Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DEPARTURE; AN ELEGY, by HENRY KING (1592-1669)


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THE DEPARTURE; AN ELEGY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Were I to leave no more than a good friend
Last Line: Who seals his farewell with a bleeding heart.


WERE I to leave no more than a good friend,
Or but to hear the summons to my end,
(Which I have long'd for) I could then with ease
Attire my grief in words, and so appease
That passion in my bosom, which outgrows
The language of strict verse or largest prose.
But here I am quite lost; writing to you,
All that I pen or think is forc'd and new.
My faculties run cross, and prove as weak
T' indite this melancholy task, as speak:
Indeed all words are vain; well might I spare
This rend'ring of my tortur'd thoughts in air,
Or sighing paper. My infectious grief
Strikes inward, and affords me no relief,
But still a deeper wound, to lose a sight
More lov'd than health, and dearer than the light.
But all of us were not at the same time
Brought forth, nor are we billeted in one clime.
Nature hath pitch'd mankind at several rates,
Making our places diverse as our fates.
Unto that universal law I bow,
Though with unwilling knee, and do allow
Her cruel justice, which dispos'd us so
That we must counter to our wishes go.
'Twas part of man's first curse, which order'd well,
We should not alway with our likings dwell.
'Tis only the Triumphant Church where we
Shall in unsever'd neighbourhood agree.

Go then, best soul, and, where You must appear,
Restore the day to that dull hemisphere.
Ne'er may the hapless night You leave behind
Darken the comforts of Your purer mind.
May all the blessings wishes can invent
Enrich your days, and crown them with content.
And though You travel down into the West,
May Your life's Sun stand fixed in the East,
Far from the weeping set; nor may my ear
Take in that killing whisper, You once were.

Thus kiss I Your fair hands, taking my leave,
As prisoners at the bar their doom receive.
All joys go with You: let sweet peace attend
You on the way, and wait Your journey's end.
But let Your discontents and sourer fate
Remain with me, borne off in my retrait.
Might all your crosses, in that sheet of lead
Which folds my heavy heart, lie buried:
'Tis the last service I would do You, and the best
My wishes ever meant, or tongue profest.
Once more I take my leave. And once for all,
Our parting shows so like a funeral,
It strikes my soul, which hath most right to be
Chief Mourner at this sad solemnity.

And think not, Dearest, 'cause this parting knell
Is rung in verses, that at Your farewell
I only mourn in poetry and ink:
No, my pen's melancholy plummets sink
So low, they dive where th' hid affections sit,
Blotting that paper where my mirth was writ.

Believe't, that sorrow truest is, which lies
Deep in the breast, not floating in the eyes:
And he with saddest circumstance doth part,
Who seals his farewell with a bleeding heart.





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