ELEGY. OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF A LADY. James Beattie Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1137 K093079.004 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 86-90. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ELEGY . OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF A LADY . BY THE SAME . STILL shall unthinking Man substantial deem The forms that fleet thro' life's deceitful dream ! On clouds , where Fancy's beam amusive plays , Shall heedless Hope his towering fabric raise ! Till at Death's touch th' ideal glories fly , And real scenes rush dismal on the eye ; And , from the bowers of Beauty torn , The startled soul awakes to think — and mourn . O Ye , whose hours in jocund train advance , Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance ; Who flowery scenes in endless view survey , Glittering in beams of visionary day ! O ! yet while Fate delays th' impending woe , Be rous'd to thought , anticipate the blow ; Lest , like the light'ning's glance , the sudden ill Flash to confound , and penetrate to kill : Lest , thus encompass'd with funereal gloom , Like me ye bend o'er some untimely tomb , Pour your wild ravings in night's frighted ear , And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe . Wise ! Beauteous ! Good ! — O every grace combin'd , That charms the eye , that captivates the mind ! Fair as the flowret opening on the morn , Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn ! Sweet , as the downy-pinion'd gale , that roves To gather fragrance in Arabian groves ! Mild , as the strains , that , at the close of day Warbling remote , along the vales decay ! Yet , why with those compar'd ? What tints so fine , What sweetness , mildness can be match'd with thine ? Why roam abroad ? since still , to Fancy's eyes , I see , I see thy lovely form arise ! Still let me gaze , and every care beguile , Gaze on that cheek , where all the Graces smile ; That soul-expressing eye , benignly bright , Where Meekness beams ineffable delight ; That brow , where Wisdom sits enthron'd serene , Each feature forms , and dignifies the mien : Still let me listen , while her words impart The sweet effusions of the blameless heart ; Till all my soul , each tumult charm'd away , Yields , gently led , to Virtue's easy sway . By thee inspir'd , O Virtue , Age is young , And music warbles from the faultering tongue ; Thy ray creative chears the clouded brow , And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow , Brightens the joyless aspect , and supplies Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes : Each look , each action , while it awes , invites , And Age with every youthful grace delights . But when Youth's living bloom reflects thy beams , Resistless on the view the glory streams , Th' ecstatic breast triumphant Virtue warms , And Beauty dazzles with angelic charms . Ah , whither fled ! — ye dear illusions stay ! Lo pale and silent lies the lovely clay ! How are the roses on that lip decay'd , Which Health in all the pride of bloom array'd ! Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd ; With active life each speaking feature glow'd . Fair was the flower , and soft the vernal sky ; Elate with hope we deem'd no tempest nigh ; When lo ! a whirlwind's instantaneous gust Left all its beauties withering in the dust . All cold the hand that sooth'd Woe's weary head ! All quench'd the eye the pitying tear that shed ! All mute the voice whose pleasing accents stole , Infusing balm into the rankled soul ! — O Death , why arm with cruelty thy power , And spare the weed , yet lop the lovely flower ! Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven ! To Virtue then no more the care of Heaven ! — But peace , bold thought ! be still , my bursting heart ! We , not ELIZA , felt the fatal dart . Scap'd the dark dungeon does the slave complain , Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain ? Say , pines not Virtue for the lingering morn , On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn ? Where Reason's meteor-rays , with sickly glow , O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw ; Disclosing dubious to th' affrighted eye O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high , Black billowy seas in storms perpetual tost , And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost . O happy stroke that bursts the bonds of clay , Darts thro' the rending gloom the blaze of day , And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar , When dangers threat and fears alarm no more . Transporting thought ! here let me wipe away The falling tear , and wake a bolder lay ; But ah ! afresh the swimming eye o'erflows — Nor check the tear that streams for human woes . Lo ! o'er her dust , in speechless anguish , bend The hopeless Parent , Husband , Brother , Friend ! — How vain the hope of Man ! — But cease thy strain , Nor Sorrow's dread solemnity prophane ; Mix'd with yon drooping mourners , o'er her bier In silence shed the sympathetic tear .