University of Virginia Library

An Answer to an Epistle sent me by a Gentleman on the Death of his Father.

Thou whose sad Lines a Father's Death bewail,
Who call'st on me to aid the tragic Tale;
Thy moving Sorrows are not ill address'd,
Since native Pity melts the Female Breast;
With just Regard I read thy mournful Strains,
And sympathizing, feel the Mourner's Pains:
'Tis sacred Grief, 'tis beautiful Distress,
Yet think, my Friend, there's Error, in Excess;
When Death at first in all his dread Array,
Divides the conscious Soul from lifeless Clay,
When a lov'd Parent feels the parting Blow,
'Tis Height of Anguish all, and Rage of Woe!
Not all the Force of Language unconfin'd,
Can then appease the deep-afflicted Mind.
But this is Nature's Triumph for a Day,
The Interval when Reason quits her Sway;
She, mild, returning wisely will impart,
Serener Dictates to the tortur'd Heart,
And kindly would afford a calm Relief,
Did we not shun her, and caress our Grief;
This thou hast done devoted to Despair,
Forsook Society, and nourished Care,
Try'd ev'ry Way thy Sorrows to improve,
Wander'd alone, and sought the gloomy Grove,
Where Sighs may breathe, and Tears may freely flow,
For Solitude, is still the Nurse of Woe;
In silent Shades sad Melancholy reigns,
But too indulgent to the Mourner's Pains;
Reflection there supplies the parted View,
And keeps the fatal Vision ever new:
Fly these lone Haunts, to friendly Domes repair,
And social Converse shall divert thy Care:
But if this moving Image of Distress,
A Father's Death thy rising Soul depress,
Revolve the Virtues which he once possess'd,
And think those Virtues now have made him blest.
But chiefly let my Friendship here perswade,
Which bids thee call Religion to thy Aid,
Her Dictates shall thy ev'ry Loss repair,
The friendly Counsel, and paternal Care,
For ever station'd in the pious Breast,
Wisdom shall reign, and true Contentment rest.