AN ELEGY, On the DEATH of a LADY. Written in 1760. William Mason Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T124631 1073 K099398.000 Mendez, Moses. A collection of the most esteemed pieces of poetry: that have appeared for several years. With variety of originals, by the late Moses Mendez, Esq; and other contributors to Dodsley's collection. To which this is intended as a supplement. London printed for Richardson and Urquhart 1767 pp. []-6. [8],320p. ; 8⁰.

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AN ELEGY , On the DEATH of a LADY . Written in 1760. By WILLIAM MASON , M.A. THE midnight clock has toll'd ; and hark , the bell Of Death beats slow ! heard ye the note profound ? It pauses now ; and now , with rising knell , Flings to the hollow gale its sullen sound . Yes *** is dead . Attend the strain , Daughters of Albion ! Ye that , light as air , So oft have tript in her fantastic train , With hearts as gay , and faces half as fair : For she was fair beyond your brightest bloom : ( This Envy owns , since now her bloom is fled ) Fair as the Forms that , wove in Fancy's loom , Float in light vision round the Poet's head . Whene'er with soft serenity she smil'd , Or caught the orient blush of quick surprize , How sweetly mutable , how brightly wild , The liquid lustre darted from her eyes ? Each look , each motion wak'd a new-born grace , That o'er her form its transient glory cast : Some lovelier wonder soon usurp'd the place , Chas'd by a charm still lovelier than the last . That bell again ! It tells us what she is : On what she was no more the strain prolong : Luxuriant Fancy pause : an hour like this Demands the tribute of a serious Song . MARIA claims it from that sable bier , Where cold and wan the slumberer rests her head ; In still small whispers to reflection's ear , She breathes the solemn dictates of the Dead . O catch the awful notes , and lift them loud ; Proclaim the theme , by Sage , by Fool rever'd ; Hear it , ye Young , ye Vain , ye Great , ye Proud ! 'Tis Nature speaks , and Nature will be heard . Yes , ye shall hear , and tremble as you hear , While , high with health , your hearts exulting leap : Ev'n in the midst of pleasure's mad career , The mental Monitor shall wake and weep . For say , than ***'s propitious star , What brighter planet on your births arose ; Or gave of Fortune's gifts an ampler share , In life to lavish , or by death to lose ! Early to lose ; while , born on busy wing , Ye sip the nectar of each varying bloom : Nor fear , while basking in the beams of spring , The wintry storm that sweeps you to the tomb ; Think of her Fate ! revere the heav'nly hand That led her hence , though soon , by steps so slow ; Long at her couch Death took his patient stand , And menac'd oft , and oft withheld the blow : To give Reflection time , with lenient art , Each fond delusion from her soul to steal ; Teach her from Folly peaceably to part , And wean her from a world she lov'd so well . Say , are ye sure his Mercy shall extend To you so long a span ? Alas , ye sigh : Make then , while yet ye may , your God your friend , And learn with equal ease to sleep or die ! Nor think the Muse , whose sober voice ye hear , Contracts with bigot frown her sullen brow ; Casts round Religion's orb the mists of fear , Or shades with horrors , what with smiles should glow . No ; she would warm you with seraphic fire , Heirs as ye are of heav'n's eternal day ; Would bid you boldly to that heav'n aspire , Not sink and slumber in your cells of clay . Know , ye were form'd to range yon azure field , In yon aethereal founts of bliss to lave ; Force then , secure in Faith's protecting shield , The Sting from Death , the Vict'ry from the Grave . Is this the bigot's rant ? Away ye Vain , Your hopes , your fears in doubt , in dulness steep : Go sooth your souls in sickness , grief , or pain , With the sad solace of eternal sleep . Yet will I praise you , triflers as ye are , More than those Preachers of your fav'rite creed , Who proudly swell the brazen throat of War , Who form the Phalanx , bid the battle bleed ; Nor wish for more : who conquer , but to die . Hear , Folly , hear ; and triumph in the tale : Like you , they reason ; not , like you , enjoy The breeze of bliss , that fills your silken sail : On Pleasure's glitt'ring stream ye gayly steer Your little course to cold oblivion's shore : They dare the storm , and , through th'inclement year , Stem the rough surge , and brave the torrent's roar . NOTE . In a book of French verses , entitled Oeuvres du Philosophe de sans Souci , and lately reprinted at Berlin by authority , under the title of Poesies Diverses , may be found an epistle to marshal KEITH , written professedly against the immortality of the Soul . By way of specimen of the whole , take the following lines : De l'avenir , cher KEITH , jugeons par le passé ; Comme avant que je fusse il n'avoit point pensé , De meme , apres ma mort , quand toutes mes parties Par le corruption seront aneanties , Par un meme destin il ne pensera plus ; Non , rien n'est plus certain , soyons-en convaincu , &c. It is to this epistle , that the rest of the Elegy alludes . Is it for Glory ? that just Fate denies . Long must the warrior moulder in his shroud , E'er from her trump the heav'n-breath'd accents rise , That lift the Hero from the fighting croud . Is it his grasp of Empire to extend ? To curb the fury of insulting foes ? Ambition , cease : the idle contest end : 'Tis but a Kingdom thou canst win or lose . And why must murder'd myriads lose their all , ( If Life be all ) why desolation lour , With famish'd frown , on this affrighted ball , That thou may'st flame the meteor of an hour ? Go wiser ye , that flutter Life away , Crown with the mantling Juice the goblet high ; Weave the light dance , with festive freedom gay , And live your moment , since the next ye die . Yet know , vain Scepticks , know , th'Almighty mind , Who breath'd on Man a portion of his fire , Bad his free Soul , by earth nor time confin'd , To Heav'n , to Immortality aspire . Nor shall the Pile of Hope , his Mercy rear'd , By vain Philosophy be e'er destroy'd : Eternity , by all or wish'd or fear'd , Shall be by all or suffer'd or enjoy'd .