Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
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A42474
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Damon a pastoral lamenting the death of that incomparable master of musick, Mr. Henry Purcell, late organist of His Majesty's Chapel and St. Peter's Westminster / by J.G.
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J. G.
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1696
(1696)
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Wing G34; ESTC R28400
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2,993
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10
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DAMON A PASTORAL Lamenting the DEATH Of that Incomparable MASTER of MUSICK Mr. Henry Purcell Late Organist of his Majesty's Chapel and St. Peter's Westminster Cui liquidem pater Vocem cum citharâ dedit Hor. Quando ullum invenient parem Ibid. By J. G. M. A. LONDON Printed by J. Heptinstall for Henry Playford in the Middle-Temple Change in Fleetstreet 1696. DAMON and THYRSIS Dam. BEneath this dismal Yew with Moss o'ergrown Where nought but Tears are dropt and Sighs are blown Begirt with balefull Cypress-Trees around Which gloomy Night and black Despair surround Where ne'er Salubrious Herb or Fragrant Flow'r Did spring and smile where ne'er fell Fertile Show'r But th' humid Skies a damp perpetual wear And dusky Mists hang in the lazy Air. Here here we 'll lie with Cypress Chaplets crown'd Our Heads reclining on th' unwholsom Ground We 'll lie and sing how our Great Pan is dead With whom the Soul of Harmony is fled In mutual Plaints we 'll sweetly sigh our Grief Ah! Grief which here admits of no Relief Come let 's begin and sing Arcadia's Loss And let Pan all our Sighs and all our Tears engross Thyr. Alas how can we sing now He is gone He taught us Songs without Him we learnt none The little Birds their chirping Notes have lost Which imitating Him they once cou'd boast No more can Philomel with Tunefull Voice The Gladsom Woods and Ecchoing Hills rejoyce Swans only sing and only sing to die Warbling their own and his sad Elegy The hooting Owls those Birds obscene of Night With Screeches shape their Inauspicious Flight To croaking Ravens hideous Screams then rend Th' affrighted Plain and deadly Fates portend But who can sing in Sweet Harmonious Lays Equal to our departed Master's Praise Cou'd I but pattern his Pathetick Strain * Words upon Mr. J. Playford ' s Death Sett incomparably by Mr. Purcell Theron belov'd of Pan and dear to Phoebus Train Like Him I 'de make each flinty Rock relent And the mov'd Stones give their new Passion vent But I am young in Art and must decline This Task which with Reluctance I resign Thou best know'st how to sing and how to mourn He gave thee Skill which to his Praise return Dam. Hence hence Terpsichore hence from my Sight Be gone to distant Regions wing thy Flight Hence with thy jocond Thoughts and jolly Train Of Fancies which oft revell'd in my Brain On Sighs then Air Camelion like I 'll live And Tears I 'll drink and drink 'em oft to grieve Come to my Arms Melpomene I 'm blest In thy Embrace thou Mistress of my Breast With thee I 'll sigh all Night and weep all Day In sobbing Accents mourn my Soul away Great Pan's no more let Arcadia deplore Th' Irreparable Loss Great Pan's no more Lament lament ye wretched Nymphs and Swains Lament Great Pan deceas'd in Mournfull Strains And lo the Muses mourn deep Sables wear Untune their Lyres and dolefull Swains prepare The Graces weep clad in a ruefull Dress No pleated Vest is seen nor braided Tress Wild are their Looks dishevell'd is their Hair And their loose Garments ruffle in the Air. Venus with piteous Wailing vents a Groan Her Doves sit by murmur and with her moan Cupid unbraces too his little Bow And flings it wide his Shafts are useless now The rugged Satyrs full of Grief forbear Each Antick Gesture and each Comick Jeer The Dryads with the Sylvans and the Fauns No more in Dances trip it o'er the Lawns All cry Pan's gone to the dark Shades below Condoling Eccho sighing answers Oh! Lament lament ye wretched Nymphs and Swains Lament Great Pan deceas'd in Mournfull Strains Never was Earth blest with such Heav'nly Sound Never were Swains in such deep Transports drown'd As when the Skillfull Shepherd touch'd his Reed Others which far did very far exceed Ecstatick Raptures fill'd our ravish'd Mind So lost that we our selves cou'd scarcely find We sunk beneath