Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, UPON THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND, by ELIZABETH SINGER ROWE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

UPON THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND, by             Poem Explanation         Poet's Biography
First Line: In what soft language shall my thoughts get free
Last Line: My spotless faith shall be for ever thine.
Subject(s): Death; Marriage; Dead, The; Weddings; Husbands; Wives


IN what soft language shall my thoughts get free,
My dear Alexis, when I talk of thee?
Ye Muses, Graces, all ye gentle train
Of weeping loves, assist the pensive strain.
But why should I implore your moving art?
'Tis but to speak the dictates of my heart,
And all that knew the charming youth will join
Their friendly sighs and pious tears to mine:
For all that knew his merit must confess
In grief for him there can be no excess.
His soul was formed to act each glorious part
Of life, unstained with vanity or art;
No thought within his generous mind had birth,
But what he might have owned to heaven and earth:
Practised by him, each virtue grew more bright,
And shone with more than its own native light.
Whatever noble warmth could recommend
The just, the active, and the constant friend,
Was all his own -- but oh! a dearer name,
And softer ties, my endless sorrows claim;
Lost in despair, distracted and forlorn,
The lover, I, and tender husband mourn.
Whate'er to such superior worth was due,
Whate'er excess the fondest passion knew,
I felt for thee, dear youth; my joys, my care,
My prayers themselves were thine, and only where
Thou wast concerned, my virtue was sincere.
Whene'er I begged for blessings on thy head,
Nothing was cold or formal that I said;
My warmest vows to heaven were made for thee,
And love still mingled with my piety.
O thou wast all my glory, all my pride,
Through life's uncertain paths my constant guide:
Regardless of the world, to gain thy praise
Was all that could my just ambition raise.

Why has my heart this fond engagement known,
Or why has heaven dissolved the tie so soon?
Why was the charming youth so formed to move?
Or why was all my soul so turned for love?
But virtue here a vain defence had made,
Where so much worth and eloquence could plead.
For he could talk -- 'twas ecstasy to hear,
'Twas joy, 'twas harmony to every ear:
Eternal music dwelt upon his tongue,
Soft and transporting as the muse's song.
Listening to him, my cares were charmed to rest,
And love and silent rapture filled my breast;
Unheeded the gay moments took their flight,
And time was only measured by delight.
I hear the loved, the melting accent still,
And still the warm, the tender transport feel:
Again I see the sprightly passions rise,
And life and pleasure kindle in his eyes.
My fancy paints him now with every grace,
But ah! the dear resemblance mocks my fond embrace;
The flattering vision takes its hasty flight,
And scenes of horror swim before my sight.
Grief and despair in all their terrors rise,
A dying lover pale and gasping lies.
Each dismal circumstance appears in view,
The fatal object is for ever new:
His anguish with the quickest sense I feel,
And hear this sad, this moving language still:

'My dearest wife! my last, my fondest care!
Sure heaven for thee will hear a dying prayer:
Be thou the charge of sacred providence,
When I am gone, be that thy kind defence;
Ten thousand smiling blessings crown thy head,
When I am cold, and numbered with the dead.
Think on thy vows, be to my memory just,
My future fame and honour are thy trust.
From all engagement here I now am free,
But that which keeps my lingering soul with thee.
How much I love, thy bleeding heart can tell,
Which does, like mine, the pangs of parting feel.
But haste to meet me on the happy plains,
Where mighty love in endless triumph reigns.'

He ceased, then gently yielded up his breath,
And fell a blooming sacrifice to death.
But oh! what words, what numbers can express,
What thought conceive, the height of my distress?
Why did they tear me from thy breathless clay?
I should have stayed, and wept my life away.
Yet, gentle shade, whether thou now dost rove
Through some blest vale, or ever-verdant grove,
One moment listen to my grief, and take
The softest vows that ever love can make.

For thee all thoughts of pleasure I forego,
For thee my tears shall never cease to flow;
For thee at once I from the world retire,
To feed in silent shades a hopeless fire.
My bosom all thy image shall retain,
The full impression there shall still remain.
As thou hast taught my tender heart to prove
The noblest height and elegance of love,
That sacred passion I to thee confine,
My spotless faith shall be for ever thine.





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