Lucasta Posthume Poems of Richard Lovelace |
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An Elegie,
Sacred to the Memory of my late Honoured Friend, Collonell
Richard Lovelace.
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An Elegie, Sacred to the Memory of my late Honoured Friend, Collonell Richard Lovelace.
Pardon
(blest shade) that I thus crowd to be
'Mong those that sin unto thy memory;
And that I think unvalu'd Reliques spread;
And am the first that pillages the dead:
Since who would be thy mourner as befits,
But an officus sacriledge commits.
How my tears strive to do thee fairer right!
And from the Characters divide my sight.
Untill it (dimmer) a new torrent swells,
And what obscur'd it falls my spectacles.
'Mong those that sin unto thy memory;
And that I think unvalu'd Reliques spread;
And am the first that pillages the dead:
Since who would be thy mourner as befits,
But an officus sacriledge commits.
How my tears strive to do thee fairer right!
And from the Characters divide my sight.
Untill it (dimmer) a new torrent swells,
And what obscur'd it falls my spectacles.
Let the luxurious floods (impulsive) rise
As they would not be wept, but weep the eyes,
The while earth melts, and we above it lye,
But the weak bubbles of Mortalitie;
Until our griefs are drawn up by the Sun,
And that (too) drop the exhalation.
How in thy dust we humble now our pride,
And bring thee a whole people mortifi'd!
For, who expects not death, now thou art gone,
Shows his low folly, not Religion.
As they would not be wept, but weep the eyes,
The while earth melts, and we above it lye,
But the weak bubbles of Mortalitie;
Until our griefs are drawn up by the Sun,
And that (too) drop the exhalation.
How in thy dust we humble now our pride,
And bring thee a whole people mortifi'd!
For, who expects not death, now thou art gone,
Shows his low folly, not Religion.
Can the Poetick heaven still hold on
The golden dance when the first mover's gon?
And the snatch'd fires (while circularly hurl'd)
In their strong Rapture glimmer to the VVorld?
And not stupendiously rather rise,
The tapers unto these Solemnities?
The golden dance when the first mover's gon?
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In their strong Rapture glimmer to the VVorld?
And not stupendiously rather rise,
The tapers unto these Solemnities?
Can the Chords move in tune, when thou dost dye
At once their universal Harmony?
But where Apollo's harp (with murmur) laid?
Had to the stones a melody convey'd;
They by some pebble summon'd would reply
In loud results to every battery;
Thus do we come unto thy marble room,
To eccho from the musick of thy tombe.
At once their universal Harmony?
But where Apollo's harp (with murmur) laid?
Had to the stones a melody convey'd;
They by some pebble summon'd would reply
In loud results to every battery;
Thus do we come unto thy marble room,
To eccho from the musick of thy tombe.
May we dare speak thee dead that wouldest be
In thy Remove only not such as we?
No wonder the advance is from us hid,
Earth could not lift thee higher then it did!
And thou that did'st grow up so ever nigh,
Art but now gone to immortality:
So near to where thou art thou here didst dwell,
The change to thee is less perceptible.
In thy Remove only not such as we?
No wonder the advance is from us hid,
Earth could not lift thee higher then it did!
And thou that did'st grow up so ever nigh,
Art but now gone to immortality:
So near to where thou art thou here didst dwell,
The change to thee is less perceptible.
Thy but unably-comprehending clay,
To what could not be circumscrib'd gave way.
And the more spacious tennant to return,
Crack'd (in the two restrain'd estate) its urn.
That is but left to a successive trust,
The Soul's first buried in his bodies dust.
To what could not be circumscrib'd gave way.
And the more spacious tennant to return,
Crack'd (in the two restrain'd estate) its urn.
That is but left to a successive trust,
The Soul's first buried in his bodies dust.
Thou more thy self now thou art less confin'd
Art not concern'd in what is left behind;
While we sustain the losse that thou are gone
Un-essenc'd in the separation;
And he that weeps thy funerall, in one,
Is piou to the widdow'd Nation.
Art not concern'd in what is left behind;
While we sustain the losse that thou are gone
Un-essenc'd in the separation;
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Is piou to the widdow'd Nation.
And under what (now) Covert must I sing
Secure as if beneath a Cherub's wing:
VVhen thou hast tane thy flight hence and art nigh
In place to some related Hierarchie,
VVhere a bright wreath of glories doth but set
Upon thy head an equal Coronet;
And thou above our humble converse gon,
Canst but be reach'd by contemplation.
