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A34313
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The mourning muse of Alexis a pastoral : lamenting the death of our late gracious Queen Mary of ever blessed memory / by Mr. Congreve.
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Congreve, William, 1670-1729.
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1695
(1695)
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Wing C5861; ESTC R21080
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3,455
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14
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THE Mourning Muse OF ALEXIS A PASTORAL Lamenting the Death of our late Gracious QUEEN MARY Of ever Blessed Memory By Mr. CONGREVE Infandum Regina Jubes renovare dolorem Virg. The Third Edition LONDON Printed for Jacob Tonson at the Judge's Head near the Inner-Temple-Gate in Fleetstreet 1695. THE Mourning Muse OF ALEXIS A PASTORAL ALEXIS and MENALCAS Men. BEhold Alexis see this Gloomy Shade Which seems alone for Sorrow's Shelter made Where the glad Beams of Light can never play But Night succeeding Night excludes the Day Where never Birds with Harmony repair And lightsom Notes to cheer the Dusky Air To welcom Day or bid the Sun farewel By Morning Lark or Evening Philomel No Violet here nor Daisie e're was seen No sweetly budding Flower nor springing Green For fragrant Myrtle and the blushing Rose Here baleful Yew with deadly Cypress grows Here then extended on this wither'd Moss We 'll lie and thou shalt sing of ALBION's Loss Of ALBION's Loss and of PASTORA's Death Begin thy mournful Song and raise thy tuneful Breath Alex. Ah Woe too great Ah Theme which far exceeds The lowly Lays of humble Shepherds Reeds O could I sing in Verse of equal Strain With the Sicilian Bard or Mantuan Swain In melting Words and moving Numbers chuse Sweet as the British Colins mourning Muse Could I like him in tuneful Grief excel And mourn like Stella for her Astrophel Then might I raise my Voice secure of Skill And with melodious Woe the Valleys fill The list'ning Echo on my Song should wait And hollow Rocks PASTORA's Name repeat Each whistling Wind and murmuring Stream should tell How Lov'd she liv'd and how Lamented fell Men. Wert thou with ev'ry Bay and Lawrel crown'd And high as Pan himself in Song renown'd Yet wou'd not all thy Art avail to show Verse worthy of her Name or of our Woe But such true Passion in thy Face appears In thy pale Lips thick Sighs and gushing Tears Such tender Sorrow in thy Heart I read As shall supply thy Skill if not exceed Then leave this common Form of dumb Distress Each vulgar Grief can Sighs and Tears express In sweet complaining Notes thy Passion vent And not in Sighs but Words explaining Sighs lament Alex. Wild be my Thoughts Menalcas wild my Words Artless as Nature's Notes in untaught Birds Boundless my Verse and roving be my Strains Various as Flow'rs on unfrequented Plains And thou Thalia Darling of my Breast By whom inspired I sung at Comus Feast While in a Ring the Jolly Rural Throng Have sate and smil'd to hear my chearful Song Begon with all thy Mirth and sprightly Lays My Pipe no longer now thy Pow'r obeys Learn to lament my Muse to weep and mourn Thy springing Lawrels all to Cypress turn Wound with thy dismal Cries the Tender Air And beat thy Snowy Breast and rend thy yellow Hair Far hence in utmost Wilds thy dwelling chuse Begon Thalia Sorrow is my Muse I mourn PASTORA dead let ALBION mourn And Sable Clouds her Chalkie Cliffs adorn No more these Woods shall with her Sight be bless'd Nor with her Feet these Flow'ry Plains be press'd No more the Winds shall with her Tresses play And from her Balmy Breath steal Sweets away No more these Rivers chearfully shall pass Pleas'd to reflect the Beauties of her Face While on their Banks the wond'ring Flocks have stood Greedy of Sight and negligent of Food No more the Nymphs shall with soft Tales delight Her Ears no more with Dances please her Sight Nor ever more shall Swain make Song of Mirth To bless the Joyous Day that gave her Birth Lost is that Day which had from her its Light For ever lost with her in endless Night In endless Night and Arms of Death she lies Death in Eternal Shades has shut PASTORA's Eyes Lament ye Nymphs and mourn ye wretched Swains Stray all ye Flocks and desart be ye Plains Sigh all ye winds and weep ye Crystal Flouds Fade all ye Flowers and wither all ye Woods I mourn PASTORA dead let ALBION mourn And Sable Clouds her Chalkie Cliffs adorn Within a Dismal Grott which Damps surround All Cold she lies upon th' unwholsom Ground The Marble weeps and with a silent Pace Its trickling Tears distil upon her Face Falsly ye weep ye Rocks and falsly mourn For never will you let the Nymph return With a feign'd Grief the faithless Tomb relents And like the Crocodile it 's Prey laments O she was Heav'nly fair in Face and Mind Never in Nature were such Beauties join'd Without all shining and within all white Pure to the Sence and pleasing to the