Narcissa[12] follows, ere his tomb is closed. Woes cluster; rare are solitary woes; They love a train, they tread each other's heel; Her death invades his mournful right, and claims The grief that started from my lids for him: Seizes the faithless, alienated tear, Or shares it, ere it falls. So frequent Death, Sorrow he more than causes, he confounds; For human sighs his rival strokes contend, 70 And make distress, distraction. Oh, Philander! What was thy fate? A double fate to me; Portent, and pain! a menace, and a blow! Like the black raven hovering o'er my peace, Not less a bird of omen, than of prey. It call'd Narcissa long before her hour; It call'd her tender soul, by break of bliss, From the first blossom, from the buds of joy; Those few our noxious fate unblasted leaves In this inclement clime of human life. 80 Sweet harmonist! and beautiful as sweet! And young as beautiful! and soft as young! And gay as soft! and innocent as gay! And happy (if aught happy here) as good! For fortune fond had built her nest on high. 85 Like birds quite exquisite of note and plume, Transfix'd by fate (who loves a lofty mark), How from the summit of the grove she fell, And left it unharmonious! all its charms Extinguish'd in the wonders of her song! Her song still vibrates in my ravish'd ear, Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain (O to forget her!) thrilling through my heart! 93 Song, beauty, youth, love, virtue, joy! this group Of bright ideas, flowers of paradise, As yet unforfeit! in one blaze we bind, Kneel, and present it to the skies; as all We guess of heaven: and these were all her own. And she was mine; and I was--was!--most blest!-- Gay title of the deepest misery! 100 As bodies grow more ponderous, robb'd of life; Good lost weighs more in grief, than gain'd, in joy. Like blossom'd trees o'erturn'd by vernal storm, Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay; And if in death still lovely, lovelier there; Far lovelier! pity swells the tide of love. And will not the severe excuse a sigh? Scorn the proud man that is ashamed to weep; Our tears indulged, indeed deserve our shame. Ye that e'er lost an angel! pity me. 110 Soon as the lustre languish'd in her eye, Dawning a dimmer day on human sight; And on her cheek, the residence of spring, Pale omen sat; and scatter'd fears around On all that saw; (and who would cease to gaze, That once had seen?) with haste, parental haste, I flew, I snatch'd her from the rigid north, Her native bed, on which bleak Boreas blew, And bore her nearer to the sun;[13] the sun 119 (As if the sun could envy) check'd his beam, Denied his wonted succour; nor with more Regret beheld her drooping, than the bells