DAVID'S Complaint, ii Samuel, chap. 1. Mary Leapor Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T127827 p. 413 K101776.000 Leapor, Mrs. (Mary), 1722-1746. Poems upon several occasions: By Mrs. Leapor of Brackley in Northamptonshire. London printed: and sold by J. Roberts 1748 pp. 72-74. 15,[5],282p. ; 8⁰.

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DAVID'S Complaint , ii Samuel , chap. 1. MOURN , Judah , mourn beneath the silent Sky , And pierce the Deserts with thy midnight Cry . See Zion , conscious of her failing Powers , Heaves from her Base and shakes the nodding Bowers . For their lost Sires orphan'd Babes complain , And Matrons strike their widow'd Breasts in vain ; From Street to Street the howling Mourners fly , Fear on their Brows and Horror in their Eye . For why , her Peers are wash'd with purple Gore : Her Princes and her Monarch is no more : Whom not the sacred Diadem cou'd shield , But serv'd to swell the Horrors of the Field . But why , amongst the Heathen doom'd to fall ? Is this , alas , the End of mighty Saul ? Mourn , mourn , in Silence lest Philistia hear , Nor let our Foes behold the streaming Tear . But O my Friend — ( Ah there my Sorrows swell ) Deny'd the Blessing of a sad Farewel ? Whose ruddy Cheeks confess'd their early Prime , Nor his smooth Brows had felt the Stroke of Time . He was my Soul's best Pleasure while alive , And is he blasted ? — then do I survive ? Ah no , 'tis Death and aggravated Woe . O say , my Heart , canst thou sustain the Blow ? Ye Nations , mourn — if such a thing cou'd be , Till Nature too shou'd learn to grieve , like me : Ye smiling Dames , your gaudy Robes resign , And suit your Garments and your Griefs to mine . Go , hide your slighted Beauties from the Sun , While down your Cheeks the streaming Sorrows run . Still let your Eye-balls waste their humid Store , And still repeat — Your Monarch is no more ! Be thou , Gilboä , wrap'd in endless Night , Nor let thy Hills behold the Beams of Light . Let the gay Sun to thee his Rays deny , While rattling Tempests o'er thy Borders fly . There Judah's Chief lay prostrate on the Ground , And there my Friend receiv'd the mortal Wound .