Poems on Various Subjects with some Essays in Prose, Letters to Correspondents, &c. and A Treatise on Health. By Samuel Bowden |
 |
 |
On the
Death
of Mr. S--- B---, of Bristol. |
|
|
 | Poems on Various Subjects |  |
262
On the Death of Mr. S--- B---, of Bristol.
As blooms a flower beneath the morning skies,
Smiles all the day, and in the evening dies;
Thus fell the youth, a victim to the tomb,
Stript of his charms, and wither'd in his bloom;
His last immortal stage appears in sight,
And e'er his noon arrives, he sets in night.
He left this flattering comedy below,
This chequer'd theatre of bliss and woe;
Where men of pleasure have a transient reign,
And others live but to grow old in pain;
Where good and ill by turns our minds amuse,
And shift so fast, we know not how to chuse.
Smiles all the day, and in the evening dies;
Thus fell the youth, a victim to the tomb,
Stript of his charms, and wither'd in his bloom;
His last immortal stage appears in sight,
And e'er his noon arrives, he sets in night.
He left this flattering comedy below,
This chequer'd theatre of bliss and woe;
Where men of pleasure have a transient reign,
And others live but to grow old in pain;
Where good and ill by turns our minds amuse,
And shift so fast, we know not how to chuse.
Florello's fled!—lament him all ye youth,
And mourn in him lost innocence, and truth.
Ye dear companions, and ye happy few,
Who, when he liv'd, his shining virtues knew,
Leave your insipid mirth, for you have lost,
All that good-nature, or a friend cou'd boast.
View your old comrade in the pangs of death,
With languid looks, and agonizing breath;
See his nerves tremble, and his lips turn pale,
His blood congeal, and every organ fail:
His farewel tears, his swimming eye-balls view,
And think how oft' those eyes have smil'd on you:
How soon the treach'rous day may cease to shine,
How soon the morning sun in shades decline!
Then boast the glories of the human state,
Is it a pleasure to be bury'd great?
Tho' life looks splendid, fate is ever blind,
And in thy train death waits unseen behind;
Perhaps now hovers round thy gilded dome,
Or with thy last sad tapers lights thee home;
With meagre looks haunts thy voluptuous seats,
Or at thy board with funeral napkins waits.
See one not idle in thy female train,
Pensive her air, and in her vesture plain:
See by thy side pale Clotho beck'ning stands
And spins thy fate, the distaff in her hands.
And mourn in him lost innocence, and truth.
Ye dear companions, and ye happy few,
Who, when he liv'd, his shining virtues knew,
Leave your insipid mirth, for you have lost,
All that good-nature, or a friend cou'd boast.
View your old comrade in the pangs of death,
With languid looks, and agonizing breath;
See his nerves tremble, and his lips turn pale,
His blood congeal, and every organ fail:
263
And think how oft' those eyes have smil'd on you:
How soon the treach'rous day may cease to shine,
How soon the morning sun in shades decline!
Then boast the glories of the human state,
Is it a pleasure to be bury'd great?
Tho' life looks splendid, fate is ever blind,
And in thy train death waits unseen behind;
Perhaps now hovers round thy gilded dome,
Or with thy last sad tapers lights thee home;
With meagre looks haunts thy voluptuous seats,
Or at thy board with funeral napkins waits.
See one not idle in thy female train,
Pensive her air, and in her vesture plain:
See by thy side pale Clotho beck'ning stands
And spins thy fate, the distaff in her hands.
Florello mourn, ye trees with all your shade,
Ye gardens which he lov'd, your glories fade;
Ye flowers in dews close up your dying charms,
Once wont to close them in his youthful arms.
Droop ye tall limes, ye poplars hang your head,
For oh! Florello from your walks is fled!
Florello's fled! but only fled to rise
More gay, more bright, more beauteous in the skies;
Where love and virtue shine without a stain,
And fadeless youth, and joys unsully'd reign.
Ye gardens which he lov'd, your glories fade;
Ye flowers in dews close up your dying charms,
Once wont to close them in his youthful arms.
Droop ye tall limes, ye poplars hang your head,
For oh! Florello from your walks is fled!
Florello's fled! but only fled to rise
More gay, more bright, more beauteous in the skies;
Where love and virtue shine without a stain,
And fadeless youth, and joys unsully'd reign.
| Poems on Various Subjects | |