To
the
Memory
of
the
same
LADY
,
A
MONODY
.
A.
D.
1747.
Ipse
cavâ
solans
aegrum
testudine
amorem
,
Te
dulcis
conjux
,
te
solo
in
littore
secum
,
Te
veniente
die
,
te
decedente
canebat
.
Virgil, Georgicon
[4.464-6](http://data.perseus.org/citations/urn:cts:latinLit:phi0690.phi002.perseus-lat1:4.453-4.493)
By
the
Same
.
I.
AT
length
escap'd
from
ev'ry
human
eye
,
From
ev'ry
duty
,
ev'ry
care
,
That
in
my
mournful
thoughts
might
claim
a
share
,
Or
force
my
tears
their
flowing
stream
to
dry
,
Beneath
the
gloom
of
this
embow'ring
shade
,
This
lone
retreat
,
for
tender
sorrow
made
,
I
now
may
give
my
burden'd
heart
relief
,
And
pour
forth
all
my
stores
of
grief
,
Of
grief
surpassing
ev'ry
other
woe
,
Far
as
the
purest
bliss
,
the
happiest
love
Can
on
th'
ennobled
mind
bestow
,
Exceeds
the
vulgar
joys
that
move
Our
gross
desires
,
inelegant
,
and
low
.
II
.
Ye
tufted
groves
,
ye
gently-falling
rills
,
Ye
high
o'ershadowing
hills
,
Ye
lawns
gay-smiling
with
eternal
green
,
Oft
have
you
my
LUCY
seen
!
But
never
shall
you
now
behold
her
more
:
Nor
will
she
now
with
fond
delight
And
taste
refin'd
your
rural
charms
explore
.
Clos'd
are
those
beauteous
eyes
in
endless
night
,
Those
beauteous
eyes
where
beaming
us'd
to
shine
Reason's
pure
light
,
and
Virtue's
spark
divine
.
III
.
Oft
would
the
Dryads
of
these
woods
rejoice
To
hear
her
heav'nly
voice
,
For
her
despising
,
when
she
deign'd
to
sing
,
The
sweetest
songsters
of
the
spring
:
The
woodlark
and
the
linnet
pleas'd
no
more
;
The
nightingale
was
mute
,
And
ev'ry
shepherd's
flute
Was
cast
in
silent
scorn
away
,
While
all
attended
to
her
sweeter
lay
.
Ye
larks
and
linnets
now
resume
your
song
,
And
thou
,
melodious
Philomel
,
Again
thy
plaintive
story
tell
.
For
death
has
stopt
that
tuneful
tongue
,
Whose
musick
could
alone
your
warbling
notes
excel
.
IV
.
In
vain
I
look
around
O'er
all
the
well-known
ground
My
LUCY'S
wonted
footsteps
to
descry
;
Where
oft
we
us'd
to
walk
,
Where
oft
in
tender
talk
We
saw
the
summer
sun
go
down
the
sky
;
Nor
by
yon
fountain's
side
,
Nor
where
its
waters
glide
Along
the
valley
,
can
she
now
be
found
:
In
all
the
wide-stretch'd
prospect's
ample
bound
No
more
my
mournful
eye
Can
aught
of
her
espy
,
But
the
sad
sacred
earth
where
her
dear
relicks
lie
.
V.
O
shades
of
H—y
,
where
is
now
your
boast
?
Your
bright
inhabitant
is
lost
.
You
she
preferr'd
to
all
the
gay
resorts
Where
female
vanity
might
wish
to
shine
,
The
pomp
of
cities
,
and
the
pride
of
courts
.
Her
modest
beauties
shun'd
the
publick
eye
:
To
your
sequester'd
dales
And
flow'r-embroider'd
vales
From
an
admiring
world
she
chose
to
fly
;
With
Nature
there
retir'd
,
and
Nature's
GOD
,
The
silent
paths
of
wisdom
trod
,
And
banish'd
every
passion
from
her
breast
,
But
those
,
the
gentlest
and
the
best
,
Whose
holy
flames
with
energy
divine
The
virtuous
heat
enliven
and
improve
,
The
conjugal
,
and
the
maternal
love
.
VI
.
Sweet
babes
,
who
,
like
the
little
playful
fawns
,
Were
wont
to
trip
along
these
verdant
lawns
By
your
delighted
Mother's
side
,
Who
now
your
infant
steps
shall
guide
?
Ah
!
where
is
now
the
hand
whose
tender
care
To
ev'ry
Virtue
would
have
form'd
your
Youth
,
And
strew'd
with
flow'rs
the
thorny
ways
of
Truth
?
O
loss
beyond
repair
!
O
wretched
Father
left
alone
To
weep
their
dire
misfortune
,
and
thy
own
!
How
shall
thy
weaken'd
mind
,
oppress'd
with
woe
,
And
drooping
o'er
thy
LUCY'S
grave
,
Perform
the
duties
that
you
doubly
owe
,
Now
she
,
alas
!
is
gone
,
From
folly
,
and
from
vice
,
their
helpless
age
to
save
?
VII
.
Where
were
ye
,
Muses
,
when
relentless
Fate
From
these
fond
arms
your
fair
disciple
tore
,
From
these
fond
arms
that
vainly
strove
With
hapless
ineffectual
Love
To
guard
her
bosom
from
the
mortal
blow
?
Could
not
your
fav'ring
power
,
Aonian
maids
,
Could
not
,
alas
!
your
pow'r
prolong
her
date
,
For
whom
so
oft
in
these
inspiring
shades
,
Or
under
Campden's
moss-clad
mountains
hoar
,
You
open'd
all
your
sacred
store
,
Whate'er
your
ancient
sages
taught
,
Your
ancient
bards
sublimely
thought
,
And
bade
her
raptur'd
breast
with
all
your
spirit
glow
?
VIII
.
Nor
then
did
Pindus'
or
Castalia's
plain
,
Or
Aganippe's
fount
your
steps
detain
,
Nor
in
the
Thespian
vallies
did
you
play
;
Nor
then
on
The
Mincio
runs
by
Mantua
,
the
birth-place
of
VIRGIL
.
Mincio's
bank
Beset
with
osiers
dank
,
Nor
where
The
Clitumnus
is
a
river
of
Umbria
,
the
residence
of
PROPERTIUS
.
Clitumnus
rolls
his
gentle
stream
,
Nor
where
through
hanging
woods
Steep
The
Anio
runs
through
Tibur
or
Tivoli
,
where
HORACE
had
a
villa
.
Anio
pours
his
floods
,
Nor
yet
where
The
Meles
is
a
river
of
Ionia
,
from
whence
HOMER
,
supposed
to
be
born
on
its
banks
,
is
called
Melisigenes
.
Meles
,
or
The
Ilissus
is
a
river
at
Athens
.
Ilissus
stray
,
Ill
does
it
now
beseem
,
That
,
of
your
guardian
care
bereft
,
To
dire
disease
and
death
your
darling
should
be
left
.
IX
.
Now
what
avails
it
that
in
early
bloom
,
When
light
fantastic
toys
Are
all
her
sex's
joys
,
With
you
she
search'd
the
wit
of
Greece
and
Rome
?
And
all
that
in
her
latter
days
To
emulate
her
ancient
praise
Italia's
happy
genius
could
produce
;
Or
what
the
Gallic
fire
Bright-sparkling
could
inspire
,
By
all
the
Graces
temper'd
and
refin'd
;
Or
what
in
Britain's
isle
,
Most
favour'd
with
your
smile
,
The
pow'rs
of
reason
and
of
fancy
join'd
To
full
perfection
have
conspir'd
to
raise
?
Ah
what
is
now
the
use
Of
all
these
treasures
that
enrich'd
her
mind
,
To
black
oblivion's
gloom
for
ever
now
consign'd
?
X.
At
least
,
ye
Nine
,
her
spotless
name
'Tis
yours
from
death
to
save
,
And
in
the
temple
of
immortal
Fame
With
golden
characters
her
worth
engrave
.
Come
then
,
ye
virgin
sisters
,
come
,
And
strew
with
choicest
flow'rs
her
hallow'd
tomb
.
But
foremost
thou
,
in
sable
vestment
clad
,
With
accents
sweet
and
sad
,
Thou
,
plaintive
Muse
,
whom
o'er
his
Laura's
urn
Unhappy
Petrarch
call'd
to
mourn
,
O
come
,
and
to
this
fairer
Laura
pay
A
more
impassion'd
tear
,
a
more
pathetick
lay
.