th' unweildy Load of Bliss And fainted but not thought the Charm amiss As Infant-Violets and the op'ning Rose To court our smelling fragrant Sweets disclose So did his Lays melodious Sweets dispense To charm the Ear and captivate the Sence His Mystick Airs strange Pleasures cou'd impart Cou'd raise the Soul as well as move the Heart We saw how o'er the stops his Fingers bound And blest the Skill which we so wondrous found Divine he seem'd or something more than Man But now he 's less contracted to a Span. Lament lament ye wretched Nymphs and Swains Lament Great Pan deceas'd in Mournfull Strains Dull Moevius Sonnets how did he refine To pleasing Notes harsh grating Numbers joyn He smooth'd our words and fill'd our uncouth Tongue And polish'd well each Line of ev'ry Song Whene'er the Artfull Shepherd sat and play'd The mute Creation hark'd his Charm obey'd The lowing Herds to hear him wond'ring stood And bleating Flocks regardless of their Food The Feather'd Choir descending throng'd each Bow Then mounting chirp'd and try'd such Notes to show The Finny People leap'd above the Flood To view what 't was that their Attention woo'd Impatient of the Bliss they reach the Side Assisted by the timely flowing Tide Mindfull of Sounds they never heard before And heedless of the Ebb they 're left on Shore Whene'er the mighty Songster rais'd his Voice He check'd each murmur still'd each louder Noise The foaming Surges did forget to roar And raging Billows durst not brave the Shore He smooth'd the Brow of ev'ry wrinkled Stream And blust'ring Winds hung lull'd as in a Dream No gentle Breeze cou'd rise to lay a Sweat No breath of Air cou'd fan the sultry Heat Whole Nature bow'd own'd his miraculous Art To which she largely did her self impart Thus pow'rfull were His Songs but he 's no more Ah! rigid Fate in vain we thee implore Lament lament ye wretched Nymphs and Swains Lament Great Pan deceas'd in Mournfull Strains For ever ceast are now those lightsome Airs Which brisk'd our Spirits thro' our raptur'd Ears For ever ceast are now those tender Lays Which loves sweet Passion mov'd ten thousand ways Lost is that vast Excess of Tunefull Skill That cou'd command the stubborn Notes at will And can I speak it Oh! the best of Swains Is lost that ever grac'd Arcadia's Plains * An admirable Song by Mr. Purcell Lost is my Quiet now he rest has found When shall we hear such an inchanting Sound Ah! He was sweet as Love Ah! He was all That we can Charming or Harmonious call Sweetness Divine bloom'd in His cheerfull Face His Looks bespoke Him blest with ev'ry Grace He was my Thyrsis more than I can say In His Encomiums I cou'd waste the Day Great Orpheus Lyre charm'd fair Euridice To th' Verge of Light Life and Felicity But who can from the Shades our Orpheus call Nought cou'd but His own moving Notes prevail But stiff those Fingers are this lower World Which mov'd and into sweet Confusion hurl'd For ever is that well tun'd hallow'd Breath Which gave Swains Life stopt by malignant Death All cold and breathless on the Turf he lies Eternal Darkness hath seal'd up his Eyes Lament lament ye wretched Nymphs and Swains Lament Great Pan deceas'd in Mournfull Strains Come all ye Shepherds with sad Dirges come And sing alternately around His Tomb In dolefull Sounds vent your enlarged Woes And let Sighs intermix'd short Rests compose While freshest Greens your Shepherdesses crop Which Honey Sweat and Nectar Juices drop With od'rous Herbs His Sepulchre to strow Bring Flow'rs ye Nymphs and Garlands to bestow Ye Muses deck with Elegies His Hearse Embalm His Name with ever-living Verse And when some faded Flow'r all pale appears Instill new Verdure with a Show'r of Tears Come all lament lament in Mournfull Strains Great Pan deceas'd late Glory of these Plains But hark Strange warbling Notes my Ears with pleasure wound Hark! how the Spheres melodiously resound Lo Cherubs come to convoy Him to go And sing those strains above he play'd below Seraphl t'aid his new Birth descend and sing So tunefuls Birds do hatch the pregnant Spring And lo Heav'ns Terras sacred Ministrels throng Some tune their Lyres and some prepare a Song And now with Golden Harps and Hymns Divine They mingle all and in full Consort joyn Myriads of Angels with Immortal State On mighty Pan as His Retinue wait Upwards he soars wing'd with Harmonious Fire And Earthly Joys compleats and the Caelestial Quire FINIS ERRATA Pag. 2. lin 20. for then read thin L. 25. for Arcadia r. Arcadie◠L. 30. for Swains r. Strains