 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
On Her Death.
Alas! what Words can utter my Distress,
Or half the Sorrows of my Soul express?
Content is grown a Stranger to my Breast,
By anxious Care and heavy Ills opprest.
Sad mournful Visions of a dying Friend
Do ev'ry Night my troubled Dreams attend;
And all the Day in pensive Thought is spent,
For Her whose Loss I ever must lament.
Or half the Sorrows of my Soul express?
Content is grown a Stranger to my Breast,
By anxious Care and heavy Ills opprest.
Sad mournful Visions of a dying Friend
Do ev'ry Night my troubled Dreams attend;
And all the Day in pensive Thought is spent,
For Her whose Loss I ever must lament.
174
I mourn the young Bellaria's blasted Charms,
Too early ravish'd from a Husband's Arms.
Like freshest Roses, pluck'd in Morning Dew
With all their Sweets and all their Beauties too;
So fell my Friend, in Youth's exalted State,
A patient Victim to her hasty Fate.
Too early ravish'd from a Husband's Arms.
Like freshest Roses, pluck'd in Morning Dew
With all their Sweets and all their Beauties too;
So fell my Friend, in Youth's exalted State,
A patient Victim to her hasty Fate.
How good she was, how gen'rous, and how kind,
How fair her Form, how beautiful her Mind,
Are, what will dwell for ever in my Thought,
As much too excellent to be forgot.
Sweet was her Temper, and serene her Mind,
For her good Nature with good Sense was join'd:
Just to her Neighbour, humble to her God,
Her pious Soul was guiltless of a Fraud.
Quick to forgive, and easy to persuade,
And true to all the Promises she made:
Careful to please, and fearful to offend,
A kind, a faithful, and a constant Friend.
How fair her Form, how beautiful her Mind,
Are, what will dwell for ever in my Thought,
As much too excellent to be forgot.
Sweet was her Temper, and serene her Mind,
For her good Nature with good Sense was join'd:
Just to her Neighbour, humble to her God,
Her pious Soul was guiltless of a Fraud.
Quick to forgive, and easy to persuade,
And true to all the Promises she made:
175
A kind, a faithful, and a constant Friend.
But not her Merit, nor her Charms cou'd save
Their lovely Owner, from the darksome Grave.
'Tis such a Loss, I know not how to bear:
How can I part, with what I held so dear?
Their lovely Owner, from the darksome Grave.
'Tis such a Loss, I know not how to bear:
How can I part, with what I held so dear?
So quickly snatch'd! Oh Thought too full of Pain!
My friendly Visit was design'd in vain:
In vain the Rites, that faithful Love demands,
The chearing Cordials from officious Hands:
No parting Kiss I gave, no pitying Sighs,
Or clos'd with trembling Hand her faded Eyes.
This, unperform'd, still aggravates my Grief,
And makes it great, almost beyond Relief.
My friendly Visit was design'd in vain:
In vain the Rites, that faithful Love demands,
The chearing Cordials from officious Hands:
No parting Kiss I gave, no pitying Sighs,
Or clos'd with trembling Hand her faded Eyes.
This, unperform'd, still aggravates my Grief,
And makes it great, almost beyond Relief.
176
Now the pure Spirit to its Heav'n is fled,
And the pale Corpse is rang'd among the Dead.
Tho', low in Earth, a thoughtless Lump, it lies
Disfigur'd and unlovely to the Eyes;
I could, ev'n now, with fond Desire behold,
That Case which did the precious Gem infold:
Close in my Arms th' Insensible I'd take,
And press those Lips that want the Pow'r to speak.
To her cold Face my glowing Cheek I'd lay,
And strive to re-inform the lifeless Clay.
And the pale Corpse is rang'd among the Dead.
Tho', low in Earth, a thoughtless Lump, it lies
Disfigur'd and unlovely to the Eyes;
I could, ev'n now, with fond Desire behold,
That Case which did the precious Gem infold:
Close in my Arms th' Insensible I'd take,
And press those Lips that want the Pow'r to speak.
To her cold Face my glowing Cheek I'd lay,
And strive to re-inform the lifeless Clay.
But since this flatt'ring Wish is vainly made,
And 'tis impossible to raise the Dead.
Since there has been a Day so much unblest,
T'admit a Cause, so fatal to my Rest;
My true afflicted Soul shall constant pay,
A mournful Tribute on this hapless Day:
Still, as it comes with the revolving Year,
To Her dear Mem'ry drop a friendly Tear,
And, by my Grief, shew that I lov'd sincere.
And 'tis impossible to raise the Dead.
Since there has been a Day so much unblest,
T'admit a Cause, so fatal to my Rest;
My true afflicted Soul shall constant pay,
A mournful Tribute on this hapless Day:
177
To Her dear Mem'ry drop a friendly Tear,
And, by my Grief, shew that I lov'd sincere.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |