A Pastoral Elegy. Elizabeth Rowe (née Singer) 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. R7317 A57734 Rowe, Elizabeth Singer, 1674-1737. Poems on several occasions. Written by Philomela. London Printed for John Dunton at the Raven in Jewen-street 1696 pp. 51-56. [24],72,69,[11]p.; 8⁰

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

The text has been typographically modernized, but without any silent modernization of spelling, capitalization, or punctuation. The source of the text is given and all editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. Based on the electronic text originally produced by the TCP project, this text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
A Pastoral Elegy . Philomela . SO , gentle Destinies , decide the strife ; Ah ! spare but hers , and take my hated Life . Daphne . Cease , cease , dear Nymph , the Fates ordain not so . Philomela . The more ungentle they ; But wilt thou go ? Daphne . I must ; and wish my Epilogue were done , That from this tiresome stage I may be gone . Philomela . Ah me ! ah me ! this breaks my feeble heart : But find'st thou no Reluctancy to part ? Daphne . Without the least Reluctance , all below , Save thee , dear Nymph , I willingly forego : My Swain , my Mates , my Flocks and Garland too . In those blest shades , to which my soul must flee , More beauteous Nymphs , and kinder Shepherds be ; Who ne're reflect on what they left behind , Rapt with the Joys they in Elysium find . By Silver streams , through blissful shades they rove , Their Pleasures to Eternity improve . There all the Smiling Year is cloth'd with Green ; No Autumn , but Eternal Spring is seen . There the wing'd Choir in Loud and Artful strains Transmit their Eccho's to the happy Plains : And thither Strephon will my Soul pursue , When he , like me , has bid the World adieu . There , if her Innocence she still retain , My Philomela I shall claspe again ; And there , when Death shall stop his Noble Race , With a more Godlike and Heroick Grace , Thou shalt behold the matchless Theron's Face . But now farewel , my latest Sands are run , And Charon waits impatient to be gone . Farewel , poor Earth ; from thy unhappy shore None ever launch'd more joyfully before . Not Death's Grim Looks affright me , tho so near ; Alas ! why should the Brave and Vertuous fear : Philomela . She's gone , she's gone , my dear Companion's gone , And left me in this desert World alone ; Unfore't , her Beauteous Soul has took its flight , Serene , and Glittering to Eternal Light . More blind than Love , or Chance , relentless Death , Why didst thou stop my charming Daphnes Breath ? The best the brav'st , and faithful Friend alive ; Fate-cut my Thread , I'll not the loss survive . Alas ! Why rises the unwelcome Sun ? There's nothing worth our sight now Daphne's gone . Go smile on some blest Clime , where thou'st not see A loss so vast , nor Wretch so curst as me ; Whom Grief hath wrapt in so condens'd a shade , As thy intruding beams shall ne're invade : For , What avails thy Light now Daphne's gone , And left me Weeping on the Shore alone ? Yet could the Gentle Fair but see me mourn , From that Blest Place she would perhaps return . But vain , alas ! are my Complaints ; she's gone , And left me in this desert World alone . For ah ! depriv'd my dearer Life of thee , The World is all a Hermitage to me : No more together we shall sit or walk , No more of Pan , or of Elysium talk : No more , no more shall I the fleeting Day In kind Endearments softly pass away : No more the Noblest height of Friendship prove , Now Daphne's gone , I know not who to Love . Mourn all ye Groves and Streams , mourn every thing , You'l hear no more the pretty Syren Sing . Tune , Shepherds , tune your Pipes to Mournful strains ; For we have lost the Glory of our Plains . Let every thing a sadder Look put on ; For Daphne's dead , for the Lov'd Nymph is gone .