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AN ELEGY WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF AN ABBEY. By the AUTHOR of the NUN.
LONDON: Printed for J. DODSLEY, in Pall-Mall.
MDCCLXV.
[Price Six Pence.]
AN ELEGY.
[3]WHERE ſighs the Zephyr to yon lonely Tree,
A ſolemn Grove its leafy Mantle ſpread:
Where bend yon mould'ring Turrets o'er the Sea,
A venerable Dome once rear'd [...]ts Head.
The ſolemn Grove, the venerable Dome,
Were erſt frequented by a num'rous Train,
Ev'n chaſte as they who Dian's Mountain roam,
But not ſubjected to her gentle Reign:
[4]
Far other Goddeſs did this Train obey,
Far other Temples, other Altars rais'd,
Far other Meaning breath'd their Choral Lay,
Far other Incenſe on their Altars blaz'd:
Veil'd Superſtition wak'd her magic Sound,
Bad Albion's Sons forſake the ſplendid Court,
Forſake Amuſement's variegated Round,
And to her [...]able Standard here reſort:
Alas! obſequious to her ſtern Command,
A ſullen-penſive Brotherhood they came,
Refus'd to trace the Paths by Nature plan'd,
And raz'd from Glory's Page their ancient Name.
[5]
Nor theſe alone were found incloiſter'd here,
Here alſo dwelt the ſimple-minded Swain,
Who wrapt in Sloth dream'd out the lazy Year,
'While Induſtry ſat weeping on the Plain.'
The many Temples riſing fair to view,
Which tow'ring Superſtition call'd her own,
With Hand unerring radiant Truth o'erthrew,
And ſnatch'd th' Impoſtor from her tinſel'd Throne:
On yon Duſt-level'd Spire the crafty Maid,
With Indignation brooding in her Breaſt
Sits gloomily—Her Vot'ries all are fled,
Her Lamps extinguiſh'd, and her Rites ſuppreſs'd:
[6]
Within her Hand a vacant String ſhe holds
That one connected many a hallow'd Bead:
The blotted Scroll the other Hand unfolds,
Contains the Maxims of her ſlighted Creed:
Couch'd at her Feet, behold a mould'ring Shrine
(Of various Relics once the dread Abode)
Where runs the Spider o'er his treach'rous Line,
Where lurks the Beetle, and the loathſome Toad:
On Darkneſs' wing now ſails the midnight Hour,
When for the grateful Sound of choral Pray'r,
The ſhrieking Owl from yon diſparted Tow'r,
With Notes of Horror wakes her trembling Ear.
[7]
Of human Grandeur mark the fleeting Day,
How frail each Purpoſe, and each Wiſh how vain!
The ſtrong-built Domes, the cloiſter'd Fanes decay,
And Ruin hovers round the deſert Scene.
The Path that leads to yonder ſhatter'd Pile
Is now perplex'd with many a ſordid Brier:
No Crowd is ſeen within the ſacred Iſle,
The Sabbath mourns its long-deſerted Quire.
The golden Crozier blended with the Duſt
In horrid Folds the Serpent claſps around:
The pow'rful Image, and the ſainted Buſt,
Defam'd, unhallow'd, preſs the weedy Ground.
[8]
Not diſtant far, her gold-encircled Tow'r
Th' inviolable Dome majeſtic rear'd,
On whoſe dread Altar breath'd ſome hidden Pow'r,
By Terror guarded, and by Kings rever'd:
To which Aſylum ev'n th' Aſſaſſin came,
(His Hand audacious ſtill imbrued with Gore)
The Boon of full Impunity to claim,
While feeble Juſtice wept her baffled Lore.
So Truth at length diſſolv'd the mental Chain,
And baniſh'd Error from th' enlighten'd Shore:
So clos'd at length the buſy-acted Scene,
The Curtain drop'd, and Folly's Maſk was o'er.
[9]
Then gladſome Ceres rais'd her drooping Head,
(While yellow Harveſts gilt the ſmiling Plain)
Beheld a youthful Band around her ſpread,
With Sickles arm'd to reap the bearded Grain.
The Warrior then beneath the trailing Veſt,
The peaceful Caſſock, or the drowſy Cowl,
No longer quench'd the Flame within his Breaſt,
Or lull'd the Purpoſe of his daring Soul:
But ruſh'd undaunted to the doubtful War,
Purſued where Glory led the radiant Way,
Till Neptune riſing on his coral Car,
Reſign'd his wat'ry World to Britain's Sway.
[10]
The Virgin Fair by venal Guardians doom'd,
By Error prompted, or ſubdued by Force,
No more in Cloiſters drear their Days conſum'd:
Like Flow'rets ſtrew'd around the ſenſeleſs Corſe.
Triumphant Hymen hail'd the bliſsful Hour,
And ſaw a white-rob'd ſocial Train approach,
For whom the Pleaſures dreſs'd the happy Bow'r,
And ſcatter'd Roſes o'er the deſtin'd Couch.
Still other Bleſſings from this Change appear'd,
No injur'd Family did then behold
On loit'ring Monks its native Wealth confer'd,
Nor ſpacious Altars cover'd with its Gold.
[11]
Full many trod that crooked Path to Fame,
Yet from her Hand receiv'd no laſting Meed,
She from her Annals rends their fading Name,
And gives to Infamy the worthleſs Deed:
But Vengeance ſome purſued with dire Diſgrace,
Purſued beyond the Circle of its Sphere,
Ev'n to the Cemetery's dark Receſs,
Nor ſpar'd them ſleeping on the peaceful Bier:
Beſide the ſpreading of that ſombrous Yew,
Where yawns with hideous Chaſm the vaulted Cave,
Preſenting to the fix'd aſtoniſh'd View,
The Profanation of a rifled Grave:
[12]
The large-endowing Rufus lay inurn'd
With many a ſculptur'd Image on his Shrine,
That ſmit with Sorrow o'er his Aſhes mourn'd,
The Siſter-Graces and the tuneful Nine.
Imprinted on Tradition's ſtoried Leaf
Is found (to this ſepulchral Spot confin'd)
A Terror-breathing Tale that wins Belief,
And oft repeated by the neighb [...]ring [...]ind!
From where yon Mountain ſhades the dreary Pla [...]
Attracted by the Scent of human Blood,
A Troop of Wolves voracious ſcour'd amain,
And at this Charnel Vault requir'd their Food:
[13]
When, horrid to relate! they burſt the Tomb,
And ſwift deſcending to the deepeſt Shade,
Up-tore the ſhrouded Tenant from its Womb,
And o'er the mangled Corſe relentleſs prey'd.
The paly Stars with dim reluctant Light,
Like Tapers glimmer'd on their Orgies foul,
While gliding Spectres ſcream'd with wild Affright,
Re-echo'd loud by their tremendous Howl.
Ah! what avail'd the ſolemn-moving Herſe?
The ſabled-mantled Cars, the Fun'ral Throng?
Grav'd on his Monument the ſoothing Verſe?
The Prieſts, the Torches, and the choral Song?
[14]
Misjudging Wretch! while thou with Hand profuſe,
Thy Treaſures on this Manſion didſt entail,
And pour down Riches on the vow'd Recluſe,
Thine Orphan Babes partook a ſcanty Meal:
Thy widow'd Fair, her Cheek bedew'd with Tears,
Approach'd with ſuppliant Knee the Cloiſter-Gate,
There oft diſclos'd in vain, her poignant Cares,
Returning ſtill to weep her haploſo Fate.
FINIS.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4584 An elegy written among the ruins of an abbey By the author of The nun. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-6044-B