AMINTA. AN ELEGY. John Gerrard Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
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. 277-281. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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AMINTA . AN ELEGY . BY MR. GERRARD . AN o'ergrown wood my wandering steps invade , With surface mantled in untrodden snow ; Dire haunt , for none but savage monsters made , Where frosts descend , and howling tempests blow . Here , from the search of busy mortals stray'd , My woe-worn soul shall hug her galling chain : For sure , no forest boasts too deep a shade , No haunt too wild for misery to remain . O my Aminta ! dear distracting name ! Late all my comfort , all my fond delight ; Still writhes my soul beneath its torturing flame , Still thy pale image fills my aching sight ! When shall vain memory slumber o'er her woes ? When to oblivion be her tale resign'd ? When shall this fatal form in death repose , Like thine , fair victim , to the dust consign'd ? Again the accents faulter on my tongue ; Again to tear the conscious tear succeeds ; From sharp reflection is the dagger sprung , And Nature , wounded to the center , bleeds . Ye bitter skies ! upon the tale descend — Ye blasts ! tho' rude your visits , lend an ear — Around , ye gentler oaks , your branches bend , And , as ye listen , drop an icy tear . 'Twas when the step with conscious pleasure roves , Where round the shades the circling woodbines throng ; When Flora wantons o'er th' enamell'd groves , And feather'd choirs indulge the amorous song . Inspir'd by duteous love , I fondly stray'd , Two milk-white doves officious to ensnare : Beneath a silent thicket as they play'd , A grateful present for my softer fair . But ah ! in smiles no more they met my sight , Their ruffled heads lay gasping on the ground : Where ( my dire emblem ) a rapacious Kite Tore their soft limbs , and strew'd their plumes around . The tear of pity stole into my eye ; While ruder passions in their turn succeed ; Forbid the victims unreveng'd to die , And doom the author of their wrongs to bleed . With hasty step , enrag'd , I homewards ran , ( Curse on my speed ! ) th' unerring tube I brought : That fatal hour my date of woe began , Too sharp to tell — too horrible for thought — Disastrous deed ! — irrevocable ill ! — How shall I tell the anguish of my Fate ! Teach me , remorseless monsters , not to feel , Instruct me , fiends and furies , to relate ! Wrathful behind the guilty shade I stole , I rais'd the tube — the clamorous woods resound — Too late I saw the idol of my soul , Struck by my aim , fall shrieking to the ground ! No other bliss her soul allow'd but me ; ( Hapless the pair that thus indulgent prove ) She sought concealment from a shady tree , In amorous silence to observe her love . I ran — but O ! too soon I found it true ! — From her stain'd breast life's crimson stream'd apace — From her wan eyes the sparkling lustres flew — The short-liv'd roses faded from her face ! Gods ! — could I bear that fond reproachful look , That strove her peerless innocence to plead ! — But partial death awhile her tongue forsook , To save a wretch that doom'd himself to bleed . While I distracted press'd her in my arms , And fondly strove t' imbibe her latest breath ; " O spare , rash love , she cry'd , thy fatal charms , " Nor seek cold shelter in the arms of death . " Content beneath thy erring hand I die . " Our fates grew envious of a bliss so true ; " Then urge not thy distress when low I lie , " But in this breath receive my last adieu ! " — No more she spake , but droop'd her lily head ! In death she sicken'd — breathless — haggard — pale — While all my inmost soul with horror bled , And ask'd kind vengeance from the passing gale . Where slept your bolts , ye lingering lightnings say ? Why riv'd ye not this self-condemned breast ? — Or why , too passive earth , didst thou delay , To stretch thy jaws , and crush me into rest ? — Low in the dust the beauteous corse I plac'd , Bedew'd and soft with many a falling tear ; With sable yew the rising turf I grac'd , And bade the cypress mourn in silence near . Oft as bright morn's all-searching eye returns , Full to my view the fatal spot is brought ; Thro' sleepless night my haunted spirit mourns , No gloom can hide me from distracting thought . When , spotless victim , shall my form decay ? This guilty load , say , when shall I resign ? When shall my spirit wing her chearless way , And my cold corse lie treasur'd up with thine ?