XI
.
Tell
how
each
beauty
of
her
mind
and
face
Was
brighten'd
by
some
sweet
,
peculiar
grace
!
How
eloquent
in
ev'ry
look
Thro'
her
expressive
eyes
her
soul
distinctly
spoke
!
Tell
how
her
manners
by
the
world
refin'd
Left
all
the
taint
of
modish
vice
behind
,
And
made
each
charm
of
polish'd
courts
agree
With
candid
Truth's
simplicity
,
And
uncorrupted
Innocence
!
Tell
how
to
more
than
manly
sense
She
join'd
the
soft'ning
influence
Of
more
than
female
tenderness
:
How
in
the
thoughtless
days
of
wealth
and
joy
,
Which
oft
the
care
of
others'
good
destroy
,
Her
kindly-melting
heart
,
To
ev'ry
want
,
and
ev'ry
woe
,
To
guilt
itself
when
in
distress
The
balm
of
pity
would
impart
,
And
all
relief
that
bounty
could
bestow
!
Ev'n
for
the
kid
or
lamb
that
pour'd
its
life
Beneath
the
bloody
knife
,
Her
gentle
tears
would
fall
,
Tears
from
sweet
Virtue's
source
,
benevolent
to
all
.
XII
.
Not
only
good
and
kind
,
But
strong
and
elevated
was
her
mind
:
A
spirit
that
with
noble
pride
Could
look
superior
down
On
Fortune's
smile
,
or
frown
;
That
could
without
regret
or
pain
To
virtue's
lowest
duty
sacrifice
Or
int'rest's
or
ambition's
highest
prize
;
That
injur'd
or
offended
never
try'd
Its
dignity
by
vengeance
to
maintain
,
But
by
magnanimous
disdain
,
A
wit
that
temperately
bright
,
With
inoffensive
light
All
pleasing
shone
,
nor
ever
past
The
decent
bounds
that
Wisdom's
sober
hand
,
And
sweet
Benevolence's
mild
command
,
And
bashful
Modesty
before
it
cast
.
A
prudence
undeceiving
,
undeceiv'd
,
That
nor
too
little
,
nor
too
much
believ'd
,
That
scorn'd
unjust
Suspicion's
coward
fear
,
And
without
weakness
knew
to
be
sincere
.
Such
LUCY
was
,
when
in
her
fairest
days
Amidst
th'
acclaim
of
universal
praise
,
In
life's
and
glory's
freshest
bloom
Death
came
remorseless
on
,
and
sunk
her
to
the
tomb
.
XIII
.
So
where
the
silent
streams
of
Liris
glide
,
In
the
soft
bosom
of
Campania's
vale
,
When
now
the
wintry
tempests
all
are
fled
,
And
genial
Summer
breathes
her
gentle
gale
,
The
verdant
orange
lifts
its
beauteous
head
:
From
ev'ry
branch
the
balmy
flow'rets
rise
,
On
ev'ry
bough
the
golden
fruits
are
seen
;
With
odours
sweet
it
fills
the
smiling
skies
,
The
wood-nymphs
tend
it
,
and
th'
Idalian
queen
:
But
in
the
midst
of
all
its
blooming
pride
A
sudden
blast
from
Apenninus
blows
,
Cold
with
perpetual
snows
:
The
tender
blighted
plant
shrinks
up
its
leaves
,
and
dies
.
XIV
.
Arise
,
O
Petrarch
,
from
th'
Elysian
bowers
,
With
never-fading
myrtles
twin'd
,
And
fragrant
with
ambrosial
flowers
,
Where
to
thy
Laura
thou
again
art
join'd
;
Arise
,
and
hither
bring
the
silver
lyre
,
Tun'd
by
thy
skilful
hand
,
To
the
soft
notes
of
elegant
desire
,
With
which
o'er
many
a
land
Was
spread
the
same
of
thy
disastrous
love
;
To
me
resign
the
vocal
shell
,
And
teach
my
sorrows
to
relate
Their
melancholy
tale
so
well
,
As
may
ev'n
things
inanimate
,
Rough
mountain
oaks
,
and
desart
rocks
,
to
pity
move
.
XV.
What
were
,
alas
!
thy
woes
compar'd
to
mine
?
