Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN ELEGY: PRINCESS KATHERINE BORN, CHRISTENED, BURIED IN ONE DAY, by RICHARD LOVELACE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN ELEGY: PRINCESS KATHERINE BORN, CHRISTENED, BURIED IN ONE DAY, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: You that can aptly mix your joys with cries
Last Line: Resign our office to the hierarchy.
Subject(s): Death - Children; Death - Babies


YOU that can aptly mix your joys with cries,
And weave white Ios with black elegies,
Can carol out a dirge, and in one breath
Sing to the tune either of life or death;
You that can weep the gladness of the spheres,
And pen a hymn, instead of ink, with tears:
Here, here your unproportion'd wit let fall
To celebrate this new-born funeral,
And greet that little greatness, which from th' womb
Dropp'd both a load to th' cradle and the tomb.

Bright soul, teach us to warble with what feet
Thy swathing linen and thy winding-sheet
Mourn or shout forth that font's solemnity,
Which at once buried and christ'ned thee;
And change our shriller passions with that sound,
First toll'd thee into th' air, then the ground.

Ah, wert thou born for this, only to call
The King and Queen guests to your burial?
To bid good night, your day not yet begun,
And show's a setting ere a rising sun?

Or wouldst thou have thy life a martyrdom,
Die in the act of thy religion,
Fit, excellently, innocently good,
First sealing it with water, then thy blood?
As when on blazing wings a blest man soars,
And having pass'd to God through fiery doors
Straight's rob'd with flames, when the same element
Which was his shame proves now his ornament;
Oh, how he hast'ned death, burnt to be fried,
Kill'd twice with each delay, till deified:
So swift hath been thy race, so full of flight,
Like him condemn'd, ev'n aged with a night,
Cutting all lets with clouds, as if th' hadst been
Like angels plum'd, and born a cherubin.

Or in your journey towards heav'n, say,
Took you the world a little in your way,
Saw'st and dislik'st its vain pomp, then didst fly
Up for eternal glories to the sky?
Like a religious ambitious one,
Aspiredst for the everlasting crown?

Ah, holy traitor to your brother prince,
Robb'd of his birthright and pre-eminence!
Could you ascend yon' chair of state ere him,
And snatch from th' heir the starry diadem,
Making your honours now as much uneven
As gods on earth are less than saints in heav'n?

Triumph! sing triumphs then! Oh put on all
Your richest looks dress'd for this festival;
Thoughts full of ravish'd reverence, with eyes
So fix'd as when a saint we canonize;
Clap wings with seraphins before the Throne,
At this eternal coronation,
And teach your souls new mirth, such as may be
Worthy this birthday to divinity.

But ah! these blast your feasts, the jubilees
We send you up are sad, as were our cries,
And of true joy we can express no more,
Thus crown'd, than when we buri'd thee before.

Princess in heav'n, forgiveness! whilst we
Resign our office to the Hierarchy.





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