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THE MAGDALENS: AN ELEGY. By the AUTHOR of the NUNNERY.
LONDON: Printed for R. and J. DODSLEY, at Tully's-Head, Pall-Mall. M DCC LXIII. [Price Six-pence.]
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TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE MARY LEPEL, Baroneſs Dowager HERVEY of ICKWORTH. THIS ELEGY IS, WITH THE GREATEST RESPECT, INSCRIBED,
BY HER LADYSHIP's OBLIGED AND HUMBLE SERVANT, THE AUTHOR.
THE MAGDALENS.
[5]LO! kneeling at yon Rail with penſive Air,
A num'rous Train of ſuppliant Nymphs I ſpy:
Their youthful Cheek is pal'd with early Care,
And Sorrow dwells in their dejected Eye.
Hark, They attune a ſolemn plaintive Lay,
Where Grief with Harmony delights to meet:
Not Philomela from her lonely Spray
Trills her clear Note, more querulouſly ſweet.
[6]
Are Theſe the Fair who wont with conſcious Grace
Proud Ranelagh's reſplendent Round to tread?
Shine in the ſtudied Luxury of Dreſs?
And vie in Beauty with the high-born Maid?
The ſmiling Scenes of Pleaſure they ſorſake,
Obey no more Amuſement's idle Call,
Nor mingling with the Sons of Mirth partake
The Treat voluptuous, or the feſtive Ball.
For ſober Weeds they change their bright Attire,
Of the Pearl Bracelet ſtrip the graceful Arm,
Veil the white Breaſt, that lately heav'd Deſire,
And thrill'd with tender exquiſite Alarm:
Unbraid the cunning Treſſes of the Hair,
And each well-fancied Ornament remove,
The glowing Gem, the glitt'ring Solitaire—
The coſtly ſpoils of proſtituted Love!
[7]
Yet Beauty lingers on their mournful Brow,
Unwilling to forſake the Tear-dew'd Cheek,
Which ſcarcely bluſhing with a languid Glow
Partakes a Softneſs delicately meek.
No more compare then to the ſtately Flow'r,
Whoſe painted Foliage wantons in the Gale:
They look the Lily drooping from the Show'r,
Or the pale Vi'let ſick'ning in the Vale.
Let not the Prude with acrimonious Taunt,
Upbraid the humble Tenants of this Dome,
That Pleaſure's roſy Bow'r they us'd to haunt,
And in the Walks of looſe-rob'd Dalliance roam.
If fond of Empire, and of Conqueſt vain,
They frequent Vot'ries to their Altars drew,
Yet blaz'd thoſe Altars to the Fair ones' Bane,
The Idol They, and They the Victim too!
[8]
Some in this ſacred Manſion may reſide,
Who loſt their Parents in their Infant Years,
And hapleſs Orphans! trod without a Guide
The Maze of Life perplext with guileful Snares.
Some, that encircled by the Great and Rich,
Were won by Wiles, and deep-deſigning Art,
By ſplendid Bribes, and ſoſt perſuaſive Speech,
Of Pow'r to cheat the young unguarded Heart.
Some, on whom Beauty breath'd her choiceſt Bloom,
Whilſt adverſe Stars all other Gifts remov'd,
Who fled from Mis'ry and a Dungeon's Gloom,
To Scenes their inborn Virtue diſapprov'd.
What tho' Their Youth imbib'd an early Stain:
Now gilded by the Rays of new-born Fame,
A ſecond Innocence they here obtain,
And Nun-clad Penance heals their wounded Name.
[9]
So the young Myrtles nipt by treach'rous Cold,
(While ſtill the Summer yields his golden Store,)
In ſhelt'ring Walls their tender Leaves unfold,
And breathe a ſweeter Fragrance than before.
Tho' white-wing'd Peace protect this calm Abode,
Tho' each tumultuous Paſſion be ſuppreſs'd,
Still Recollection wears a Sting to goad,
Still arrowy Remorſe afflicts their Breaſt.
The tort'ring Hour of Mem'ry this may prove,
Who wrapt in penſive Secrecy forlorn,
Sits muſing on the Pledges of her Love,
Expos'd to chilly Want, and grinning Scorn:
Left by their Father in the Time of Need,
Juſt in th' unfolding Bloſſom of their Age!
"Was this, Seducer, this the promis'd Meed?"
She cries: Then ſinks beneath Affliction's Rage.
[10]
Another mourns her Fall with Grief ſincere,
Whom tranquil Reaſon tells ſhe's ſhun'd, diſdain'd,
Repuls'd as vile by thoſe who held her dear,
Who call'd her once Companion, Siſter, Friend.
That recollects the Day, when loſt to Shame
She fondly ſacrific'd her veſtal Charms:
Reſign'd the Virgin's for an Harlot's Name,
And left a Parent's for a Spoiler's Arms.
Imagination pencils to her Mind
The Father's Rage, the Mother's ſofter Woe:
Unhappy Pair! to that Diſtreſs conſign'd
A Child can give, a Parent only know.
The dreadful Picture fixes Sorrow's Dart,
Fond filial Paſſions in her Breaſt revive:
She feels keen Anguiſh preying at her Heart,
To Nature's Pangs too ſenſibly alive.
[11]
If this, or ſimilar tormenting Thought,
Cling to their Soul, when penſively alone,
For Youth's Offence, for Love's alluring Fault,
Say, do they not ſufficiently atone?
O mock not then their penitential Woes,
Thou, who may'ſt deign to mark this humble Theme,
Nor ſeek with foul Deriſion to expoſe
And give to Infamy their tainted Name.
Nor deem me one of Melancholy's Train,
If anxious for the Sorrow-wedded Fair,
(Tho' little ſkilful of poetic Strain
Whoſe pleaſing Muſic takes the tuneful Ear)
I ſteal impatient from the idle Throng,
The roving, gay, Companions of my Age,
To temper with their Praiſe my artleſs Song,
And ſoft-ey'd Pity in their Cauſe engage.
[12]
'Tis Virtue's Taſk to ſoothe Affliction's Smart,
To join in Sadneſs with the Fair diſtreſt:
Wake to another's Pain the tender Heart,
And move to Sympathy the feeling Breaſt.
THE END.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4594 The Magdalens an elegy By the author of The nunnery. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5AEB-7