Lucasta
Paying her Obsequies to the chaste memory of my dearest Cousin, Mrs. Bowes Barne
SEE what an undisturbed tearShe weeps for her last sleep!But viewing her, straight waked, a star,She weeps that she did weep.
Grief ne’er before did tyrannizeOn the honour of that brow,And at the wheels of her brave eyesWas captive led, till now.
Thus for a saint’s apostasy,The unimagined woesAnd sorrows of the hierarchyNone but an angel knows.
Thus for lost soul’s recovery,The clapping of the wingsAnd triumph of this victoryNone but an angel sings.
So none but she knows to bemoanThis equal virgin’s fate;None but Lucasta can her crownOf glory celebrate.
Then dart on me, Chaste Light, one ray,By which I may descryThy joy clear through this cloudy dayTo dress my sorrow by.