Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF CASSANDRA COTTON, ONLY SISTER OF CHARLES COTTON, by RICHARD LOVELACE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF CASSANDRA COTTON, ONLY SISTER OF CHARLES COTTON, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Hither with hallow'd steps as is the ground
Last Line: You are more dead and buried than she.


HITHER with hallow'd steps as is the ground
That must enshrine this saint, with looks profound,
And sad aspects as the dark veils you wear,
Virgins oppress'd, draw gently, gently near;
Enter the dismal chancel of this room,
Where each pale guest stands fix'd a living tomb,
With trembling hands help to remove this earth
To its last death and first victorious birth:
Let gums and incense fume who are at strife
To enter th' hearse and breathe in it new life;
Mingle your steps with flowers as you go,
Which as they haste to fade will speak your woe.

And when y' have plac'd your tapers on her urn,
How poor a tribute 'tis to weep and mourn!
That flood the channel of your eyelids fills,
When you lose trifles, or what's less, your wills.
If you'll be worthy of these obsequies,
Be blind unto the world, and drop your eyes;
Waste and consume, burn downward as this fire
That's fed no more, so willingly expire;
Pass through the cold and obscure narrow way,
Then light your torches at the spring of day,
There with her triumph in your victory.
Such joy alone and such solemnity
Becomes this funeral of virginity.

Or, if you faint to be so blest, oh hear!
If not to die, dare but to live like her:
Dare to live virgins till the honour'd age
Of thrice fifteen calls matrons on the stage,
Whilst not a blemish or least stain is seen
On your white robe 'twixt fifty and fifteen;
But as it in your swathing-bands was given,
Bring't in your winding-sheet unsoil'd to heav'n.
Dare to do purely, without compact good,
Or herald, [though] by no one understood
But him who now in thanks bows either knee
For th' early benefit and secrecy.
Dare to affect a serious holy sorrow,
To which delights of palaces are narrow,
And lasting as their smiles, dig you a room
Where practise the probation of your tomb,
With ever-bended knees and piercing pray'r
Smooth the rough pass through craggy earth to air;
Flame there as lights, that shipwrack'd mariners
May put in safely, and secure their fears,
Who, adding to your joys, now owe you theirs.

Virgins, if thus you dare but courage take
To follow her in life, else through this lake
Of Nature wade, and break her earthly bars,
Y' are fix'd with her upon a throne of stars
Arched with a pure heav'n crystalline,
Where round you Love and Joy for ever shine.

But you are dumb, as what you do lament,
More senseless than her very monument
Which at your weakness weeps---spare that vain tear,
Enough to burst the rev'rend sepulchre:
Rise and walk home; there groaning prostrate fall,
And celebrate your own sad funeral;
For howsoe'er you move, may hear or see,
You are more dead and buried than she.





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