Poems upon several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

If frequent Groans, and never-ceasing Sighs,
If big-descending Drops, and show'ry Eyes
Had force to make Your vanish'd Joys return,
Or mitigate the Evils which you mourn,
Well might You give (nor think the Purchase dear,)
A precious Gem for ev'ry falling Tear.

As in the Fields the springing Blade shoots high,
Sprinkl'd with Dews that drizle from the Sky;
So wat'ry Tears feed Sorrow, and bestow
A secret Vegetation on our Woe.

Nature perversly our Desires has cross'd;
We thus prize Jewels chiefly when they're lost:
To cooling Shades from Summers Heat we run,
But hasten to approach the Winter Sun.

You matchless Beauty boast, and sprightly Health,
Friends nobly born, and large Supplies of Wealth,
Vot'rys that sweet Idolatry pursue,
And steal their Eyes from Heav'n to worship You:
Yet the dull Hours You pensively employ,
Blacken the Thought, and sadden all your Joy.

What has the Noble Lord Your Brother done,
To be unkindly thus forgot so soon?
What Your surviving Friends, who weeping seem
To mourn for You, as You lament for Him?
So some fond Nymph, one fav'rite Flow'r deceas'd'
Doats on its Ruins, and neglects the rest;
And thus while pious Tears You vainly shed,
You wrong the Living, mourning for the Dead.

Passion improves to Rage by length of Time,
And what was Passion, now becomes a Crime:
Grief, fed by Sighs, imperious grows, and strong,
And tyrannizes when it reigns too long.

You most unjust and avaricious grow,
Thus to engross our common Stock of Woe:

To Publick Loss a Gen'ral Grief is due,
Too Universal to be paid by You.

There are who may in Rival Cares contend,
You mourn a Brother,—I lament the Friend.
O! that a Mortal might like Orpheus go
Free, and unpunish'd to the Shades below,
I'd sing in such a sadly-moving Strain,
The Ghosts all list'ning jointly shou'd complain,
Forget their Torments, and attend my Pain:
My Song shou'd teach the Furies to grow tame,
Dismount their Torches, and uncurl their Flame.
Nor wou'd I cease my plaintive Airs to sing,
'Till I had vanquish'd their tremendous King,
His Passport gain'd for Charon to restore
The Fugitive, and land Him on our Shore.

You hover o're His Tomb, exclaiming there
Enough to cause the sleeping Dead to hear;

With hollow Groans the Vaults around complain,
And as You weep, the Marbles weep again.
So Love's soft Goddess, young Adonis lost,
Follows with Cries to catch his flying Ghost;
Her fruitless Tears the flitting Boy pursue,
The Youth less lovely, She less fair than You.

Whereever Beauty in Distress is found,
Pity prepares us to receive the Wound.
Ruffl'd by Passion it exerts the more,
And grows a greater Tyrant than before:
So on destructive Wings red Lightnings fly,
And flash severely from a stormy Sky.

Those Mourning Weeds Your lovely Charms refine,
Worn as a Foil to make the Jewel shine,
Rev'rence to You, to Us they Wonder bring,
First we admir'd,—now fall to Worshipping.

Clad in a Veil of Raven-glossy Hair,
Great Julius own'd his Cleopatra fair;
Her Olive Beauties, in deep Shadow set,
Gain'd more Advantage from their native Jet:
Thus on Enamell'd Rings we may behold
The sable Strokes give Lustre to the Gold.
She justly cou'd a Nobler Empire boast
In Cæsar's Heart, than Ptolomy had lost;
Nor cou'd the Conqu'ring Roman Eagle fly
To Glorious Conquests, swifter than Her Eye.

When Ancient Bards a Sov'raign Pow'r wou'd draw
With Majesty, to keep the World in Awe,
They did their Jove in Robes of Darkness shroud,
And made the Godhead thunder from a Cloud.

Exempt from this alone, You cannot save
His dear Remains now mould'ring in the Grave;

You may as well demand, when Day is done,
A Rising Morning from the Setting Sun.
As Phœbus does his dying Beams renew,
So shall He mount, and greater Glory shew,
Clad in diviner Fires shall upward fly,
And shine superior in a brighter Sky.

Here shall He ever live, for ever blest;
Nothing but Your Disquiet can molest
His Endless Joys, or interrupt His Rest:
O! let Him undisturb'd those Pleasures share,
That cannot greater be—till You are there.