The miscellaneous works and novels of R. C. Dallas ... In seven volumes. A new edition |
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LAURA:
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
 | The miscellaneous works and novels of R. C. Dallas |  |
235
LAURA:
AN ELEGY.
[_]
This Elegy was written on an occasion similar to that of the preceding poem, but treats the subject more seriously; points out the vice of forced marriages; and shows the deplorable consequences of giving the hand without the heart.
Why weeps my friend? why anxious swells his breast?
What hated cause can prompt my Damon's sigh?
His equal soul no trivial pains molest,
No common sorrows bathe his cheerful eye.
What hated cause can prompt my Damon's sigh?
His equal soul no trivial pains molest,
No common sorrows bathe his cheerful eye.
Though angry fortune frown, her rage deride:
Can Damon doubt his Colin's constant love?
The healthful flocks that range these valleys wide,
Far from our view pale poverty remove.
Can Damon doubt his Colin's constant love?
The healthful flocks that range these valleys wide,
Far from our view pale poverty remove.
What though misfortune dealt the unkindly blow!
Dost think that Colin feels a pang to share?
Such base like thoughts let only misers know,
Who lend for interest, or who cringe through fear.
Dost think that Colin feels a pang to share?
Such base like thoughts let only misers know,
Who lend for interest, or who cringe through fear.
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With nobler virtues rural bosoms glow:
Acceptance more than pays the trivial debt;
I for my friend my flocks would glad forego,
Nay vales and all, nor e'er the loss regret.
Acceptance more than pays the trivial debt;
I for my friend my flocks would glad forego,
Nay vales and all, nor e'er the loss regret.
Colin, said he, thy virtues fire my breast,
And well might make a wretch forget his woe:
But ah! what griefs my tortur'd soul infest,
And spring the tears that from thy Damon flow!
And well might make a wretch forget his woe:
But ah! what griefs my tortur'd soul infest,
And spring the tears that from thy Damon flow!
The love of lucre ne'er my soul shall stain,
Its flight ne'er grieve, nor wanton heaps elate:
What tinsel loss could e'er inflict the pain
That sads my heart for Laura's hapless fate?
Its flight ne'er grieve, nor wanton heaps elate:
What tinsel loss could e'er inflict the pain
That sads my heart for Laura's hapless fate?
Come, Colin! listen to the mournful tale;
Then wilt thou not my heavy griefs reprove,
But sigh and weep with me, and join to wail
The woes that spring from disappointed love.
Then wilt thou not my heavy griefs reprove,
But sigh and weep with me, and join to wail
The woes that spring from disappointed love.
Suffice it, Colin, that we saw and lov'd,
And strove to merit each the other's praise;
Of me my Laura's tender heart approv'd,
And I to her for ever tun'd my lays.
And strove to merit each the other's praise;
Of me my Laura's tender heart approv'd,
And I to her for ever tun'd my lays.
Sweetly enraptur'd flew the time along,
Each rising sun still found us in the grove:
No evening 'scap'd without some verse or song,
No song or verse but was replete with love.
Each rising sun still found us in the grove:
237
No song or verse but was replete with love.
How cheerful then were all my Laura's looks!
How did her cheek with healthful beauty glow,
When we pursued the channels of the brooks,
And she taught Naiads her sweet voice to know!
How did her cheek with healthful beauty glow,
When we pursued the channels of the brooks,
And she taught Naiads her sweet voice to know!
Alas! how chang'd when last I saw my fair
Her look serene, her healthful beauty fled!
The bended brow, sad sign of deep despair,
And pallid tinge had seiz'd her in their stead.
Her look serene, her healthful beauty fled!
The bended brow, sad sign of deep despair,
And pallid tinge had seiz'd her in their stead.
A wealthy Lord;—my bursting heart forgive,
Forgive the tears recalling sorrow draws;
'Twere more than mortal, Colin, not to grieve,
The soul obdurate melts at such a cause.
Forgive the tears recalling sorrow draws;
'Twere more than mortal, Colin, not to grieve,
The soul obdurate melts at such a cause.
Linus, the wealthy Lord of yon bright plains,
To --- led by some ill-fated chance,
Beheld the angel mid a crowd of swains,
And view'd her tripping at the village dance.
To --- led by some ill-fated chance,
Beheld the angel mid a crowd of swains,
And view'd her tripping at the village dance.
Alas! too soon he felt Love's fatal pow'r,
And big in pride he doubted not success:
“The flocks, the herds, that yonder mountains scour,
“Can these allure? all these she shall possess.”
And big in pride he doubted not success:
“The flocks, the herds, that yonder mountains scour,
“Can these allure? all these she shall possess.”
238
How did he wrong thy pure, thy spotless breast!
How little, Laura! did he know thy worth!
That could prefer the youth whom virtue blest,
And humble merit to exalted birth.
How little, Laura! did he know thy worth!
That could prefer the youth whom virtue blest,
And humble merit to exalted birth.
Ah me! the woes that sordid passions deal!
Ah me! that awe the tender heart should guide!
Parents enforce, and hark the nuptial peal!
Victim of power, and sacrifice of pride!
Ah me! that awe the tender heart should guide!
