Ev'n for the kid or lamb that pour'd its life Beneath the bloody knife, Her gentle tears would fall, Tears from sweet Virtue's source, benevolent to all. XII. Not only good and kind, But strong and elevated was her mind : Could look superior down On Fortune's smile, or frown; To Virtue's lowest duty sacrifice A wit that, temperately bright, All pleasing shone, nor ever past The decent bounds that Wisdom's sober hand, And sweet Benevolence's mild command, And bashful Modesty before it cast. A prudence undeceiving, undeceiv'd, Such Lucy was, when, in her fairest days, Amidst th' acclaim of universal praise, In life's and glory's freshest bloom, Death came remorseless on, and sunk her to the tomb. XIII. So, where the silent streams of Liris glide, When now the wintry tempests all are fled, On every bough the golden fruits are seen; With odours sweet it fills the smiling skies, The wood-nymphs tend it, and th' Idalian queen: But, in the midst of all its blooming pride, A sudden blast from Apenninus blows, Cold with perpetual snows: The tender blighted plant shrinks up its leaves, and dies. XIV. Arise, O Petrarch, from th' Elysian bow'rs, With never-fading myrtles twin'd, And fragrant with ambrosial flow'rs, Where to thy Laura thou again art join'd; Arise, and hither bring the silver lyre, Tun'd by thy skilful hand To the soft notes of elegant desire, With which o'er many a land Was spread the fame of thy disastrous love; To me resign the vocal shell, And teach my sorrows to relate Their melancholy tale so well, As may ev'n things inanimate, Rough mountain oaks, and desert rocks, to pity move. XV. What were, alas! thy woes compar'd to mine? To thee thy mistress in the blissful band Of Hymen never gave her hand; She never bore a share, Nor with endearing art Would heal thy wounded heart Of every secret grief that fester'd there: Nor did she crown your mutual flame With pledges dear, and with a father's tender name. XVI. O best of wives! O dearer far to me Than when thy virgin charms Were yielded to my arms, How can my soul endure the loss of thee? Without my sweet companion can I live? The dear reward of every virtuous toil, What pleasures now can pall'd Ambition give? Ev'n the delightful sense of well-earn'd praise, Unshar'd by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts could raise. XVII. For my distracted mind What succour can I find? On whom for consolation shall I call? Support me, every friend, Your kind assistance lend To bear the weight of this oppressive wo. Alas! each friend of mine, My dear departed love, so much was thine, That none has any comfort to bestow. My books, the best relief In every other grief, Are now with your idea sadden'd all: Each fav'rite author we together read My tortur'd mem'ry wounds, and speaks of Lucy dead. XVIII. We were the happiest pair of human kind: Another and another smiling came, Harmonious Concord did our wishes bind: That all this pleasing fabric Love had rais'd On which e'en wanton Vice with Envy gaz'd, And every scheme of bliss our hearts had form'd, Yet, O my soul, thy rising murmurs stay, With impious grief complain. That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade, Was his most righteous will, and be that will obey'd. |