Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/A Poem on Death. To Thomas Marriot Esq

by William Broome

Fleuron from 'Poems on Several Occasions' by William Broome, 2nd edition published in 1739

 

TO

THOMAS MARRIOT Esq;

I prefix your Name to the following Poem, as a Monument of the long, and sincere Friendship I have born you: I am sensible you are too good a Judge of Poetry to approve it; however it will be a Testimony of my Respect: You confer'd Obligations upon me very early in Life, almost as soon as I was capable of receiving them: May these Verses survive the Subject of them, Death! and remain, a Memorial of our Friendship, and my Gratitude when I am no more

William Broome.

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A Poem on DEATH.

Τὶς ὀιδὲν ἐι τὸ ζῆν μὲν ἐστι κατθανεῖν,
Τὸ κατθανεῖν δὲ ζῆν;Eurip.

 

O! for Elijah's Car to wing my Way
O'er the dark Gulph of Death to endless Day
A thousand Ways alas! frail Mortals lead
To her dire Den, and dreadful all to tread!
See! in the Horrors of yon House of Woes,
Troops of all Maladies the Fiend enclose!
High on a Trophy rais'd of human Bones,
Swords, Spears, and Arrows, and sepulchral Stones,
In horrid State the reigns! attendant Ills
Besiege her Throne, and when she frowns, she kills:
Thro' the thick Gloom the Torch red-gleaming burns
O'er Shrouds, and sable Palls, and mould'ring Urns:
While flowing Stoles, black Plumes, and Scutcheons spread
An idle Pomp around the silent Dead:
Unaw'd by Pow'r, in common Heaps she flings
The Scrips of Beggars, and the Crowns of Kings:
Here Gales of Sighs, instead of Breezes blow,
And Streams of Tears for ever-murmuring flow:
The mournful Yeugh with solemn Horror waves
His baleful Branches, sad'ning ev'n the Graves:
Around all Birds obscene loud-screaming fly,
Clang their black Wings, and shriek along the Sky:
The Ground perverse, tho' bare and barren, breeds
All Poisons, Foes to Life, and noxious Weeds:
But blasted frequent by th' unwholsome Sky,
Dead fall the Birds, the very Poisons die.

Full in the Entrance of the dreadful Doors,
Old Age, half vanish'd to a Ghost, deplores:
Prop'd on his Crutch he drags with many a Groan
The Load of Life, yet dreads to lay it down.

There, downward driving an unnumber'd Band,
Intemp'rance and Disease, walk hand in hand;
These, Torment, whirling with remorseless Sway
A Scourge of Iron, lashes on the Way.

There frantic Anger, prone to wild Extremes,
Grasps an ensanguin'd Sword, and Heav'n blasphemes.
There heart-sick Agony distorted stands,
Writhes his convulsive Limbs, and wrings his Hands.
There Sorrow droops his ever-pensive Head,
And Care still tosses on his iron Bed:
Or musing, fastens on the Ground his Eye,
With folded Arms; with every Breath, a Sigh.
Hydrops unwieldy wallows in a Flood,
And Murther rages, red with human Blood:
With Fever, Famine, and afflictive Pain,
Plague, Pestilence, and War, a dismal Train!
These, and a thousand more, the Fiend surround,
Shrieks pierce the Air, and Groans to Groans resound.
O! Heav'ns! is this the Passage to the Skies
That Man must tread, when Man your Fav'rite dies?
Oh! for Elijah's Car to wing my Way
O'er the dark Gulph of Death to endless Day!

Confounded at the Sight, my Spirits fled,
My Eyes rain'd Tears, my very Heart was dead!
I wail'd the Lot of Man that all would shun,
And all must bear that breathe beneath the Sun.

When lo! an heav'nly Form divinely Fair,
Shoots from the starry Vault thro' Fields of Air;
And swifter than on Wings of Lightning driv'n,
At once seems here and there, in Earth and Heav'n!
A dazling Brightness in refulgent Streams
Flows from his Locks inwreath'd with sunny Beams;
His roseate Cheeks the Bloom of Heav'n display,
And from his Eyes dart Glories, more than Day:
A Robe, of Light condens'd, around him shone,
And his Loins glitter'd with a starry Zone:
And while the list'ning Winds lay hush'd to hear,
Thus spoke the Vision, amiably severe!