Secure as if beneath a Cherub's wing:
VVhen thou hast tane thy flight hence and art nigh
In place to some related Hierarchie,
VVhere a bright wreath of glories doth but set
Upon thy head an equal Coronet;
And thou above our humble converse gon,
Canst but be reach'd by contemplation.
Our Lutes (as thine was touch'd) were vocall by,
And thence receiv'd the soul by sympathy;
That did above the threds inspiring creep,
And with soft whispers broke the am'rous sleep:
VVhich now no more (mov'd with the sweet surprise)
Awake into delicious Rapsodies.
But with their silent Mistres do comply,
And fast in undisturbed slumbers lye.
And thence receiv'd the soul by sympathy;
That did above the threds inspiring creep,
And with soft whispers broke the am'rous sleep:
VVhich now no more (mov'd with the sweet surprise)
Awake into delicious Rapsodies.
But with their silent Mistres do comply,
And fast in undisturbed slumbers lye.
How from thy first ascent thou didst disperse
A blushing warmth throughout the universe,
VVhile near the morus Lucasta's fires did glow,
And to the earth a purer dawn did throw,
VVe ever saw thee in the Roll of fame
Advancing thy already deathless name;
And though it could but be above its fate,
Thou would'st however super-errogate.
A blushing warmth throughout the universe,
VVhile near the morus Lucasta's fires did glow,
And to the earth a purer dawn did throw,
VVe ever saw thee in the Roll of fame
Advancing thy already deathless name;
And though it could but be above its fate,
Thou would'st however super-errogate.
Now as in Venice, when the wanton state,
Before a Spaniard spread their crowded plate;
He made it the sage business of his eye,
To find the Root of the wild treasury.
So learn't from that Exchequer, but the more
To rate his Masters vegetable Ore:
Thus when the Greek and Latin Muse we read
As the but cold inscriptions of the dead;
VVe to advantage then admired thee
VVho did'st live on still with thy Poesie:
And in our proud enjoyments never knew
The end of the unruly wealth that grew:
Before a Spaniard spread their crowded plate;
He made it the sage business of his eye,
To find the Root of the wild treasury.
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To rate his Masters vegetable Ore:
Thus when the Greek and Latin Muse we read
As the but cold inscriptions of the dead;
VVe to advantage then admired thee
VVho did'st live on still with thy Poesie:
And in our proud enjoyments never knew
The end of the unruly wealth that grew:
But now we have the last dear Ingots gain'd,
And the free vein (however rich) is drein'd;
Though what thou hast bequeathed us, no space
Of this worlds span of time shall ere embrace:
But as who sometime, knew not to conclude
Upon the waters strange vicissitude;
Did to the Ocean himself commit,
That it might comprehend what could not it:
So we in our endevours must [illeg.] done,
Be swallowed up within thy Helicon.
And the free vein (however rich) is drein'd;
Though what thou hast bequeathed us, no space
Of this worlds span of time shall ere embrace:
But as who sometime, knew not to conclude
Upon the waters strange vicissitude;
Did to the Ocean himself commit,
That it might comprehend what could not it:
So we in our endevours must [illeg.] done,
Be swallowed up within thy Helicon.
Thou ow art layd up in thy precious cave,
And from the hollow spaces of thy grave,
VVe still may mourn in tune but must alone
Hereafter hope to quaver out a grone;
No more the chirping sonnets with shrill notes
Must henceforth Volley from our treble throtes.
But each sad accent must be humour'd well,
To the deep solemn Organ of thy Cell.
And from the hollow spaces of thy grave,
VVe still may mourn in tune but must alone
Hereafter hope to quaver out a grone;
No more the chirping sonnets with shrill notes
Must henceforth Volley from our treble throtes.
But each sad accent must be humour'd well,
To the deep solemn Organ of thy Cell.
Why should some rude hand carve thy sacred stone,
And there incise a cheap inscription;
When we can shed the tribute of our tears
So long, till the relenting marble wears?
Which shall such order in their cadence keep.
That they a native Epitaph shall weep;
Untill each Letter spelt distinctly lyes,
Cut by the mystick droppings of our eyes.
And there incise a cheap inscription;
When we can shed the tribute of our tears
So long, till the relenting marble wears?
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That they a native Epitaph shall weep;
Untill each Letter spelt distinctly lyes,
Cut by the mystick droppings of our eyes.
El. Revett.
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