The Flower of the Mind

Lucasta

Paying her Obsequies to the chaste memory of my dearest Cousin, Mrs. Bowes Barne

See what an undisturbed tear
      She weeps for her last sleep!
But viewing her, straight waked, a star,
      She weeps that she did weep.

Grief ne’er before did tyrannize
      On the honour of that brow,
And at the wheels of her brave eyes
      Was captive led, till now.

Thus for a saint’s apostasy,
      The unimagined woes
And sorrows of the hierarchy
      None but an angel knows.

Thus for lost soul’s recovery,
      The clapping of the wings
And triumph of this victory
      None but an angel sings.

So none but she knows to bemoan
      This equal virgin’s fate;
None but Lucasta can her crown
      Of glory celebrate.

Then dart on me, Chaste Light, one ray,
      By which I may descry
Thy joy clear through this cloudy day
      To dress my sorrow by.