Vain Man! would'st thou escape the common Lot,
To live, to suffer, die, and be forgot?
Look back on antient Times, primæval Years,
All, all are past! a mighty Void appears!
Heroes, and Kings, those Gods of Earth, whose Fame
Aw'd half the Nations, now are but a Name!
The Great in Arts, or Arms; the Wise, the Just,
Mix with the Meanest in congenial Dust!
Ev'n Saints, and Prophets the same Paths have trod,
Ambassadors of Heav'n, and Friends of God!
And thou, would'st thou the general Sentence fly?
Moses is dead! thy Saviour deign'd to die!
Mortal, in all thy Acts regard thy End;
Live well, the Time thou liv'st, and Death's thy Friend:
Then curb each rebel Thought against the Sky,
And die resign'd, O! Man ordain'd to die!

He added not, but spread his Wings in Flight,
And vanish'd instant in a Blaze of Light.

Abash'd, asham'd, I cry, Eternal Pow'r,
I yield! I wait resign'd th' appointed Hour!
Man, foolish Man, no more thy Soul deceive!
To die, is but the surest Way to live:
When Age we ask, we ask it in our wrong,
And pray our Time of suff'ring may be long;
The nauseous Draught, and Dregs of Life to drain,
And feel Infirmity, and Length of Pain!
What art thou Life, that we should court thy Stay?
A Breath, one single Gasp must puff away!
A short-liv'd Flow'r, that with the Day must fade!
A fleeting Vapour, and an empty Shade!
A Stream, that silently but swiftly glides
To meet Eternity's immeasur'd Tydes!
A Being, lost alike by Pain or Joy!
A Fly can kill it, or a Worm destroy!
Impair'd by Labour, and by Ease undone,
Commenc'd in Tears, and ended in a Groan!
Ev'n while I write, the transient Now is past,
And Death more near this Sentence, than the last!
As some weak Isthmus Seas from Seas divides,
Beat by rude Waves, and sap'd by rushing Tydes,
Torn from its Base, no more their Fury bears,
At once they close, at once it disappears:
Such, such is Life! the Mark of Misery plac'd
Between two Worlds, the future and the past;
To Time, to Sickness, and to Death a Prey,
It sinks, the frail Possession of a Day!

As some fond Boy, in Sport along the Shore
Builds from the Sands a Fabric of an Hour;
Proud of his rising Walls, and stately Rooms,
He stiles the mimic Cells imperial Domes:
The little Monarch swells with fancy'd Sway,
Till some Wind rise, and puffs the Dome away;
So the poor Reptile, Man! an Heir of Woe,
The Lord of Earth and Ocean, swells in Show;
He plants, he builds, aloft the Walls arise!
The noble Plan he finishes, and—dies.
Swept from the Earth, he shares the common Fate,
His sole Distinction now, to rot in State!
Thus busy to no end till out of Breath,
Tir'd we lie down, and close up all in Death.

Then blest the Man whom gracious Heav'n has led
Thro' Life's blind Mazes to th' immortal Dead!
Who safely landed on the blissful Shore,
Nor human Folly feels nor Frailty more!
O! Death, thou Cure of all our idle Strife!
End of the gay, or serious Farce of Life!
Wish of the Just, and Refuge of th' Opprest!
Where Poverty, and where ev'n Kings find Rest!
Safe, from the Frowns of Pow'r! calm, thoughtful Hate!
And the rude Insults of the scornful Great!
The Grave is sacred! Wrath, and Malice dread
To violate its Peace, and wrong the Dead:
But, Life, thy Name is Woe! to Death we fly
To grow immortal!———into Life we die!
Then wisely Heav'n in Silence has confin'd
The happier Dead, lest none should stay behind.
What tho' the Path be dark that must be trod,
Tho' Man be blotted from the Works of God,
Tho' the four Winds his scatter'd Atoms bear
To Earth's Extremes thro' all th' Expanse of Air;
Yet bursting glorious from the silent Clay,
He mounts triumphant to eternal Day.

So when the Sun rouls down th' ethereal Plain,
Extinct his Splendors in the whelming Main:
A transient Night Earth, Air, and Heav'n invades,
Eclips'd in Horrors of surrounding Shades:
But soon, emerging with a fresher Ray,
He starts exultant, and renews the Day.

 

Endpiece from 'Poems on Several Occasions' by William Broome (1739, 2nd edition)