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To the Memory of Mrs. Tempest
LYCIDAS. THYRSIS! the music of that murm’ring spring | |
| Is not so mournful as the strains you sing; | |
| Nor rivers winding thro’ the vales below | |
| So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow. | |
| Now sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie, | 5 |
| The moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky; | |
| While silent birds forget their tuneful lays, | |
| O sing of Daphne’s fate, and Daphne’s praise! | |
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THYRSIS. Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, | |
| Their beauty wither’d, and their verdure lost. | 10 |
| Here shall I try the sweet Alexis’ strain, | |
| That call’d the list’ning Dryads to the plain? | |
| Thames heard the numbers as he flow’d along, | |
| And bade his willows learn the moving song. | |
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LYCIDAS. So may kind rains their vital moisture yield, | 15 |
| And swell the future harvest of the field. | |
| Begin: this charge the dying Daphne gave, | |
| And said, ‘Ye shepherds, sing around my grave!’ | |
| Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn, | |
| And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn. | 20 |
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THYRSIS. Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring, | |
| Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring: | |
| Ye weeping Loves, the stream with myrtles hide, | |
| And break your bows, as when Adonis died! | |
| And with your golden darts, now useless grown, | 25 |
| Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone: | |
| ‘Let Nature change, let Heav’n and Earth deplore, | |
| Fair Daphne’s dead, and Love is now no more!’ | |
| ’T is done; and Nature’s various charms decay, | |
| See gloomy clouds obscure the cheerful day! | 30 |
| Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear, | |
| Their faded honours scatter’d on her bier. | |
| See, where on earth the flow’ry glories lie, | |
| With her they flourish’d, and with her they die. | |
| Ah, what avail the beauties Nature wore? | 35 |
| Fair Daphne’s dead, and Beauty is no more! | |
| For her the flocks refuse their verdant food, | |
| The thirsty heifers shun the gliding flood; | |
| The silver swans her hapless fate bemoan, | |
| In notes more sad than when they sing their own; | 40 |
| In hollow caves sweet Echo silent lies, | |
| Silent, or only to her name replies; | |
| Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore; | |
| Now Daphne’s dead, and Pleasure is no more! | |
| No grateful dews descend from ev’ning skies, | 45 |
| Nor morning odours from the flowers arise; | |
| No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field, | |
| Nor fragrant herbs their native incense yield. | |
| The balmy zephyrs, silent since her death, | |
| Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath; | 50 |
| Th’ industrious bees neglect their golden store: | |
| Fair Daphne’s dead, and sweetness is no more! | |
| No more the mountain larks, while Daphne sings, | |
| Shall, list’ning in mid-air, suspend their wings; | |
| No more the birds shall imitate her lays, | 55 |
| Or, hush’d, with wonder, hearken from the sprays; | |
| No more the streams their murmurs shall forbear, | |
| A sweeter music that their own to hear; | |
| But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore, | |
| Fair Daphne’s dead, and music is no more! | 60 |
| Her fate is whisper’d by the gentle breeze, | |
| And told in sighs to all the trembling trees; | |
| The trembling trees, in every plain and wood, | |
| Her fate remurmur to the silver flood; | |
| The silver flood, so lately calm, appears | 65 |
| Swell’d with new passion, and o’erflows with tears; | |
| The winds and trees and floods her death deplore, | |
| Daphne, our Grief, our Glory now no more! | |
| But see! where Daphne wond’ring mounts on high | |
| Above the clouds, above the starry sky! | 70 |
| Eternal beauties grace the shining scene, | |
| Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green! | |
| There while you rest in amaranthine bowers, | |
| Or from those meads select unfading flowers, | |
| Behold us kindly, who your name implore, | 75 |
| Daphne, our Goddess, and our Grief no more! | |
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LYCIDAS. How all things listen, while thy Muse complains! | |
| Such silence waits on Philomela’s strains, | |
| In some still ev’ning, when the whisp’ring breeze | |
| Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees. | 80 |
| To thee, bright Goddess, oft a lamb shall bleed, | |
| If teeming ewes increase my fleecy breed. | |
| While plants their shade, or flowers their odours give, | |
| Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise shall live! | |
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THYRSIS. But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews; | 85 |
| Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse; | |
| Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay, | |
| Time conquers all, and we must Time obey. | |
| Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, streams, and groves; | |
| Adieu, ye shepherds’ rural lays and loves; | 90 |
| Adieu, my flocks; farewell, ye sylvan crew; | |
| Daphne, farewell; and all the world adieu! | |
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