ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY
by: Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
- HAT beck'ning ghost, along the
moonlight shade
- Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
- 'Tis she!--but why that bleeding bosom gored,
- Why dimly gleams the visionary sword?
- O, ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
- Is it, in Heav'n, a crime to love too well?
- To bear too tender or too firm a heart,
- To act a lover's or a Roman's part?
- Is there no bright reversion in the sky
- For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
- Why bade ye else, ye Pow'rs! her soul aspire
- Above the vulgar flight of low desire?
- Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes;
- The glorious fault of angels and of gods;
- Thence to their images on earth it flows,
- And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
- Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
- Dull sullen pris'ners in the body's cage:
- Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,
- Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres;
- Like Eastern kings a lazy state they keep,
- And close confined to their own palace, sleep.
-
- From these perhaps (ere Nature bade her die)
- Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
- As into air the purer spirits flow,
- And sep'rate from their kindred dregs below,
- So flew the soul to its congenial place,
- Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.
-
- But thou, false guardian of a charge too good!
- Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood!
- See on these ruby lips the trembling breath,
- These cheeks now fading at the blast of Death:
- Cold is that breast which warm'd the world before,
- And those love-darting eyes must roll no more.
- Thus, if eternal Justice rules the ball,
- Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall;
- On all the line a sudden vengeance waits,
- And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates.
- There passengers shall stand, and pointing say
- (While the long fun'rals blacken all the way),
- 'Lo! these were they whose souls the Furies steel'd
- And cursed with hearts unknowing how to yield.'
- Thus unlamented pass the proud away,
- The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
- So perish all whose breast ne'er learned to glow
- For others' good, or melt at others' woe!
-
- What can atone (O ever-injured shade!)
- Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?
- No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear
- Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful bier.
- Be foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed,
- By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,
- By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
- By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd!
- What tho' no friends in sable weeds appear,
- Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
- And bear about the mockery of woe
- To midnight dances, and the public show?
- What tho' no weeping Loves thy ashes grace,
- Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face?
- What tho' no sacred earth allow thee room,
- Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb?
- Yet shall thy grave with rising flow'rs be drest,
- And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast:
- There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow,
- There the first roses of the year shall blow;
- While angels with their silver wings o'ershade
- The ground now sacred by the reliques made.
-
- So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name,
- What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.
- How loved, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
- To whom related, or by whom begot;
- A heap of dust alone remains of thee,
- 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
-
- Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung,
- Deaf the praised ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.
- Ev'n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays,
- Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays;
- Then from his closing eyes they form shall part,
- And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart;
- Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er,
- The Muse forgot, and thou beloved no more!
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