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AN ELEGY, OCCASIONED BY LOSS OF THE MOST INCOMPARABLE LADY STANHOPE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Light'ned by that dim torch our sorrows bear
Last Line: This mournful homage at thy grave to pay.
Subject(s): Percy, Anne. Lady Stanhope (d. 1654)


LIGHT'NED by that dim torch our sorrow bears,
We sadly trace thy coffin with our tears;
And though the ceremonious rites are past
Since thy fair body into earth was cast,
Though all thy hatchments into rags are torn,
Thy funeral robes and ornaments outworn;
We still thy mourners, without show or art,
With solemn blacks hung round about our heart,
Thus constantly the obsequies renew,
Which to thy precious memory are due.

Yet think not that we rudely would invade
The dark recess of thine untroubled shade,
Or give disturbance to that happy peace,
Which thou enjoy'st at full since thy release:
Much less in sullen murmurs do complain
Of His decree who took thee back again,
And did, ere Fame had spread thy virtue's light,
Eclipse and fold thee up in endless night.
This, like an act of envy, not of grief,
Might doubt thy bliss, and shake our own belief,
Whose studied wishes no proportion bear
With joys which crown thee now in glory's sphere.

Know then, blest Soul! we for ourselves, not thee,
Seal our woe's dictate by this elegy:
Wherein our tears, united in one stream,
Shall to succeeding times convey this theme,
Worth all men's pity, who discern, how rare
Such early growths of fame and goodness are.
Of these, part must thy sex's loss bewail,
Maim'd in her noblest patterns through thy fail;
For 'twould require a double term of life
To match thee as a daughter or a wife;
Both which Northumberland's dear loss improve,
And make his sorrow equal to his love.
The rest fall for ourselves, who, cast behind,
Cannot yet reach the peace which thou dost find;
But slowly follow thee in that dull stage
Which most untimely posted hence thy age.

Thus, like religious pilgrims, who design
A short salute to their beloved shrine,
Most sad and humble votaries we come,
To offer up our sighs upon thy tomb,
And wet thy marble with our dropping eyes,
Which, till the spring which feeds their current dries,
Resolve each falling night and rising day,
This mournful homage at thy grave to pay.





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