For never yet did mortal voice impart Tones more congenial to the sadden'd heart: 10 Whether, to rouse the sympathetic glow, Thou pourest lone Monimia's tale of woe; Or haply clothest with funereal vest The bridal loves that wept in Juliet's breast. O'er our chill limbs the thrilling Terrors creep, 15 Th' entrancéd Passions their still vigil keep; While the deep sighs, responsive to the song, Sound through the silence of the trembling throng. But purer raptures lighten'd from thy face, And spread o'er all thy form an holier grace, 20 When from the daughter's breasts the father drew The life he gave, and mix'd the big tear's dew. Nor was it thine th' heroic strain to roll With mimic feelings foreign from the soul: Bright in thy parent's eye we mark'd the tear; 25 Methought he said, 'Thou art no Actress here! A semblance of thyself the _Grecian_ dame, And Brunton and Euphrasia still the same!' O soon to seek the city's busier scene, Pause thee awhile, thou chaste-eyed maid serene, 30 Till Granta's sons from all her sacred bowers With grateful hand shall weave Pierian flowers To twine a fragrant chaplet round thy brow, Enchanting ministress of virtuous woe! 1794. FOOTNOTES: [66:1] First published in _Poems_, by Francis Wrangham, London, 1795, pp. 79-83. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1880, ii. 360* (_Supplement_). TO MISS BRUNTON[67:1] WITH THE PRECEDING TRANSLATION That darling of the Tragic Muse, When Wrangham sung her praise, Thalia lost her rosy hues, And sicken'd at her lays: But transient was th' unwonted sigh; 5 For soon the Goddess spied A sister-form of mirthful eye, And danc'd for joy and cried: 'Meek Pity's sweetest child, proud dame, The fates have given to you! 10 Still bid your Poet boast her name; _I_ have _my_ Brunton too.' 1794. FOOTNOTES: [67:1] First published in _Poems_, by Francis Wrangham, 1795, p. 83. First collected in _P. and D. W._, 1880, ii. 362* (_Supplement_). EPITAPH ON AN INFANT[68:1] Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care: The opening Bud to Heaven convey'd, And bade it blossom _there_. 1794. FOOTNOTES: [68:1] First published in the _Morning Chronicle_, September 23, 1794: included in _The Watchman_, No. IX, May 5, 1796, _Poems_ 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. These well-known lines, which vexed the soul of Charles Lamb, were probably adapted from 'An Epitaph on an Infant' in the churchyard of Birchington, Kent (_A Collection of Epitaphs_, 1806, i. 219):-- Ah! why so soon, just as the bloom appears, Drops the fair blossom in the vale of tears? Death view'd the treasure in the desart given And claim'd the right of planting it in Heav'n.