Olor Iscanus A Collection of some Select Poems, and Translations, Formerly written by Mr. Henry Vaughan Silurist. Published by a Friend |
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| An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his late Majestie. |
 | Olor Iscanus |  |
An Epitaph upon the Lady Elizabeth, Second Daughter to his late Majestie.
Youth, Beauty, Vertue, Innocence
Heav'ns royall, and select Expence,
With Virgin-tears, and sighs divine,
Sit here the Genii of this shrine,
Where now (thy fair soule wing'd away,)
They guard the Casket where she lay.
Heav'ns royall, and select Expence,
With Virgin-tears, and sighs divine,
Sit here the Genii of this shrine,
Where now (thy fair soule wing'd away,)
They guard the Casket where she lay.
Thou hadst, e'r thou the light couldst see,
Sorrowes layd up, and stor'd for thee,
Thou suck'dst in woes, and the brests lent
Their Milk to thee, but to lament;
Thy portion here was griefe, thy years
Distilld no other rain, but tears,
Tears without noise, but (understood)
As lowd, and shrill as any bloud;
Thou seem'st a Rose bud born in Snow,
A flowre of purpose sprung to bow
To headless tempests, and the rage
Of an Incensed, stormie Age,
Others, e're their afflictions grow,
Are tim'd, and season'd for the blow,
But thine, as Rhumes the tend'rest part,
Fell on a young and harmless heart.
And yet as Balm-trees gently spend
Their tears for those, that doe them rend,
So mild and pious thou wert seen,
Though full of Suffrings, free from spleen,
Thou didst nor murmure, nor revile,
But drank'st thy wormwood with a smile.
Sorrowes layd up, and stor'd for thee,
Thou suck'dst in woes, and the brests lent
Their Milk to thee, but to lament;
Thy portion here was griefe, thy years
Distilld no other rain, but tears,
Tears without noise, but (understood)
As lowd, and shrill as any bloud;
Thou seem'st a Rose bud born in Snow,
A flowre of purpose sprung to bow
To headless tempests, and the rage
Of an Incensed, stormie Age,
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Are tim'd, and season'd for the blow,
But thine, as Rhumes the tend'rest part,
Fell on a young and harmless heart.
And yet as Balm-trees gently spend
Their tears for those, that doe them rend,
So mild and pious thou wert seen,
Though full of Suffrings, free from spleen,
Thou didst nor murmure, nor revile,
But drank'st thy wormwood with a smile.
As envious Eyes blast, and Infect
And cause misfortunes by aspect,
So thy sad stars dispens'd to thee
No Influxe, but Calamitie,
They view'd thee with Ecclypsed rayes,
And but the back-side of bright dayes.
These were the Comforts she had here,
And cause misfortunes by aspect,
So thy sad stars dispens'd to thee
No Influxe, but Calamitie,
They view'd thee with Ecclypsed rayes,
And but the back-side of bright dayes.
As by an unseen hand 'tis cleer,
Which now she reads, and smiling wears
A Crown with him, who wipes off tears.
| Olor Iscanus | |