down,
That tear resistless through a Rock of Stone.
Sore was the Storm! Let Mem'ry ne'er report
How long the Tempest, and the Calm how short!
When Fever's Fire rag'd in her Consort's Blood,
And drove to dang'rous Height the vital Flood,
Lo! at his Side her constant Duty lies,
And Love, still fearful, watch'd with sleepless Eyes
Almost o'erpower'd, 'till Nature, weary grown,
Had, for a dearer Safety, lost her own.
She was—What now avails us that She was?
Mature for Heav'n, e'er Life had reach'd its Noon;
For Earth, at Sev'nty, She had dy'd too soon.
She Gospel Truth, with steady Faith, believ'd,
And liv'd the glorious Doctrine She receiv'd:
Her pious Breast glow'd with Devotion's Fire,
Whose Flames, ‘the more they tremble, mount the higher.’
Spotless, as Infant Souls, her Life She spent,
Yet humble, as the prostrate Penitent.
Not puff'd by Rank, descended or ally'd,
She seem'd to wonder what was meant by Pride;
Which, boasting Blood, degrades the noblest Veins;
Which, boasting Virtue, ev'ry Virtue stains.
Here Honour pure, with tend'rest Softness join'd,
Softness, transcendent in the softest Kind;
Ill-Fortune found its keenest Rage represt;
The Darts might reach, but scarcely wound her Breast.
208
That tear resistless through a Rock of Stone.
Sore was the Storm! Let Mem'ry ne'er report
How long the Tempest, and the Calm how short!
When Fever's Fire rag'd in her Consort's Blood,
And drove to dang'rous Height the vital Flood,
Lo! at his Side her constant Duty lies,
And Love, still fearful, watch'd with sleepless Eyes
Almost o'erpower'd, 'till Nature, weary grown,
Had, for a dearer Safety, lost her own.
Hail, wedded Love! by gracious God design'd
At once the Source and Glory of Mankind!
'Tis this, can Toil and Grief and Pain assuage,
Secure our Youth, and dignify our Age;
'Tis this, fair Fame and guiltless Pleasure brings,
And shakes rich Plenty from its brooding Wings;
Gilds Duty's roughest Paths with Friendship's Ray,
And strews with Roses sweet the narrow Way.
Not so the Harlot—if it lawful be
To mention Vice, when praising Chastity—
Not so the Harlot plights her venal Vow,
With Heart obdurate, and Corinthian Brow,
She fawns unfriendly, practis'd to beguile,
Stings while she weeps, and murders in a Smile.
Fame, Peace, and Virtue, she at once destroys,
And damns, most surely, whom she most enjoys.
At once the Source and Glory of Mankind!
'Tis this, can Toil and Grief and Pain assuage,
Secure our Youth, and dignify our Age;
'Tis this, fair Fame and guiltless Pleasure brings,
And shakes rich Plenty from its brooding Wings;
Gilds Duty's roughest Paths with Friendship's Ray,
And strews with Roses sweet the narrow Way.
Not so the Harlot—if it lawful be
To mention Vice, when praising Chastity—
Not so the Harlot plights her venal Vow,
With Heart obdurate, and Corinthian Brow,
She fawns unfriendly, practis'd to beguile,
Stings while she weeps, and murders in a Smile.
Fame, Peace, and Virtue, she at once destroys,
And damns, most surely, whom she most enjoys.
Too oft the Rich their Alms refuse to show'r,
Or put off Mercy to their latest Hour:
Too oft the Great Affliction scorn to know;
Strangers to half their Species here below.
But Orrery with penetrating Ray,
Through darkest Distance found Her willing Way:
Where-e'er the Pris'ner pin'd, with fruitless Moan,
To Hearts far harder than the circling Stone;
Where-e'er the Widow wept in vain for Bread,
The Merchant bankrupt, or the Sailor dead;
Where-e'er the Orphan, friendless Wretch, complain'd,
Who feels the Woes he scarce can understand;
Where-e'er the Sick were destin'd to sustain
Hunger and Cold, and Solitude and Pain;
Where-e'er the Poor groan'd at th' Oppressor's Feet,
Bore down and trampled by the lawless Great;
With gen'rous Charity behold Her fly,
Each Ill to soften, and each Want supply:
Not meanest Objects 'scap'd her daily Care,
She saw, and rev'renc'd, a Redeemer there.
