ACROSTIC,
WHICH SHE CALLED A PATHETIC ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF THAT DEAR AND FAITHFUL SERVANT OF GOD,
EDWARD BURROUGH,
Who died the 14th of the Twelfth Month, 1662.
And thus she introduceth it:
How long shall Grief lie smother’d? ah! how long
Shall Sorrow’s signet seal my silent tongue?
How long shall sighs me suffocate? and make
My lips to quiver and my heart to ache?
How long shall I with pain suppress my cries,
And seek for holes to wipe my watery eyes?
Why may not I, by sorrow thus oppressed,
Pour forth my grief into another’s breast?
If that be true which once was said by one,
That “He mourns truly who doth mourn alone:” [180]
Then may I truly say, my grief is true,
Since it hath yet been known to very few.
Nor is it now mine aim to make it known
To those to whom these verses may be shown;
But to assuage my sorrow-swollen heart,
Which silence caused to taste so deep of smart.
This is my end, that so I may prevent
The vessel’s bursting by a timely vent.
Quis talia fando
Temperet a lacrymis!
Who can forbear, when such things spoke he hears,
His grave to water with a flood of tears?
E cho ye woods, resound ye hollow places,
L et tears and paleness cover all men’s faces.
L et groans, like claps of thunder, pierce the air,
W hile I the cause of my just grief declare,
O that mine eyes could, like the streams of Nile
O ’erflow their watery banks; and thou meanwhile
D rink in my trickling tears, oh thirsty ground,
S o might’st thou henceforth fruitfuler be found.
L ament, my soul, lament; thy loss is deep,
A nd all that Sion love sit down and weep,
M ourn, oh ye virgins, and let sorrow be
E ach damsel’s dowry, and (alas, for me!)
N e’er let my sobs and sighings have an end
T ill I again embrace my ascended friend;
A nd till I feel the virtue of his life
T o consolate me, and repress my grief:
I nfuse into my heart the oil of gladness
O nce more, and by its strength remove that sadness
N ow pressing down my spirit, and restore