And kind Thou wilt be; Kind on fuch a Theme;
A Theme fo like thee, a quite Lunar Theme,
Soft, modeft, melancholy, female, fair!
A Theme that rofe all-pale, and told my Soul,
'Twas Night; on her fond Hopes perpetual Night;
A Night which ftruck a Damp, a deadlier Damp,
Than that which fmote me from PHILANDER's Tomb.
NARCISSA follows, ere his Tomb is clos'd.
Woes cluster; rare are folitary Woes;
They love a Train, they tread each other's Heel;
Her Death invades His mournful Right, and claims
The Grief that started from my Lids for Him:
Seizes the faithlefs, alienated Tear,
Or fhares it, ere it falls. So frequent Death,
Sorrow, He more than caufes, He confounds;
For human Sighs his rival Strokes contend,
And make Diftrefs, Distraction. Oh PHILANDER
What was thy Fate? A double Fate to me;
Portent, and Pain! a Menace, and a Blow!
Like the black Raven hov'ring o'er my Peace,
Not lefs a Bird of Omen, than of Prey.
It call'd NARCISSA long before her Hour;
It call'd her tender Soul, by Break of Bliss,
From the first Bloffom, from the Buds of Joy;
Those Few our noxious Fate unblafted leaves,
In this inclement Clime of human Life.
Sweet Harmonift! and Beautiful as fweet!
And Young as beautiful! and Soft as young!
And Gay as foft! and Innocent as gay!
And Happy (if ought Happy here) as good!
For Fortune fond had built her Neft on high.
Like Birds quite exquifite of Note and Plume,
Transfixt by Fate (who loves a lofty Mark)
How from the Summit of the Grove fhe fell,
And left it unharmonious! All its Charm
Extinguifht in the Wonders of her Song !
Her Song ftill vibrates in my ravisht Ear,
Still melting There, and with voluptuous Pain (O to forget her!) thrilling thro' my Heart!
Song, Beauty, Youth, Love, Virtue, Joy! this Group Of bright Ideas, Flow'rs of Paradife,
As yet unforfeit! in one Blaze we bind,
Kneel, and prefent it to the Skies; as All
We guess of Heav'n: And these were all her own.
And he was mine; and I was-was moft blest,—
Gay Title of the deepest Mifery!
As Bodies grow more pond'rous, robb'd of Life;
Good loft weighs more in Grief, than gain'd, in Joy.
Like bloffom'd Trees o'erturn'd by vernal Storm,
Lovely in Death the beauteous Ruin lay;
And if in Death ftill lovely, lovelier There;
Far lovelier! Pity fwells the Tide of Love.
And will not the Severe excufe a Sigh?
Scorn the proud Man that is afham'd to weep;
Our Tears indulg'd indeed deserve our Shame.
Ye that e'er loft an Angel! pity me.
Soon as the Luftre languifht in her Eye,
Dawning a dimmer Day on human Sight;
And on her Cheek, the Refidence of Spring,
Pale Omen fat; and scatter'd Fears aronnd
On all that faw (and who would cease to gaze,
That once had feen?) with Hafte, parental Haste,
I flew, I fnatch'd her from the rigid North,
Her native Bed, on which bleak Boreas blew,
And bore her nearer to the Sun; the Sun
(As if the Sun could envy) checkt his Beam,
Deny'd his wonted Succour, nor with more
Regret beheld her drooping, than the Bells
Of Lilies; Faireft Lilies not fo fair.
Queen Lilies! and ye painted Populace! Who dwell in Fields, and lead ambrofial Lives; In morn and ev'ning Dew, your Beauties bathe, And drink the Sun; which gives your Cheeks to glow, And out-blush (mine excepted) ev'ry Fair;
You gladlier grew, ambitious of her Hand,
Which often cropt your Odours, Incense meet
To Thought fo pure; her flow'ry State of Mind
In Joy unfal'n. Ye lovely Fugitives!
Coæval Race with Man! for Man you fmile;
Why not smile at him too? You share indeed
His fudden Pass; but not his constant Pain.
So Man is made, nought ministers Delight,
But what his glowing Paffions can engage;
And glowing Paffions, bent on aught Below,
Muft, foon or late, with Anguish turn the Scale;
And Anguish, after Rapture, how fevere!
Rapture? bold Man! who tempts the Wrath divine,
By plucking Fruit deny'd to mortal Taste,
While Here, prefuming on the Rights of Heaven.
For Tranfport doft Thou call on ev'ry Hour,
LORENZO? At thy Friend's Expence be wife;
Lean not on Earth; 'twill pierce thee to the Heart;
A broken Reed, at beft; but, oft, a Spear;
On its sharp Point Peace bleeds, and Hope expires.
