Archive for September 13th, 2016

Tuesday, 13 September 2016

Expiring Amity by Judith Sargent Murray (Honora Martesia)

Of all the ills a mortal lives to mourn,
From friends, from wealth, from a lov’d country torn;
Exil’d by penury-or aught beside,
Which from sweet peace a wanderer may divide.
Yet still resources in the breast arise,
And hope the distant gleam of light supplies;
He may return-his friends again may meet,
Fortune may smile, his joys may be complete;
Forward he looks, and in perspective views,
Scenes which imagination oft pursues.

But that keen anguish, which incessant springs,
Which some new pang with recollection brings,
Offspring of love transform’d to deadly hate,
Unrivall’d stands in the dark book of fate.

The female heart for amity design’d,
Enraptur’d hastes the bands of truth to bind,
But ah, how deep the shafts of sorrow pierce,
When gath’ring glooms her promised joys enhearse,
When friendship dead-upon the sacred bier,
She lives to shed the solitary tear!

How sad to view the once expressive eye,
Which glistened with endearing amity,
Now turn’d indignant-while the glowing cheek,
And every look, a thousand daggers speak!
All up in arms against the friend belov’d,
Who was for many a length’ning year approv’d!
For whom the dearest sympathies were felt,
And in whose breast responsive kindness dwelt.
To see affiance yield its calm retreat,
And Discord mounting the long hallow’d seat!
Malice ejecting each inherent grace,
Which gave to amity and Angel face.

Great God! What deep regrets the heart must swell,
And the bereaved soul to grief impel!
Nought can support, or mitigation yield,
Except indifference the mind enshield;
For at the heart, should that attachment glow,
Which flows spontaneous, and must ever flow,
And though repeated insults it receives,
It still esteems, and still unceasing grieves;
Nought can the anguish of the mind assuage,
Nor distant prospects the lorn soul engage;
Hope, blissful solace, dies within the breast,
We are not e’en in expectation blest,
For well we know if Friendship once expires,
Nor art, nor nature, can relume its fires.


Date: 1803

By: Judith Sargent Murray (Honora Martesia) (1751-1820)