University of Virginia Library

TO SLEEP.

ELEGY.

O sleep! thou Flatterer of happy Minds,
How soon a troubled Breast thy Falshood finds!
Thou common Friend, officious in thy Aid,
Where no Distress is shown, nor Want betray'd:
But oh, how swift, how sure thou art to shun
The Wretch, by Fortune or by Love undone!
Where are thy gentle Dews, thy softer Pow'rs,
Which us'd to wait upon my Midnight Hours?
Why dost thou cease thy hov'ring Wings to spread,
With friendly Shade around my restless Bed?
Can no Complainings thy Compassion move?
Is thy Antipathy so strong to Love!
O no! thou art the prosp'rous Lover's Friend,
And dost uncall'd his pleasing Toils attend.
With equal Kindness, and with rival Charms,
Thy Slumbers lull him in his fair One's Arms;
Or from her Bosom he to thine retires,
Where sooth'd with Ease, the panting Youth respires,
'Till soft Repose restore his drooping Sense,
And Rapture is reliev'd by Indolence.
But oh, what Fortune does the Lover bear,
Forlorn by thee, and haunted by Despair!
From racking Thoughts by no kind Slumber freed,
But painful Nights his joyless Days succeed.
But why, dull God, do I of thee complain?
Thou didst not cause, nor canst thou ease my Pain.
Forgive what my distracting Grief has said,
I own, unjustly I thy Sloth upbraid.
For oft I have thy proffer'd Aid repell'd,
And my Reluctant Eyes from rest with-held;
Implor'd the Muse to break thy gentle Chains,
And sung with Philomel my nightly Strains.
With her I sing, but cease not with her Song,
For more enduring Woes my Lays prolong.
The Morning Lark to mine accords his Note,
And tunes to my Distress his warbling Throat:
Each setting and each rising Sun I mourn,
Wailing alike his Absence and Return.
And all for thee—What had I well nigh said?
Let me not name thee, thou too charming Maid.
No—as the wing'd Musicians of the Grove,
Th'Associates of my Melody and Love,
In moving Sounds alone relate their Pain,
And not with Voice articulate complain;
So shall my Muse my tuneful Sorrows sing,
And lose in Air her Name from whom they spring.
O may no wakeful Thoughts her Mind molest,
Soft be her Slumbers, and sincere her Rest:
For her, O Sleep, thy balmy Sweets prepare;
The Peace I lose for her, to her transfer.
Husht as the falling Dews, whose noiseless Show'rs
Imperle the folded Leaves of Ev'ning Flow'rs,
Steal on her Brow: And as those Dews attend,
'Till warn'd by waking Day to re-ascend;
So wait thou for her Morn; then, gently rise,
And to the World restore the Day-break of her Eyes.