Sight Like some rare Flow'r whose Leaves all Colours yield And opening is with sweetest Odours fill'd As lofty Pines o'retop the lowly Reed So did her graceful Height all Nymphs exceed To which excelling Height she bore a Mind Humble as Osiers bending to the Wind. Thus excellent she was Ah wretched Fate She was but is no more Help me ye Hills and Valleys to deplore I mourn PASTORA dead let ALBION mourn And Sable Clouds her Chalkie Cliffs adorn From that blest Earth on which her Body lies May blooming Flow'rs with fragrant Sweets arise Let Myrrha weeping Aromatick Gum And ever-living Lawrel shade her Tomb. Thither let all th' industrious Bees repair Unlade their Thighs and leave their Hony there Thither let Fairies with their Train resort Neglect their Revels and their midnight sport There in unusual wailings waste the Night And watch her by the fiery glow-worms light There may no dismal Yew nor Cypress grow Nor Holly bush nor bitter Elders bow Let each unlucky Bird far build his Nest And distant Dens receive its howling Beast Let Wolves be gone and Ravens put to flight With hooting Owls and Batts that hate the light But let the sighing Doves their Sorrows bring And Nightingales in sweet Complainings Sing Let Swans from their forsaken Rivers fly And Sick'ning at her Tomb make haste to dye That they may help to Sing her Elegy Let Echo too in Mimick Moan deplore And cry with me PASTORA is no more I mourn PASTORA dead let ALBION mourn And Sable Clouds her Chalkie Cliffs adorn And see the Heav'ns to weep in dew prepare And heavy Mists obscure the burd'ned Air A suddain damp o're all the Plain is spread Each Lilly folds its Leaves and hangs its Head On ev'ry Tree the Blossoms turn to Tears And ev'ry Bow a weeping Moisture bears Their Wings the Feather'd Airy People droop And Flocks beneath their dewy Fleeces stoop The Rocks are cleft and new descending Rills Furrow the Brows of all th' impending Hills The water Gods to Flouds their Riv'lets turn And each with streaming Eyes supplies his wanting Urn. The Fawns forsake the Woods the Nymphs the Grove And round the Plain in sad Distractions rove In prickly Brakes their Tender Limbs they tear And leave on Thorns their Locks of Golden Hair With their sharp Nails themselves the Satyrs wound And tug their shaggy Beards and bite with grief the ground Lo Pan himself beneath a blasted Oak Dejected lies his Pipe in pieces broke See Pales weeping too in wild despair And to the piercing Winds her Bosome bare And see yond fading Myrtle where appears The Queen of Love all bath'd in flowing Tears See how she wrings her Hands and beats her Breast And tears her useless Girdle from her waste Hear the sad Murmurs of her sighing Doves For Grief they sigh forgetful of their Loves Lo Love himself with heavy Woes opprest See how his Sorrows swell his tender Breast His Bow he breaks and wide his Arrows flings And folds his little Arms and hangs his drooping Wings Then lays his Limbs upon the dying Grass And all with Tears bedews his Beauteous Face With Tears which from his folded Lids arise And even Love himself has weeping Eyes All Nature Mourns the Flouds and Rocks deplore And cry with me PASTORA is no more I mourn PASTORA dead let ALBION mourn And Sable Clouds her Chalkie Cliffs adorn The Rocks can Melt and Air in Mists can Mourn And Flouds can weep and Winds to Sighs can turn The Birds in Songs their Sorrows can disclose And Nymphs and Swains in Words can tell their Woes But oh behold that deep and wild Despair Which neither Winds can show nor Flouds nor Air. See the Great Shepherd Chief of all the Swains Lord of these Woods and wide extended Plains Stretch'd on the Ground and close to Earth his Face Scalding with Tears th' already faded Grass To the cold Clay he joyns his throbbing Breast No more within PASTORA's Arms to rest No more For those once soft and circling Arms Themselves are Clay and cold are all her Charms Cold are those Lips which he no more must Kiss And cold that Bosome once all downy Bliss On whose soft Pillows lull'd in sweet Delights He us'd in Balmy Sleep to lose the Nights Ah! Where is all that Love and Fondness fled Ah! Where is all that Tender Sweetness laid To Dust must all that Heav'n of Beauty come And must PASTORA moulder in the Tomb Ah Death more fierce and unrelenting far Than wildest Wolves or savage Tygers are With Lambs and Sheep their Hungers are appeas'd But ravenous Death the Shepherdess has seiz'd I mourn PASTORA dead let ALBION mourn And Sable Clouds her Chalkie Cliffs adorn But see Menalcas where a sudden Light With Wonder stops my Song and strikes my Sight And where PASTORA lies it spreads around Shewing all Radiant Bright the Sacred Ground While from her Tomb behold a Flame ascends Of whitest Fire whose Flight to Heav'n extends On flaky Wings it mounts and quick as Sight Cuts thro' the yielding Air with Rays of Light Till the Blue Firmament at last it gains And fixing there a Glorious Star remains Fairest it seems of all that light the Skies As once on Earth were seen PASTORA 's Eyes FINIS