Matthew Prior. Dialogues of the Dead and Other Works in Prose and Verse. The Text Edited by A. R. Waller |
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Lamentation for
DORINDA. |
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 | Matthew Prior. Dialogues of the Dead and Other Works |  |
139
Lamentation for DORINDA.
Farewel ye shady walks, and fountains,
Sinking vallies, rising mountains:
Farewel ye crystal streams, that pass
Thro' fragrant meads of verdant grass:
Farewel ye flowers, sweet and fair,
That us'd to grace Dorinda's hair:
Farewel ye woods, who us'd to shade
The pressing youth, and yielding maid:
Farewel ye birds, whose morning song
Oft made us know we slept too long:
Farewel dear bed, so often prest,
So often above others blest,
With the kind weight of all her charms,
When panting, dying, in my arms.
Dorinda's gone, gone far away,
She's gone, and Strephon cannot stay:
By sympathetic ties I find
That to Her sphere I am confin'd;
My motions still on Her must wait,
And what She wills to me is fate.
Sinking vallies, rising mountains:
Farewel ye crystal streams, that pass
Thro' fragrant meads of verdant grass:
Farewel ye flowers, sweet and fair,
That us'd to grace Dorinda's hair:
Farewel ye woods, who us'd to shade
The pressing youth, and yielding maid:
Farewel ye birds, whose morning song
Oft made us know we slept too long:
Farewel dear bed, so often prest,
So often above others blest,
With the kind weight of all her charms,
When panting, dying, in my arms.
Dorinda's gone, gone far away,
She's gone, and Strephon cannot stay:
By sympathetic ties I find
That to Her sphere I am confin'd;
My motions still on Her must wait,
And what She wills to me is fate.
She's gone, O! hear it all ye bowers,
Ye walks, ye fountains, trees, and flowers,
For whom you made your earliest show,
For whom you took a pride to grow.
She's gone, O! hear ye nightingales,
Ye mountains ring it to the vales,
And eccho to the country round,
The mournful, dismal, killing sound:
Dorinda's gone, and Strephon goes,
To find with Her his lost repose.
Ye walks, ye fountains, trees, and flowers,
For whom you made your earliest show,
For whom you took a pride to grow.
She's gone, O! hear ye nightingales,
Ye mountains ring it to the vales,
And eccho to the country round,
The mournful, dismal, killing sound:
Dorinda's gone, and Strephon goes,
To find with Her his lost repose.
But ere I go, O! let me see,
That all things mourn Her loss like me:
Play, play, no more ye spouting fountains,
Rise ye vallies, sink ye mountains;
Ye walks, in moss, neglected lie,
Ye birds, be mute; ye streams, be dry.
Fade, fade, ye flowers, and let the rose
No more it's blushing buds disclose:
Ye spreading beach, and taper fir,
Languish away in mourning Her;
And never let your friendly shade,
The stealth of other Lovers aid.
And thou, O! dear, delightful bed,
The altar where Her maidenhead,
With burning cheeks, and down cast eyes,
With panting breasts, and kind replies,
And other due solemnity,
Was offer'd up to love and me.
Hereafter suffer no abuse,
Since consecrated to our use,
As thou art sacred, don't profane
Thy self with any vulgar stain,
But to thy pride be still display'd,
The print her lovely limbs have made:
See, in a moment, all is chang'd,
The flowers shrunk up, the trees disrang'd,
And that which wore so sweet a face,
Become a horrid, desart place.
Nature Her influence withdraws,
Th' effect must follow still the cause,
And where Dorinda will reside,
Nature must there all gay provide.
Decking that happy spot of earth,
Like Eden's-Garden at it's birth,
To please Her matchless, darling Maid,
The wonder of her Forming-Trade;
Excelling All who e'er Excell'd,
And as we ne'er the like beheld,
So neither is, nor e'er can be,
Her Parallel, or Second She.
That all things mourn Her loss like me:
140
Rise ye vallies, sink ye mountains;
Ye walks, in moss, neglected lie,
Ye birds, be mute; ye streams, be dry.
Fade, fade, ye flowers, and let the rose
No more it's blushing buds disclose:
Ye spreading beach, and taper fir,
Languish away in mourning Her;
And never let your friendly shade,
The stealth of other Lovers aid.
And thou, O! dear, delightful bed,
The altar where Her maidenhead,
With burning cheeks, and down cast eyes,
With panting breasts, and kind replies,
And other due solemnity,
Was offer'd up to love and me.
Hereafter suffer no abuse,
Since consecrated to our use,
As thou art sacred, don't profane
Thy self with any vulgar stain,
But to thy pride be still display'd,
The print her lovely limbs have made:
See, in a moment, all is chang'd,
The flowers shrunk up, the trees disrang'd,
And that which wore so sweet a face,
Become a horrid, desart place.
Nature Her influence withdraws,
Th' effect must follow still the cause,
And where Dorinda will reside,
Nature must there all gay provide.
Decking that happy spot of earth,
Like Eden's-Garden at it's birth,
To please Her matchless, darling Maid,
The wonder of her Forming-Trade;
Excelling All who e'er Excell'd,
And as we ne'er the like beheld,
So neither is, nor e'er can be,
Her Parallel, or Second She.
| Matthew Prior. Dialogues of the Dead and Other Works | |