Parents enforce, and hark the nuptial peal!
Victim of power, and sacrifice of pride!
I saw her, Colin, scarce a moon is past;
But still her form I see, her voice I hear:
Sad image! on my eye for ever last!
Sad sounds! for ever tingle on my ear!
But still her form I see, her voice I hear:
Sad image! on my eye for ever last!
Sad sounds! for ever tingle on my ear!
With lengthen'd step she slowly trod the green,
Clasp'd were her arms, her snowy neck reclin'd:
Still she preserv'd her grace, her lovely mien;
Grief chas'd her colour, but her form refin'd.
Clasp'd were her arms, her snowy neck reclin'd:
Still she preserv'd her grace, her lovely mien;
Grief chas'd her colour, but her form refin'd.
No more to flow in tasteful ringlets train'd,
Her beauteous hair dishevelled and unbound
In Nature still the power to charm retain'd;
With native beauty ev'ry lock was crown'd.
Her beauteous hair dishevelled and unbound
In Nature still the power to charm retain'd;
With native beauty ev'ry lock was crown'd.
Long she pursued her pensive walk, and I,
Silent as night, mov'd near the widow'd wife;
At length down dropp'd her hand, forth burst a sigh,
“All-gracious power,” she cried, “ah! what is life!”
Silent as night, mov'd near the widow'd wife;
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“All-gracious power,” she cried, “ah! what is life!”
Her dropping hand with eager haste I caught,
Sighs too and tears were mingled fast with hers:
Pity and love at once my bosom fraught,
My full-fraught bosom recollection tears.
Sighs too and tears were mingled fast with hers:
Pity and love at once my bosom fraught,
My full-fraught bosom recollection tears.
She turn'd, she saw, she knew her former love:
“Ah! Damon, is it you?” she sighing said;
“And come you then lost Laura to reprove,
“And for her violated vows upbraid?
“Ah! Damon, is it you?” she sighing said;
“And come you then lost Laura to reprove,
“And for her violated vows upbraid?
“Dear youth! awhile thy tender plaints restrain,
“Nor by reproach increase a wretch's woe:
“Not Laura's heart was rul'd by paltry gain,
“Obedience, duty, struck the deadly blow.
“Nor by reproach increase a wretch's woe:
“Not Laura's heart was rul'd by paltry gain,
“Obedience, duty, struck the deadly blow.
“Of filial reverence far too high I deem'd:
“Can duty urge us to a state of woe?
“Plung'd into ills by those I most esteem'd!
“See how affection has become a foe.
“Can duty urge us to a state of woe?
“Plung'd into ills by those I most esteem'd!
“See how affection has become a foe.
“But if a parent's will in vain I plead,
“And force not clears me from my seeming guilt,
“Let Laura's woes with Damon's breast succeed,
“Her griefs shall win him and her sorrows melt.
“And force not clears me from my seeming guilt,
“Let Laura's woes with Damon's breast succeed,
“Her griefs shall win him and her sorrows melt.
240
“In vain I seek my haughty lord to please,
“In vain dissimulation's art essay,
“Ill with my words my labouring breast agrees;
“And sighs and tears my inmost soul display.
“In vain dissimulation's art essay,
“Ill with my words my labouring breast agrees;
“And sighs and tears my inmost soul display.
“Disgust has seiz'd him, vanish'd is his love,
“His heart grown cool, too soon succeeded hate:
“He now blasphemes, profanely calls on Jove,
“Then curses Laura and deplores his fate.
“His heart grown cool, too soon succeeded hate:
“He now blasphemes, profanely calls on Jove,
“Then curses Laura and deplores his fate.
“Within dwell hate, and discontent, and fear,
“Distrust, suspicion, pangs by avarice led;
“Without, the jealous eye, the frown severe,
“The board divided, and the lonely bed.
“Distrust, suspicion, pangs by avarice led;
“Without, the jealous eye, the frown severe,
“The board divided, and the lonely bed.
“My deep sunk eye, a stranger to repose,
“Moistens the down that cannot lure to rest;
“And if, perchance, my languid eye-lids close,
“Dreams but augment the horrors of my breast.
“Moistens the down that cannot lure to rest;
“And if, perchance, my languid eye-lids close,
“Dreams but augment the horrors of my breast.
“Damon! thy sympathy I'll try no more,
“I see, I see thou mourn'st my hapless doom:
“Thou, my fond love! shall soon my end deplore,
“And weep for Laura on her early tomb.”
“I see, I see thou mourn'st my hapless doom:
“Thou, my fond love! shall soon my end deplore,
“And weep for Laura on her early tomb.”
She said, nor need I paint my heart to you,
Well as my Colin knows its every nerve;
Still providence eludes man's narrow view;
For how could virtue such a fate deserve?
Well as my Colin knows its every nerve;
241
For how could virtue such a fate deserve?
But hark, my friend, to that sad solemn knell,
That mournful knell that echoes through the dome!
Well might her failing heart the event foretel—
It tolls my Laura to her lasting home.
That mournful knell that echoes through the dome!
Well might her failing heart the event foretel—
It tolls my Laura to her lasting home.
| The miscellaneous works and novels of R. C. Dallas | |