With joy like ours, the Thracian youth invades
Orpheus, returning from the Elysian shades;
Embrace the hero, and his stay implore;
Make it their public suit he would no more
Desert them so, and for his spouse's sake,
His vanished love, tempt the Lethean lake.
The ladies, too, the brightest of that time,
(Ambitious all his lofty bed to climb)
Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed,
Who shall the fair Eurydice succeed:
Eurydice! for whom his numerous moan
Makes listening trees and savage mountains groan;
Through all the air his sounding strings dilate
Sorrow, like that which touched our hearts of late.
Your pining sickness, and your restless pain,
At once the land affecting, and the main,
When the glad news that you were admiral
Scarce through the nation spread, 'twas feared by all
That our great Charles, whose wisdom shines in you,
Would be perplexed how to choose a new.
So more than private was the joy and grief,
That at the worst it gave our souls relief,
That in our age such sense of virtue lived,
They joyed so justly, and so justly grieved.
Nature (her fairest lights eclipsed) seems
Herself to suffer in those sharp extremes;
While not from thine alone thy blood retires,
But from those cheeks which all the world admires.
The stem thus threatened, and the sap in thee,
Droop all the branches of that noble tree!
Their beauty they, and we our love suspend;
Nought can our wishes, save thy health, intend.
As lilies overcharged with rain, they bend
Their beauteous heads, and with high heaven contend;
Fold thee within their snowy arms, and cry—
“He is too faultless, and too young, to die!”
So like immortals round about thee they
Sit, that they fright approaching death away.
Who would not languish, by so fair a train
To be lamented, and restored again?
Or, thus withheld, what hasty soul would go,
Though to be blest? O'er her Adonis so
Fair Venus mourned, and with the precious shower
Of her warm tears cherished the springing flower.
The next support, fair hope of your great name,
And second pillar of that noble frame,
By loss of thee would no advantage have,
But step by step pursue thee to the grave.
And now relentless Fate, about to end
The line which backward does so far extend
That antique stock, which still the world supplies
With bravest spirits, and with brightest eyes,
Kind Phœbus, interposing, bid me say,
Such storms no more shall shake that house; but they,
Like Neptune, and his sea-born niece, shall be
The shining glories of the land and sea;
With courage guard, and beauty warm, our age,
And lovers fill with like poetic rage.