« PreviousContinue »
And can she from all weakness still refrain ?
and sighs, As silent dews descend, and vapours rise.
Celestial patience ! how dost thou defeat The foe's proud menace, and elude his hate ! While passion takes his part, betrays our peace ; To death and torture swells each slight disgrace; By not opposing, thou dost ills destroy, And wear thy conquer'd sorrows into joy.
Now she revolves within her anxious mind, What woe still lingers in reserve behind. Griefs rise on griefs, and she can see no bound, While nature lasts, and can receive a wound. The sword is drawn; the queen to rage inclin'd, By mercy, nor by piety, confin'd. What mercy can the zealot's heart assuage, Whose piety itself converts to rage ? She thought, and sigh’d. And now the blood began To leave her beauteous cheek all cold and wan. New sorrow dimm'd the lustre of her eye, And on her cheek the fading roses die. Alas! should Guilford too—when now she's brought To that dire view, that precipice of thought, While there she trembling stands, nor dares look
down, Nor can recede, till heaven's decrees are known; Cure of all ills, till now, her lord appears. But not to cheer her heart, and dry her tears ! Not now, as usual, like the rising day,
To chase the shadows, and the damps away:
Thus the fair lily, when the sky's o'ercast,
Hic pietatis honos ? sic nos in sceptra reponis ?-VIRG.
HER Guilford clasps her, beautiful in death,
So the youth lost his image in the well,
To touch the soft affections, and control
This Guilford prov'd; and, with excess of pain,
my grief ? repress your own; Nor want compassion for yourself alone : Have you beheld, how, from the distant main, The thronging waves roll on, a num'rous train, And foam, and bellow, till they reach the shore ; There burst their noisy pride, and are no more ? Thus the successive flows of human race, Chas'd by the coming, the preceding, chase ; They sound, and swell, their haughty heads they
you not chide
Then fall, and flatten, break, and disappear.
But, oh! against himself his labour turn'd;
'Tis now the queen’s command, they both retreat, To
weep with dignity, and mourn in state: She forms the decent misery with joy, And loads with pomp the wretch she would destroy. A spacious hall is hung with black; all light Shut out, and noon-day darken'd into night. From the mid-roof a lamp depends on high,
Like a dim crescent in a clouded sky:
In this sad scene the lovers are confin'd;
eyesThen Guilford, thus abruptly; " I despise An empire lost; I fling away the crown; Numbers have laid that bright delusion down; But where's the Charles, or Dioclesian where, Could quit the blooming, wedded, weeping fair ? Oh! to dwell ever on thy lip! to stand In full possession of thy snowy hand ! And, thro' th' unclouded crystal of thine eye, The heavenly treasures of thy mind to spy! Till rapture reason happily destroys, And
my soul wanders through immortal joys ! Give me the world, and ask me, where's my bliss ? I clasp thee to my breast, and answer,
this. And shall the grave”—Hegroans, and can no more ; But all her charms in silence traces o'er; Her lip, her cheek, and eye, to wonder wrought; And, wond'ring, sees, in sad presaging thought, From that fair neck, that world of beauty fall, And roll along the dust, a ghastly ball !
Oh ! let those tremble, who are greatly bless'd ! For who, but Guilford, could be thus distress'd ?