Turn, hopeless Thought! turn from Her:-Thought Refenting rallies, and wakes ev'ry Woe. Snatch'd ere thy Prime! and in thy bridal Hour! And when kind Fortune, with thy Lover, fmil'd! And when high-flavour'd thy fresh-op'ning Joys! And when blind Man pronounc'd thy Blifs complete! And on a Foreign Shore; where Strangers wept ! Strangers to Thee, and, more furprising still, Strangers to Kindness, wept: Their Eyes let fall Inhuman Tears; strange Tears; that trickled down From marble Hearts! obdurate Tenderness! A Tenderness that call'd them more fevere; In Spite of Nature's foft Perfuafion, steel'd; While Nature melted, Superftition rav'd;
That mourn'd the Dead; and This deny'd a Grave.
Their Sighs incenft; Sighs foreign to the Will! Their Will the Tyger fuckt, outrag'd the Storm.
For Oh! the curft Ungodliness of Zeal!
While finful Flefb relented, Spirit nurst
In blind Infallibility's Embrace,
The Sainted Spirit petrify'd the Breast;
Deny'd the Charity of Duft, to spread
O'er Duft! a Charity their Dogs enjoy.
What cou'd I do? what Succour? what Resource?
With pious Sacrilege, a Grave I ftole;
With impious Piety, that Grave I wrong'd;
Short in my Duty; Coward in my Grief!
More like her Murderer, than Friend, I crept,
With foft-fufpended Step; and, muffled deep
In midnight Darkness, whisper'd my Laft Sigh.
I whisper'd what should echo thro' their Realms;
Nor writ her Name, whofe Tomb fhou'd pierce the Skies.
Prefumptuous Fear! How durft I dread her Foes,
While Nature's lowleft Dictates I obey'd?
Pardon Neceffity, Bleft Shade! Of Grief
And Indignation rival Burfts I pour'd;
Half-execration mingled with my Prayer;
Kindled at Man, while I his God ador'd;
Sore-grudg'd the Savage Land her Sacred Duft;
Stampt the curft Soil; and with Humanity
(Deny'd NARCISSA) wifht them All a Grave.
Glows my Refentment into Guilt! What Guilt
Can equal Violations of the Dead?
The Dead how Sacred! Sacred is the Duft
Of this Heav'n-labour'd Form, erect, divine!
This Heav'n-affum'd majeftic Robe of Earth,
He deign'd to wear, who hung the vast Expanse
With Azure bright, and cloath'd the Sun in Gold.
When ev'ry Paffion fleeps that can offend;
When strikes us ev'ry Motive that can melt;
When Man can reek his Rancour uncontroul'd,
That ftrongeft Curb on Infult and Ill-will ';
Then, Spleen to Duft? the Duft of Innocence ?
An Angel's Dust! This Lucifer tranfcends;
When He contended for the Patriarch's Bones,
"Twas not the Strife of Malice, but of Pride; The Strife of Pontiff Pride, not Pontiff Gall.
Far less than This is fhocking in a Race
Moft wretched, but from Streams of mutual Love;
And uncreated, but for Love Divine;
And but for Love Divine, this Moment, loft,
By Fate reforb'd, and funk in endless Night.
Man hard of Heart to Man! Of horrid things
Moft horrid Mid ftupendous, highly strange!
Yet oft his Courtefies are smoother Wrongs;
Pride brandishes the Favours He confers,
And contumelious his Humanity :
What then his Vengeance? Hear it not, ye Stars!
And thou, pale Moon! turn paler at the Sound;
Man is to Man the foreft, furest Ill.
A previous Blaft foretells the rifing Storm ;
O'erwhelming Turrets threaten ere they fall;
Volcano's bellow ere they difembogue;
Earth trembles ere her yawning Jaws devour;
And Smoke betrays the wide-confuming Fire:
Ruin from Man is moft, conceal'd when near,
And fends the dreadful Tidings in the Blow.
Is this the Flight of Fancy? Would it were!
Heav'n's Sov'reign faves all Beings but Himself,
That hideous Sight, a naked human Heart.
Fir'd is the Mufe? And let the Muse be fir'd :
Who not inflam'd, when what He fpeaks, he feels,
And in the Nerve most tender, in his Friends?
Shame to Mankind! PHILANDER had his Foes;
He felt the Truths I fing, and I in Him.
But he, nor I, feel more: Past Ills, NARCISSA!
Are funk in Thee, Thou recent Wound of Heart!
Which bleeds with other Cares, with other Pangs;
Pangs num'rous, as the num'rous Ills that fwarm'd
O'er thy diftinguifht Fate, and, cluft'ring There
Thick as the Locuft on the Land of Nile,
Made Death more deadly, and more dark the Grave. Reflect (if not forgot my touching Tale)
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