I KNOW a thing thats most uncommon;
(Envy, be silent and attend!)
I know a reasonable
Handsome and witty, yet a friend.
Not warpd by passion, awed by rumour;
Not grave through pride, nor gay through folly,
equal mixture of good-humour
And sensible soft melancholy.
Has she no faults then (Envy says), Sir?
Yes, she has one, I must aver:
When all the world
conspires to praise her,
The womans deaf, and does not hear.
WHAT beckning ghost, along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder
Tis she!but why that bleeding bosom gored,
Why dimly gleams the visionary sword?
beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in Heavn, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender or too firm a
To act a lovers or a Romans part?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky
For those who greatly
think, or bravely die?
Why bade ye else, ye Powrs! her soul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low desire?
first sprung from your blest abodes;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods;
Thence to their images
on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
Most souls, tis true, but peep out once
Dull sullen prisners in the bodys cage:
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,
unseen, as lamps in sepulchres;
Like Eastern kings a lazy state they keep,
And close confined to their
own palace, sleep.
From these perhaps (ere Nature bade her die)
Fate snatchd her early to the pitying sky.
into air the purer spirits flow,
And seprate from their kindred dregs below,
So flew the soul to its congenial
Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.
But thou, false guardian of a charge too good!
Thou, mean deserter of thy brothers blood!
on these ruby lips the trembling breath,
These cheeks now fading at the blast of Death:
Cold is that breast
which warmd the world before,
And those love-darting eyes must roll no more.
Thus, if eternal Justice
rules the ball,
Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall;
On all the line a sudden vengeance waits,
frequent hearses shall besiege your gates.
There passengers shall stand, and pointing say
long funrals blacken all the way),
Lo! these were they whose souls the Furies steeld
And cursed with
hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pass the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of
So perish all whose breast neer learnd to glow
For others good, or melt at others woe!
What can atone (O ever-injured shade!)
Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?
complaint, no kind domestic tear
Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful bier
By foreign hands thy
dying eyes were closed,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,
By foreign hands thy humble grave
By strangers honourd, and by strangers mournd!
What tho no friends in sable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe
dances, and the public show?
What tho no weeping Loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polishd marble emulate
What tho no sacred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallowd dirge be mutterd oer thy tomb?
shall thy grave with rising flowrs be drest,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast:
There shall the morn
her earliest tears bestow,
There the first roses of the year shall blow;
While angels with their silver wings
The ground now sacred by thy reliques made.
So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.
loved, how honourd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;
A heap of dust alone
remains of thee,
Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!