To
thee
thy
mistress
in
the
blissful
band
Of
Hymen
never
gave
her
hand
;
The
joys
of
wedded
love
were
never
thine
,
In
thy
domestic
care
She
never
bore
a
share
,
Nor
with
endearing
art
Would
heal
thy
wounded
heart
Of
ev'ry
secret
grief
that
fester'd
there
:
Nor
did
her
fond
affection
on
the
bed
Of
sickness
watch
thee
,
and
thy
languid
head
Whole
nights
on
her
unwearied
arm
sustain
,
And
charm
away
the
sense
of
pain
:
Nor
did
she
crown
your
mutual
flame
With
pledges
dear
,
and
with
a
father's
tender
name
.
XVI
.
O
best
of
wives
!
O
dearer
far
to
me
That
when
thy
virgin
charms
Were
yielded
to
my
arms
,
How
can
my
soul
endure
the
loss
of
thee
?
How
in
the
world
to
me
a
desart
grown
,
Abandon'd
,
and
alone
,
Without
my
sweet
companion
can
I
live
?
Without
thy
lovely
smile
,
The
dear
reward
of
ev'ry
virtuous
toil
,
What
pleasures
now
can
pall'd
Ambition
give
?
Ev'n
the
delightful
sense
of
well-earn'd
praise
,
Unshar'd
by
thee
,
no
more
my
lifeless
thoughts
could
raise
,
XVII
.
For
my
distracted
mind
What
succour
can
I
find
?
On
whom
for
consolation
shall
I
call
?
Support
me
ev'ry
friend
,
Your
kind
assistance
lend
To
bear
the
weight
of
this
oppressive
woe
.
Alas
!
each
friend
of
mine
,
My
dear
departed
love
,
so
much
was
thine
,
That
none
has
any
comfort
to
bestow
.
My
books
,
the
best
relief
In
ev'ry
other
grief
,
Are
now
with
your
idea
sadden'd
all
:
Each
fav'rite
author
we
together
read
My
tortur'd
mem'ry
wounds
,
and
speaks
of
LUCY
dead
.
XVIII
.
We
were
the
happiest
pair
of
human
kind
!
The
rolling
year
its
varying
course
perform'd
,
And
back
return'd
again
,
Another
and
another
smiling
came
,
And
saw
our
happiness
unchang'd
remain
;
Still
in
her
golden
chain
Harmonious
Concord
did
our
wishes
bind
:
Our
studies
,
pleasures
,
taste
,
the
same
.
O
fatal
,
fatal
stroke
,
That
all
this
pleasing
fabrick
Love
had
rais'd
Of
rare
felicity
,
On
which
ev'n
wanton
Vice
with
envy
gaz'd
,
And
ev'ry
scheme
of
bliss
our
hearts
had
form'd
,
With
soothing
hope
,
for
many
a
future
day
,
In
one
sad
moment
broke
!
Yet
,
O
my
soul
,
thy
rising
murmurs
stay
,
Nor
dare
th'
all-wise
Disposer
to
arraign
,
Or
against
his
supreme
decree
With
impious
grief
complain
.
That
all
thy
full-blown
joys
at
once
should
fade
Was
his
most
righteous
will
,
and
be
that
will
obey'd
.
XIX
.
Would
thy
fond
love
his
grace
to
her
controul
,
And
in
these
low
abodes
of
sin
and
pain
Her
pure
exalted
soul
Unjustly
for
thy
partial
good
detain
?
No
—
rather
strive
thy
grov'ling
mind
to
raise
Up
to
that
unclouded
blaze
,
That
heav'nly
radiance
of
eternal
light
,
In
which
enthron'd
she
now
with
pity
sees
How
frail
,
how
insecure
,
how
slight
Is
ev'ry
mortal
bliss
,
Ev'n
love
itself
,
if
rising
by
degrees
Beyond
the
bounds
of
this
imperfect
state
,
Whose
fleeting
joys
so
soon
must
end
,
It
does
not
to
its
sov'reign
Good
ascend
.
Rise
then
,
my
soul
,
with
hope
elate
,
And
seek
those
regions
of
serene
delight
,
Whose
peaceful
path
and
ever
open
gate
No
feet
but
those
of
harden'd
Guilt
shall
miss
.
There
Death
himself
thy
LUCY
shall
restore
,
There
yield
up
all
his
power
e'er
to
divide
you
more
.