So fairest Cherubs left their heav'nly State,
When a loath'd Lazar languish'd at the Gate;
T' attend his Death they stoop'd with ready Wings,
Courtiers and Fav'rites to the King of Kings.
Or put off Mercy to their latest Hour:
Too oft the Great Affliction scorn to know;
Strangers to half their Species here below.
209
Through darkest Distance found Her willing Way:
Where-e'er the Pris'ner pin'd, with fruitless Moan,
To Hearts far harder than the circling Stone;
Where-e'er the Widow wept in vain for Bread,
The Merchant bankrupt, or the Sailor dead;
Where-e'er the Orphan, friendless Wretch, complain'd,
Who feels the Woes he scarce can understand;
Where-e'er the Sick were destin'd to sustain
Hunger and Cold, and Solitude and Pain;
Where-e'er the Poor groan'd at th' Oppressor's Feet,
Bore down and trampled by the lawless Great;
With gen'rous Charity behold Her fly,
Each Ill to soften, and each Want supply:
Not meanest Objects 'scap'd her daily Care,
She saw, and rev'renc'd, a Redeemer there.
So fairest Cherubs left their heav'nly State,
When a loath'd Lazar languish'd at the Gate;
T' attend his Death they stoop'd with ready Wings,
Courtiers and Fav'rites to the King of Kings.
When God's high Summons bade her Virtue try
That one great Business of Mankind, to die,
No conscious Doubt her parting Soul dismays,
No Guilt of idle or of ill-spent Days:
There the still Calm of Innocence appears,
And glorious Hope th' expiring Christian cheers,
Welcomes the Hour that ends Her worldly Toil,
And greets the King of Terrors with a Smile.
Love's stronger Flame, when vital Heat retir'd,
A while, with Warmth, her dying Breast inspir'd:
An Husband, Parent, Child, her Soul detains,
And stops the Chillness in her ebbing Veins;
To these, ev'n then, some pious Thoughts were giv'n;
These stay'd th' ascending Spirit from its Heav'n.
O! who shall now the Orphan's Loss repair?
Whose Arm shall clasp them with a Mother's Care?
Who now shall form their Minds with heav'nly Truth,
And guide the heedless Violence of Youth;
Warn them to shun the World's delusive Snares;
Teach by her Life, and guard them by her Pray'rs?
That one great Business of Mankind, to die,
No conscious Doubt her parting Soul dismays,
No Guilt of idle or of ill-spent Days:
There the still Calm of Innocence appears,
And glorious Hope th' expiring Christian cheers,
Welcomes the Hour that ends Her worldly Toil,
And greets the King of Terrors with a Smile.
Love's stronger Flame, when vital Heat retir'd,
A while, with Warmth, her dying Breast inspir'd:
210
And stops the Chillness in her ebbing Veins;
To these, ev'n then, some pious Thoughts were giv'n;
These stay'd th' ascending Spirit from its Heav'n.
O! who shall now the Orphan's Loss repair?
Whose Arm shall clasp them with a Mother's Care?
Who now shall form their Minds with heav'nly Truth,
And guide the heedless Violence of Youth;
Warn them to shun the World's delusive Snares;
Teach by her Life, and guard them by her Pray'rs?
Forgive me, Boyle, if deeply I bemoan
The Lot, that soon, too soon, may prove my own!
To part!—O bitter Fruit of Sin—To part!
Pain, beyond Language, to a faithful Heart!
No more to meet! the Bliss for ever o'er!
What Love can bear the Thought—To meet no more!
Yes, Love Divine your Soul may yet sustain,
And lead, in spite of Death, to meet again;
May bid You both, your Grief for ever o'er,
In endless Glory meet—to part no more.
The Lot, that soon, too soon, may prove my own!
To part!—O bitter Fruit of Sin—To part!
Pain, beyond Language, to a faithful Heart!
No more to meet! the Bliss for ever o'er!
What Love can bear the Thought—To meet no more!
Yes, Love Divine your Soul may yet sustain,
And lead, in spite of Death, to meet again;
May bid You both, your Grief for ever o'er,
In endless Glory meet—to part no more.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |