"Yet when my trembling Soul's dislodg'd, wou'd be / No Room of State within the Grave for me."
— Rowe [née Singer], Elizabeth (1674-1737)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for E. Curll [etc.]
Date
1737
Metaphor
"Yet when my trembling Soul's dislodg'd, wou'd be / No Room of State within the Grave for me."
Metaphor in Context
What if serenely blest with Calms I swam,
Pactolus! in thy golden-sanded Stream?
Not all the Wealth that lavish Chance cou'd give,
My Soul from Death cou'd one short Hour reprieve.
When from my Heart the wandring Life must move,
No Cordial all my useless Gold cou'd prove.
What tho' I plung'd in Joys so deep and wide,
'Twou'd tire my Thoughts to reach the distant Side,
Fancy itself 'twou'd tire to plumb th' Abyss;
If I for an uncertain Lease of this,
Sold the fair Hopes of an eternal bliss?
What if invested with the Royal State
Of da'zling Queens, ador'd by Kings, I sat?
Yet when my trembling Soul's dislodg'd, wou'd be
No Room of State within the Grave for me.
What if my Youth, in Wit's and Beauty's Bloom,
Shou'd promise many a flatt'ring Year to come?
Tho' Death should pass the beauteous Flourisher,
Advancing Time wou'd all its Glory mar.
What if the Muses loudly sung my Fame,
The barren Mountains echoing with my Name?
An envious Puff might blast the rising Pride,
And all its bright conspicuous Lustre hide.
If o'er my Relicks Monuments they raise,
And fill the World with Flatt'ry, or with Praise,
What wou'd they all avail, if sink I must,
My Soul to endless Shades, my Body to the Dust?
Pactolus! in thy golden-sanded Stream?
Not all the Wealth that lavish Chance cou'd give,
My Soul from Death cou'd one short Hour reprieve.
When from my Heart the wandring Life must move,
No Cordial all my useless Gold cou'd prove.
What tho' I plung'd in Joys so deep and wide,
'Twou'd tire my Thoughts to reach the distant Side,
Fancy itself 'twou'd tire to plumb th' Abyss;
If I for an uncertain Lease of this,
Sold the fair Hopes of an eternal bliss?
What if invested with the Royal State
Of da'zling Queens, ador'd by Kings, I sat?
Yet when my trembling Soul's dislodg'd, wou'd be
No Room of State within the Grave for me.
What if my Youth, in Wit's and Beauty's Bloom,
Shou'd promise many a flatt'ring Year to come?
Tho' Death should pass the beauteous Flourisher,
Advancing Time wou'd all its Glory mar.
What if the Muses loudly sung my Fame,
The barren Mountains echoing with my Name?
An envious Puff might blast the rising Pride,
And all its bright conspicuous Lustre hide.
If o'er my Relicks Monuments they raise,
And fill the World with Flatt'ry, or with Praise,
What wou'd they all avail, if sink I must,
My Soul to endless Shades, my Body to the Dust?
Categories
Provenance
Searching "soul" and "room" in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
05/16/2005
