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A MONODY ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, SELECTION, by                    
First Line: I, who, with more than manly strength, have bore
Last Line: And in my cup of grief infuse one drop of joy?
Variant Title(s): Monody To The Memory Of A Young Lady, Selection
Subject(s): Death; Mourning; Dead, The; Bereavement


I, WHO, with more than manly strength, have bore
The various ills imposed by cruel Fate,
Sustain the firmness of my soul no more,
But sink beneath the weight.
Just Heaven! (I cried) from memory's earliest day
No comfort has thy wretched suppliant known,
Misfortune still with unrelenting sway
Has claim'd me for her own.
But O! -- in pity to my grief, restore
This only source of bliss; I ask -- I ask no more --
Vain hope -- th' irrevocable doom is past,
Ev'n now she looks -- she sighs her last --
Vainly I strive to stay her fleeting breath,
And, with rebellious heart, protest against her death.

When the stern tyrant closed her lovely eyes,
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
With impious wish to tear her from the skies;
How curse my fate in bitterness of woe!
But whither would this dreadful frenzy lead?
Fond man forbear,
Thy fruitless sorrow spare,
Dare not to task what Heaven's high will decreed;
In humble rev'rence kiss th' afflictive rod,
And prostrate bow to an offended God.

Perhaps kind Heaven in mercy dealt the blow,
Some saving truth thy roving soul to teach;
To wean thy heart from grovelling views below,
And point out bliss beyond Misfortune's reach:
To shew that all the flattering schemes of joy
Which tow'ring Hope so fondly builds in air,
One fatal moment can destroy,
And plunge th' exulting maniac in despair.
Then O! with pious fortitude sustain
Thy present loss -- haply, thy future gain;
Nor let thy Emma die in vain;
Time shall administer its wonted balm,
And hush this storm of grief to no unpleasing calm.

Thus the poor bird, by some disastrous fate,
Caught and imprisoned in a lonely cage,
Torn from its native fields and dearer mate,
Flutters awhile, and spends its little rage:
But, finding all its efforts weak and vain,
No more it pants and rages for the plain;
Moping awhile, in sullen mood
Droops the sweet mourner -- but, ere long,
Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food,
And meditates the song:
Serenely sorrowing, breathes its piteous case,
And with its plaintive warblings saddens all the place.

Forgive me, Heaven! -- yet -- yet the tears will flow,
To think how soon my scene of bliss is past!
My budding joys, just promising to blow,
All nipt and withered by one envious blast!
My laughing hours, that wont to fleet away,
Move heavily along;
Where's now the sprightly jest, the jocund song?
Time creeps unconscious of delight:
How shall I cheat the tedious day?
And O -- the joyless night!
Where shall I rest my weary head,
How shall I find repose on a sad widow'd bed?

Come, Theban drug, the wretch's only aid,
To my torn heart its former peace restore;
Thy votary wrapp'd in thy Lethean shade,
Awhile shall cease his sorrows to deplore:
Haply, when locked in sleep's embrace,
Again I shall behold my Emma's face;
Again with transport hear
Her voice, soft whispering in my ear;
May steal once more a balmy kiss,
And taste, at least, of visionary bliss.

But ah! th' unwelcome morn's obtruding light
Will all my shadowy schemes of bliss depose,
Will tear the dear illusion from my sight,
And wake me to the sense of all my woes:
If to the verdant fields I stray,
Alas! what pleasures now can these convey?
Her lovely form pursues where'er I go,
And darkens all the scene with woe.
By Nature's lavish bounties cheered no more,
Sorrowing I rove
Through valley, grot, and grove;
Nought can their beauties or my loss restore;
No herb, no plant, can medicine my disease,
And my sad sighs are borne on ev'ry passing breeze.

Sickness and sorrow hov'ring round my bed,
Who now with anxious haste shall bring relief,
With lenient hand support my drooping head,
Assuage my pains, and mitigate my grief?
Should worldly business call away,
Who now shall in my absence fondly mourn,
Count every minute of the loitering day,
Impatient for my quick return?
Should aught my bosom discompose,
Who now, with sweet complacent air,
Shall smooth the rugged brow of care,
And soften all my woes?
Too faithful Memory -- Cease, O cease --
How shall I e'er regain my peace?
(O to forget her!) -- but how vain each art,
Whilst every virtue lives imprinted on my heart.

And thou, my little cherub left behind,
To hear a father's plaints, to share his woes,
When Reason's dawn informs thy infant mind,
And thy sweet lisping tongue shall ask the cause,
How oft with sorrow shall mine eyes run o'er,
When, twining round my knees, I trace
Thy mother's smile upon thy face?
How oft to my full heart shalt thou restore
Sad memory of joys, ah, now no more!
By blessings once enjoyed now more distrest,
More beggar by the riches once possest.

My little darling! -- dearer to me grown
By all the tears thou'st caus'd -- (O strange to hear!)
Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own,
Thy cradle purchas'd with thy mother's bier:
Who now shall seek, with fond delight
Thy infant steps to guide aright?
She who, with doating eyes, would gaze
On all thy little artless ways,
By all thy soft endearments blest,
And clasp thee oft with transport to her breast,
Alas! is gone -- Yet shalt thou prove
A father's dearest, tend'rest love;
And O! sweet senseless smiler (envied state!)
As yet unconscious of thy hapless fate,
When years thy judgment shall mature,
And Reason shows those ills it cannot cure,
Wilt thou, a father's grief to assuage,
For virtue prove the Phenix of the earth?
(Like her, thy mother died to give thee birth)
And be the comfort of my age?

When sick and languishing I lie,
Wilt thou my Emma's wonted care supply?
And oft, as to thy listening ear,
Thy mother's virtues and her fate I tell,
Say, wilt thou drop the tender tear,
Whilst on the mournful theme I dwell?
Then, fondly stealing to thy father's side,
Whene'er thou see'st the soft distress,
Which I would vainly seek to hide,
Say, wilt thou strive to make it less?
To sooth my sorrows all thy cares employ,
And in my cup of grief infuse one drop of joy?





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