One may see "Tears which would melt a heart even free to view, / How then must mine that's conquered bleed anew"
— Jemmat [née Yeo], Catherine (bap. 1714, d. 1766?)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed by Subscription, for Mrs. Jemmat, at Mr. Walker's [etc.]
Date
1762
Metaphor
One may see "Tears which would melt a heart even free to view, / How then must mine that's conquered bleed anew"
Metaphor in Context
To whom shall I my labouring breast disclose,
Reveal my tortures, and disclose my woes;
To thee, dear Lycidas, surviving friend,
To me thy aid, thy pen, thy muses lend;
While I in faithful, tho' in humble strain,
Deplore my loss, and of the fates complain;
No more in pleasing themes the muse delights,
Now sadly murmuring, trembles as she writes.
Far different thoughts must now my pen employ,
And into deepest anguish turn my joy;
Let love a while be banish'd far away,
Whilst I the last sad debt of friendship pay.
Ye virgins listen to this tale of woe,
And let the tender tears of sorrow flow;
You who once knew the dear departed youth,
That he was all made up of love and truth:
But oh, the brightest virtues cannot save
Their lovely owner from the insatiate grave.
For you, ye fair, there may be some amends,
All men are lovers, 'tis but few are friends;
Your shock of sorrow may in time decline,
Time may assuage your grief, but never mine;
You for new lovers may new smiles put on,
But I for no such friend now he is gone.
Who does not mourn this youth's unhappy date,
What heart but melts with pity for his fate;
Farewell too little and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call my own.
Have I not cause, relentless heaven, to mourn;
Did ever breast with purer friendship burn,
Did ever youth so beautiful appear,
Did ever branch so sweet a blossom bear:
Death view'd his beauties with unfriendly eyes,
Stept proudly forth and snatch'd the glorious prize;
Thus does the lovely rose its sweets dispense,
Fair to the eye and pleasing to the sense:
Till hoary winter with its icy arms,
Nips the fair bud and rifles all its charms.
Behold his weeping sisters first appear,
For ever torn from what they held so dear;
Adorn'd with cypress shades and springing flowers,
Shining thro' tears, like April suns in showers;
And great must be that merit which can draw
Streams from the loveliest eyes that ever saw.
Lo there she sits, and silent as she crys,
A chrystal flood of tears bedew her eyes;
Tears which would melt a heart even free to view,
How then must mine that's conquered bleed anew:
Conquer'd by thee dear maid, some pity shew,
Restrain those tears, ah! still alas they flow,
Compassion, love, and friendship all combine,
Can I resist? no, I'll for ever pine,
Sad luxury of grief how will I rove,
From sorrow still, to circling sorrow move,
From endless glory, kindlest endless love.
But why thy untimely fate should we deplore,
Sure we shall meet when once this life is o'er;
Where op'ning scenes of wonder charm the view,
And the soul springs to joys for ever new.
Heav'n only calls him to the realms above,
To teach the cherubims how they should love.
But hark! what voice is that invades my ears?
A voice which bids me cast away my fears;
Sure I should know the form, so young, so gay;
Yes, 'tis his shade, and thus it seems to say:
Lament mistaken friend my fate no more,
I'm safely landed on a happier shore,
And blest to full perfection I can now
With pity view whate'er I left below;
Indulge no more this sad complaining voice,
Nor by intemperate grief disturb my joys.
He spoke no more, but wing'd away his flight
To the bright mansions of eternal light.
Reveal my tortures, and disclose my woes;
To thee, dear Lycidas, surviving friend,
To me thy aid, thy pen, thy muses lend;
While I in faithful, tho' in humble strain,
Deplore my loss, and of the fates complain;
No more in pleasing themes the muse delights,
Now sadly murmuring, trembles as she writes.
Far different thoughts must now my pen employ,
And into deepest anguish turn my joy;
Let love a while be banish'd far away,
Whilst I the last sad debt of friendship pay.
Ye virgins listen to this tale of woe,
And let the tender tears of sorrow flow;
You who once knew the dear departed youth,
That he was all made up of love and truth:
But oh, the brightest virtues cannot save
Their lovely owner from the insatiate grave.
For you, ye fair, there may be some amends,
All men are lovers, 'tis but few are friends;
Your shock of sorrow may in time decline,
Time may assuage your grief, but never mine;
You for new lovers may new smiles put on,
But I for no such friend now he is gone.
Who does not mourn this youth's unhappy date,
What heart but melts with pity for his fate;
Farewell too little and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call my own.
Have I not cause, relentless heaven, to mourn;
Did ever breast with purer friendship burn,
Did ever youth so beautiful appear,
Did ever branch so sweet a blossom bear:
Death view'd his beauties with unfriendly eyes,
Stept proudly forth and snatch'd the glorious prize;
Thus does the lovely rose its sweets dispense,
Fair to the eye and pleasing to the sense:
Till hoary winter with its icy arms,
Nips the fair bud and rifles all its charms.
Behold his weeping sisters first appear,
For ever torn from what they held so dear;
Adorn'd with cypress shades and springing flowers,
Shining thro' tears, like April suns in showers;
And great must be that merit which can draw
Streams from the loveliest eyes that ever saw.
Lo there she sits, and silent as she crys,
A chrystal flood of tears bedew her eyes;
Tears which would melt a heart even free to view,
How then must mine that's conquered bleed anew:
Conquer'd by thee dear maid, some pity shew,
Restrain those tears, ah! still alas they flow,
Compassion, love, and friendship all combine,
Can I resist? no, I'll for ever pine,
Sad luxury of grief how will I rove,
From sorrow still, to circling sorrow move,
From endless glory, kindlest endless love.
But why thy untimely fate should we deplore,
Sure we shall meet when once this life is o'er;
Where op'ning scenes of wonder charm the view,
And the soul springs to joys for ever new.
Heav'n only calls him to the realms above,
To teach the cherubims how they should love.
But hark! what voice is that invades my ears?
A voice which bids me cast away my fears;
Sure I should know the form, so young, so gay;
Yes, 'tis his shade, and thus it seems to say:
Lament mistaken friend my fate no more,
I'm safely landed on a happier shore,
And blest to full perfection I can now
With pity view whate'er I left below;
Indulge no more this sad complaining voice,
Nor by intemperate grief disturb my joys.
He spoke no more, but wing'd away his flight
To the bright mansions of eternal light.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "conque" and "heart" in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
02/10/2005
