Miscellaneous poems and translations :: :: University of Virginia Library

Shall Virtue unrecorded yield its Breath?
Shall blooming Beauty lie deform'd by Death?
Rise thou, my Muse, and o'er her virgin Herse
Pay the last Friendship of memorial Verse;

Let Merit triumph o'er the envious Grave,
And Truth commend what Science wish'd to save.

When pale Disease some vulgar Form invades,
And adds the vile Plebeian to the Shades,
Few are the Tears that grace th'unheeded Urn,
The obvious Stroke forbids us long to mourn;
But oh! when rising Virtue is the Prize,
When Beauty falls, or infant Glory dies,
Tears then have Tongues, and speaking Sorrows shew
That, not to own our Grief, is not to know.

How well, blest Shade, did thy auspicious Ray
Dawn into Life, and promise perfect Day!
Rapt into future Joys our distant Sight
View'd the full Splendor of maturer Light,

Our Hopes enlarg'd the Vision of our Eye,
And imag'd something too sublime to die;
But ah! How soon delusive Glory fades!
How soon the transient Phantom joins the Shades!
In vain we mourn our Impotence of Skill,
Condemn our Conduct, or arraign our Will,
And grieve reflective Anguish makes us see
That all, we fancy'd Chance, was doom'd to be.

Shall Verse to thee its tuneful Aid refuse?
Thee late the Muse's Friend, thy self a Muse.
Thy soaring Thought a manly Warmth confest,
Rome's ancient Style inform'd thy vig'rous Breast,
Thy blooming Bays diffus'd a lively Grace,
Fair as the Roses that adorn'd thy Face.
What tho' thy Charms a fatal Influence shed,
Tho' by thy Eyes a thousand Lovers bled,

Yet o'er thy Slaves a gen'rous Tear distill'd,
Thy Verse ennobled whom thy Beauty kill'd.

Had Fate relenting spar'd thy lovely Frame,
Nor Heav'n recall'd its ministerial Flame,
Had we beheld the nuptial Glory shine,
Thy Virtues imag'd in a Face like thine—
But while thy Soul an honest Flame confest,
E're Hymen's Torch was kindled in thy Breast,
Death grimly smiling on thy ripen'd Charms
Snatch'd thee to his inhospitable Arms,
With thee subdu'd our future Hopes we see,
Love, Beauty, Wit, and all that pleas'd in thee.

So when the Sun displays his trembling Beams
O'er the smooth Wave, and gilds the limpid Streams,

Reflected Prospects on the Water glide,
And Silvan Scenes float various with the Tide,
But if an angry Storm involve the Skies,
Swift from our Sight the gay Delusion flies,
And all confus'd the airy Vision dies.