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HONORIA:
OR, THE DAY OF ALL SOULS.
A POEM.
[_]
ADVERTISEMENT.
The Scene of the following little Poem is supposed to be in the great church of St AMBROSE at MILAN, the second of November, on which day the most solemn office is performed for the repose of the Dead.
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‘Ye hallow'd bells, whose voices thro' the air
‘The awful summons of affliction bear:
‘Ye slowly-waving banners of the dead,
‘That o'er yon altar your dark horrors spread:
‘Ye curtain'd lamps, whose mitigated ray
‘Casts round the fane a pale, reluctant day:
‘Ye walls, ye shrines, by Melancholy drest,
‘Well do ye suit the fashion of my breast!
‘Have I not lost what language can't unfold,
‘The form of Valour, cast in Beauty's mould?
‘Th' intrepid Youth the path of battle tried,
‘And foremost in the hour of peril died.
‘Nor was I present to bewail his fate,
‘With pity's lenient voice to sooth his state,
‘To watch his looks, to read, while Death stood by,
‘The last expression of his parting eye.
‘The awful summons of affliction bear:
‘Ye slowly-waving banners of the dead,
‘That o'er yon altar your dark horrors spread:
‘Ye curtain'd lamps, whose mitigated ray
‘Casts round the fane a pale, reluctant day:
‘Ye walls, ye shrines, by Melancholy drest,
‘Well do ye suit the fashion of my breast!
‘Have I not lost what language can't unfold,
‘The form of Valour, cast in Beauty's mould?
‘Th' intrepid Youth the path of battle tried,
‘And foremost in the hour of peril died.
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‘With pity's lenient voice to sooth his state,
‘To watch his looks, to read, while Death stood by,
‘The last expression of his parting eye.
‘But other duties, other cares impend,
‘Cares that beyond the mournful grave extend:
‘Now, now I view conven'd the pious train,
‘Whose bosom sorrows at another's pain,
‘While recollection, pleasingly severe,
‘Wakes for the awful dead the silent tear,
‘And pictures (as to each her sway extends)
‘The sacred forms of lovers, parents, friends.
‘Now Charity a fiery seraph stands
‘Beside yon altar with uplifted hands.
‘Cares that beyond the mournful grave extend:
‘Now, now I view conven'd the pious train,
‘Whose bosom sorrows at another's pain,
‘While recollection, pleasingly severe,
‘Wakes for the awful dead the silent tear,
‘And pictures (as to each her sway extends)
‘The sacred forms of lovers, parents, friends.
‘Now Charity a fiery seraph stands
‘Beside yon altar with uplifted hands.
‘Yet, can this high solemnity of grief
‘Yield to the Youth I love the wish'd relief?
‘These rites of death—ah! what can they avail?
‘Honorius died beyond the hallow'd pale.
‘Plung'd in the gulph of fear—distressful state!
‘My anxious mind abhors to know his fate:
‘Yet why despond? could one slight error roll
‘A flood of poison o'er the healthful soul?
‘Had not thy virtues full sufficing pow'r
‘To clear thee in the dread recording hour?
‘Did they before the Judge abash'd remain?
‘Did they, weak advocates, all plead in vain?
‘By love, by piety, by reason taught,
‘My soul revolts at the blaspheming thought:
‘Sure, in the breast to pure religion true,
‘Where Virtue's templed, God is templed too.
‘Yield to the Youth I love the wish'd relief?
‘These rites of death—ah! what can they avail?
‘Honorius died beyond the hallow'd pale.
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‘My anxious mind abhors to know his fate:
‘Yet why despond? could one slight error roll
‘A flood of poison o'er the healthful soul?
‘Had not thy virtues full sufficing pow'r
‘To clear thee in the dread recording hour?
‘Did they before the Judge abash'd remain?
‘Did they, weak advocates, all plead in vain?
‘By love, by piety, by reason taught,
‘My soul revolts at the blaspheming thought:
‘Sure, in the breast to pure religion true,
‘Where Virtue's templed, God is templed too.
‘Then, while th' august procession moves along,
‘'Midst swelling organs, and the pomp of song;
‘While the dread chaunt, still true to Nature's laws,
‘Is deepen'd by the terror-breathing pause;
‘While 'midst encircling clouds of incense lost
‘The trembling priest upholds the sacred host;
‘Amid these scenes shall I forget my suit?
‘Amid these scenes shall I alone be mute?
‘Nor to the footsteps of the throne above
‘Breathe the warm requiem to the Youth I love?
‘'Midst swelling organs, and the pomp of song;
‘While the dread chaunt, still true to Nature's laws,
‘Is deepen'd by the terror-breathing pause;
‘While 'midst encircling clouds of incense lost
‘The trembling priest upholds the sacred host;
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‘Amid these scenes shall I alone be mute?
‘Nor to the footsteps of the throne above
‘Breathe the warm requiem to the Youth I love?
‘Now silence reigns along the gloomy fane,
‘And wraps in dread repose the pausing strain:
‘When next it bursts, my humble voice I'll join,
‘Disclose my trembling wish at Mercy's shrine,
‘Unveil my anguish to the throne above,
‘And sigh the requiem to the Youth I love.
‘And wraps in dread repose the pausing strain:
‘When next it bursts, my humble voice I'll join,
‘Disclose my trembling wish at Mercy's shrine,
‘Unveil my anguish to the throne above,
‘And sigh the requiem to the Youth I love.
‘—Does Fancy mock me with a false delight,
‘Or does some hallow'd vision cheer my sight?
‘Methinks, emerging from the gloom below,
‘Th' immortal spirits leave the house of woe!
‘Inshrin'd in Glory's beams they reach the sky,
‘While choral songs of triumph burst from high!
‘See, at the voice of my accorded pray'r,
‘The radiant Youth ascend the fields of air!
‘Behold!—he mounts unutterably bright,
‘Cloath'd in the sun-robe of unfading light!
‘Applauding Seraphs hail him on his way,
‘And lead him to the gates of everlasting day.’
‘Or does some hallow'd vision cheer my sight?
‘Methinks, emerging from the gloom below,
‘Th' immortal spirits leave the house of woe!
‘Inshrin'd in Glory's beams they reach the sky,
‘While choral songs of triumph burst from high!
‘See, at the voice of my accorded pray'r,
‘The radiant Youth ascend the fields of air!
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‘Cloath'd in the sun-robe of unfading light!
‘Applauding Seraphs hail him on his way,
‘And lead him to the gates of everlasting day.’
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