Monody to the memory of a young lady who died in Child-bed With a Poetical Dedication to the Right Honourable Lord Lyttelton. To which is now first added, an Evening Address to a Nightingale. By C. Shaw. Third edition, corrected |
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TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE Lord LYTTELTON. |
 | Monody to the memory of a young lady who died in Child-bed |  |
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TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE Lord LYTTELTON.
The man, whom Phœbus and the tuneful throng
Inspire with all the magic charms of song;
Should he, by wayward fate, be doom'd to prove
The pains—the anguish, of disastrous love!
In pity to his keener sense of grief,
All gracious Heav'n bestow'd the vast relief,
With skilful hand his tender woes to paint;
And the sweet solace of a loud complaint:
To spread his sorrow like contagion round,
And make all Nature with his griefs resound!
Inspire with all the magic charms of song;
Should he, by wayward fate, be doom'd to prove
The pains—the anguish, of disastrous love!
In pity to his keener sense of grief,
All gracious Heav'n bestow'd the vast relief,
With skilful hand his tender woes to paint;
And the sweet solace of a loud complaint:
To spread his sorrow like contagion round,
And make all Nature with his griefs resound!
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O thou, whose steps I tread—whose praise rehearse,
By wit ennobled, and the pow'rs of verse!
In easy elegance whose numbers flow,
And melt and charm us with melodious woe!
Wilt thou permit the meanest of the throng,
To swell the chorus of the plaintive song?
Thy smile alone shall vindicate my claim,
Thy hand shall smooth the rugged path to fame.
When love-lorn youths in each succeeding age,
With tears shall dwell on thy infectious page,
Shall I (O flattering thought!) the boon obtain
To stand recorded with the pensive train,
For hapless loves and well-sung sorrows fam'd?
Nor S--- forgot, when Lyttelton is nam'd!
By wit ennobled, and the pow'rs of verse!
In easy elegance whose numbers flow,
And melt and charm us with melodious woe!
Wilt thou permit the meanest of the throng,
To swell the chorus of the plaintive song?
Thy smile alone shall vindicate my claim,
Thy hand shall smooth the rugged path to fame.
When love-lorn youths in each succeeding age,
With tears shall dwell on thy infectious page,
Shall I (O flattering thought!) the boon obtain
To stand recorded with the pensive train,
For hapless loves and well-sung sorrows fam'd?
Nor S--- forgot, when Lyttelton is nam'd!
| Monody to the memory of a young lady who died in Child-bed | |