Several Poems, Elegy 5
A Funeral Elogy, Ʋpon that Pattern and Patron of Virtue, the truely pious, peerleſs & matchleſs Gentlewoman Mrs. Anne Bradſtreet, right Panaretes, Mirror of Her Age, Glory of her … whoſe Heaven-born-Soul leaving its earthly Shrine, choſe its native home, and was taken to its Reſt, upon 16th. Sept. 1672.
ASk not why hearts turn Magazines of paſſions,
And why that grief is clad in ſev'ral faſhions;
Why She on progreſs goes, and doth not borrow
The ſmalleſt reſpite from th'extreams of ſorrow,
Her miſery is got to ſuch an height,
As makes the earth groan to ſupport its weight,
Such ſtorms of woe, ſo ſtrongly have beſet her▪
She hath no place for worſe, nor hope for better;
Her comfort is, if any for her be▪
That none can ſhew more cauſe of grief then ſhe.
Ask not why ſome in mournfull black are clad;
The Sun is ſet, there needs muſt be a ſhade.
Ask not why every face a ſadneſs ſhrowdes;
The ſetting Sun ore-caſt us hath with Clouds.
Ask not why the great glory of the Skye
That gil…s the ſtarrs with heavenly Alchamy,
Which all the world doth lighten with his rayes,
The Perſlan God the Monarch of the dayes;
Ask not the reaſon of his ex…aſie,
Paleneſs of late, in midnoon Majeſty,
Why that the palefac'd Empreſs of the night
Diſrob'd her brother of his glorious light.
Did not the language of the ſtarrs foretel
A mournfull Sc…ne when they with tears did ſwell?
Did not the glorious people of the Skye
Seem ſenſible of future miſery?
Did not the lowring heavens ſeem to expreſs
The worlds great loſe, and their unhappineſs?
Behold how tears …ow from the learned hill,
How the bereaved Nine do daily fill
The boſome of the fleeting Air with groans,
And wofull Accents, which witneſs their moanes.
How doe the Goddeſſes of verſe the learned quire
Lament their rival Qui…l, which all admire?
Could Maro's Muſe but hear her lively ſtrain,
He would condemn his works to fire again.
Methinks I hear the Patron of the Spring,
The unſhorn Diety abruptly ſing.
Some doe for anguiſh weep, for anger I
That Ignorance ſhould live, and Art ſhould die.
Black, fatal, diſmal, inauſpicious day,
Unbleſt for ever by Sol's precious Ray,
Be it the firſt of Miſeries to all;
Or laſt of Life, defam'd for Funeral.
When this day yearly comes, let every one,
Caſt in their urne, the black and diſmal ſtone.
Succeeding years as they their circuit goe,
Leap o're this day, as a ſad time of woe.
Farewell my Muſe, ſince thou haſt left thy ſhrine,
I am unbleſt in one, but bleſt in nine.
Fair Theſpian Ladyes, light your torches all,
Attend your glory to its Funeral,
To court her aſhes with a learned tear.
A briny ſacrifice, let not a ſmile appear.
Grave Matron, whoſo ſeeks to blazon thee,
Needs not make uſe of witts falſe Heraldry,
Whoſo ſhould give thee all thy worth would ſwell
So high, as 'twould turn the world infidel.
Had he great Maro's Muſe, or Tully's tongue,
Or raping numbers like the Thracian Song,
In crowning of her merits he would be
ſumptuouſly poor, low in Hyperbole.
To write is eaſie but to write on thee,
Truth would be thought to forfeit modeſty.
He'l ſeem a Poet that ſhall ſpeak but true;
Hyperbole's in others, are thy due.
Like a moſt ſervile flatterer he will ſhow
Though he write truth, and make the ſubject, You.
Virtue ne're dies, time will a Poet …aiſe
Born under better Starrs, ſhall ſing thy praiſe.
Praiſe her who liſt, yet he ſhal, be a debtor
For Art ne're ſeign'd, nor Nature fram'd a better.
Her virtues were ſo great, that they do raiſe
A work to trouble fame, aſtoniſh praiſe.
When as her Name doth but ſalute the ear,
Men think that they perfections abſtract hear.
Her breaſt was a brave Pallace, a Broad-ſtreet,
Where all heroick ample thoughts did meet,
Where nature ſuch a Tenement had tane,
That others ſouls, to hers, dwelt in a lane.
Beneath her feet, pale envy bites her chain,
And poiſon Malice whetts her ſting in vain.
Let every Laurel, every Myrtel bough
Be ſtript for leaves t'adorn and load …er brow.
Victorious wreathes, which 'cauſe they never fade
Wiſe elder times for Kings and Poets made.
Let not her happy memory e're lack
Its worth in Fames eternal Almanack,
Which none ſhall read, but ſtraight their loſs deplore,
And blame their Fates they were not born before.
Do not old men rejoyce their …ates did laſt,
And infants too, that theirs did make ſuch haſt,
In ſuch a welcome time to bring them forth,
That they might be a witneſs to her worth.
Who undertakes this ſubject to commend
Shall nothing find to hard as how to end.
Finis & non.
John Norton.
Omnia Romanae ſileant Miracula Gentis.
End of the text · Anne Bradstreet, Several Poems (1678)