The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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ELEGY.
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ELEGY.
To a Friend, describing the Horrors of his Situation after the death of Julia.
Friend of my bosom, all my joys are o'er—
Peace, gentle Peace, alas! no longer mine:
Since Julia, once my idol, lives no more,
To gloom and solitude I steal to pine.
Peace, gentle Peace, alas! no longer mine:
Since Julia, once my idol, lives no more,
To gloom and solitude I steal to pine.
61
There, as I sit upon the sod, and sigh,
I hear reproof from every happy dove;
In Fancy's ear they cooing seem to cry,
‘We know not of inconstancy in love.’
I hear reproof from every happy dove;
In Fancy's ear they cooing seem to cry,
‘We know not of inconstancy in love.’
Lo, darkness, tenfold darkness, suits my soul!
The haunts of spectres let me court to weep;
The beach where black with fate the billows roll,
And tempests raise the thunders of the deep.
The haunts of spectres let me court to weep;
The beach where black with fate the billows roll,
And tempests raise the thunders of the deep.
Thou tellest me that Time a balm will bring,
Sooth ev'ry sigh, and calm my keenest woes:
Go, seek in Winter's wild the blooms of Spring;
Go, whisper to the restless surge, repose!
Sooth ev'ry sigh, and calm my keenest woes:
Go, seek in Winter's wild the blooms of Spring;
Go, whisper to the restless surge, repose!
Love, injur'd Love, a sure revenge can boast;
Love hears my groan, and mocks my soul's despair:
‘Bleed, victim, bleed,’ he cries—‘thy all is lost;
Such be their portion who deceive the fair!’
Love hears my groan, and mocks my soul's despair:
‘Bleed, victim, bleed,’ he cries—‘thy all is lost;
Such be their portion who deceive the fair!’
I thought that Grandeur with a liberal hand
Could strew my path of life with sweetest flow'rs;
That Wealth omnipotent could Time command,
And from his pinions pluck his whitest hours.
Could strew my path of life with sweetest flow'rs;
That Wealth omnipotent could Time command,
And from his pinions pluck his whitest hours.
Constant in Mem'ry's eye her form appears—
Where'er I tread, a source of woe I find;
In ev'ry rill methinks I see her tears,
And hear her sigh in ev'ry passing wind.
Where'er I tread, a source of woe I find;
In ev'ry rill methinks I see her tears,
And hear her sigh in ev'ry passing wind.
What now remains, my horrors to beguile?
Away, ye dreams of grandeur, wealth, away!
Who cannot give my cheek one little smile,
Nor bribe a single moment to be gay.
Away, ye dreams of grandeur, wealth, away!
Who cannot give my cheek one little smile,
Nor bribe a single moment to be gay.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |