Poems on Several Occasions With Anne Boleyn to King Henry VIII. An Epistle. By Mrs. Elizabeth Tollet. The Second Edition |
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In Memory of the Countess of Winchelsea.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
In Memory of the Countess of Winchelsea.
------ Effugiunt avidos carmina sola rogos.
Ovid.
Ovid.
Sad
Cypress and the Muses Tree
Shall shade Ardelia's sacred Urn:
These with her Fame and Fate agree,
And ever live, and ever mourn.
Shall shade Ardelia's sacred Urn:
These with her Fame and Fate agree,
And ever live, and ever mourn.
While ev'ry Muse with vocal Breath
In moving Strains recites her Praise:
And there assumes the Cypress Wreath,
And on her Tomb resigns the Bays.
In moving Strains recites her Praise:
And there assumes the Cypress Wreath,
And on her Tomb resigns the Bays.
What Pow'r shall aid the Virgin Choir
To make her Worth and Virtue known?
Who shall the Sculptor's Art inspire
To write them on the lasting Stone?
To make her Worth and Virtue known?
Who shall the Sculptor's Art inspire
To write them on the lasting Stone?
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The honour'd Streams of antient Blood,
And Titles, are by Fortune giv'n:
But to be virtuous, wise, and good,
Derives a kindred Claim from Heav'n.
And Titles, are by Fortune giv'n:
But to be virtuous, wise, and good,
Derives a kindred Claim from Heav'n.
Virtue, and Wit in Courts admir'd,
The shining Pattern shall diffuse:
Nor, tho' to private Life retir'd,
Are lost, but flourish with her Muse.
The shining Pattern shall diffuse:
Nor, tho' to private Life retir'd,
Are lost, but flourish with her Muse.
Of those the Sister-Nine shall sing,
Yet with their Voice their Verse shall pass:
And Time shall sure Destruction bring
To wounded Stone, or molten Brass.
Yet with their Voice their Verse shall pass:
And Time shall sure Destruction bring
To wounded Stone, or molten Brass.
Tho' Titles grace the stately Tomb,
Vain Monument of mortal Pride!
The Ruins of the mould'ring Dome
Its undistinguish'd Heap shall hide.
Vain Monument of mortal Pride!
The Ruins of the mould'ring Dome
Its undistinguish'd Heap shall hide.
Wit, which outlasts the firmest Stone,
Shall, Phœnix-like, its life prolong;
No Verse can speak her but her own,
The Spleen must be her fun'ral Song.
Shall, Phœnix-like, its life prolong;
No Verse can speak her but her own,
The Spleen must be her fun'ral Song.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |