Poems on Various Subjects with some Essays in Prose, Letters to Correspondents, &c. and A Treatise on Health. By Samuel Bowden |
 |
 |
VERSES,
|
|
|
 | Poems on Various Subjects |  |
120
VERSES,
To the Memory of the Late Pious and Ingenious Miss WEREAT, of Haygrove, Near TROWBRIDGE, Who Died OCTOBER 1752. Aged 24.
Whoe'er may musing chance to tread
About these caverns of the dead,
Blush not to drop a silent tear,
O'er the chaste nymph who slumbers here.
A moment pause—and sympathize,
Behold the witty, fair, and wise,
The gay, the gentle, and the just,
Here hous'd with darkness and with dust;
Here mingle with her sister dead,
And moulder in a dusty bed.
Sad victim to the ravenous tomb,
In all her innocence, and bloom.
With every social virtue blest,
Humility crown'd all the rest.
So free from pride, her worth was known
To all, but to herself alone.
About these caverns of the dead,
Blush not to drop a silent tear,
O'er the chaste nymph who slumbers here.
A moment pause—and sympathize,
Behold the witty, fair, and wise,
The gay, the gentle, and the just,
Here hous'd with darkness and with dust;
Here mingle with her sister dead,
And moulder in a dusty bed.
Sad victim to the ravenous tomb,
In all her innocence, and bloom.
121
Humility crown'd all the rest.
So free from pride, her worth was known
To all, but to herself alone.
No storms her peaceful bosom felt,
Calm region where religion dwelt.
Calm as autumnal, halcyon skys,
Still as the mansion where she lies.
Her gentle breast no passion knew,
But such as Heaven was witness too;
Sweet passions which the soul surprize
In sacred rapture to the skys;
Such as from just devotion flow;
Such as the pious only know;
Such as old story'd saints inspir'd,
And holy nuns, and vestals fir'd.
Calm region where religion dwelt.
Calm as autumnal, halcyon skys,
Still as the mansion where she lies.
Her gentle breast no passion knew,
But such as Heaven was witness too;
Sweet passions which the soul surprize
In sacred rapture to the skys;
Such as from just devotion flow;
Such as the pious only know;
Such as old story'd saints inspir'd,
And holy nuns, and vestals fir'd.
Yet Death has only snatch'd away,
The textur'd vehicle of clay.
The prince, the peasant, poor and great,
Must all alike submit to fate.
Nature must sink, and empires burst,
And diadems dissolve to dust.
But deathless virtue soars sublime,
Beyond the ravages of time:
Safe landed on her peaceful shore,
We smile to hear the distant tempest roar.
The textur'd vehicle of clay.
The prince, the peasant, poor and great,
Must all alike submit to fate.
Nature must sink, and empires burst,
And diadems dissolve to dust.
But deathless virtue soars sublime,
Beyond the ravages of time:
Safe landed on her peaceful shore,
We smile to hear the distant tempest roar.
122
But tho' stern death, the gentle maid
Invelop'd in its sable shade;
Yet shall the Muse prolong thy date,
And some few moments steal from fate:
The Muse can triumph o'er the slain,
And bid her votarys live again.
(For of the Muse's train was she,
And lov'd their bright society)
She bids her spotless memory bloom
Beyond the ruins of the tomb.
Invelop'd in its sable shade;
Yet shall the Muse prolong thy date,
And some few moments steal from fate:
The Muse can triumph o'er the slain,
And bid her votarys live again.
(For of the Muse's train was she,
And lov'd their bright society)
She bids her spotless memory bloom
Beyond the ruins of the tomb.
How lovely virtue's image smiles
Amidst these consecrated isles?
Mark how she gilds the vaulted gloom,
And casts a lustre o'er the tomb.
Can light divine, and gladness shed
O'er these dark grottos of the dead.
Religion softens pain and care,
And smooths the visage of despair;
Bids sorrow wear a cheerful mien,
And scatters anguish, and chagrin.
Amidst these consecrated isles?
Mark how she gilds the vaulted gloom,
And casts a lustre o'er the tomb.
Can light divine, and gladness shed
O'er these dark grottos of the dead.
Religion softens pain and care,
And smooths the visage of despair;
Bids sorrow wear a cheerful mien,
And scatters anguish, and chagrin.
Sleep on, sweet shade! in endless rest,
Soft are the slumbers of the blest.
Sleep, fearless of a future doom,
While angels watch about thy tomb;
Pleas'd to escorte thee to the skys,
Where Youth still blooms, and Virtue never dies.
Soft are the slumbers of the blest.
Sleep, fearless of a future doom,
While angels watch about thy tomb;
Pleas'd to escorte thee to the skys,
Where Youth still blooms, and Virtue never dies.
November, 1752.
| Poems on Various Subjects | |