1795
ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION

An Elegy. — On a Friend.

Connecticut Courant (16 February 1795).

Edwin


Six double-quatrain stanzas signed "Edwin." The poem is pastoral elegy for Corydon submitted to the Courant by the lady mentioned in the poem: "Oh Corydon! hear the sad cries, | Of Caroline, plaintive and slow; | Oh spirit! look down from the skies, | And pity the mourner below." The Connecticut Courant was a weekly newspaper published at Hartford.

Headnote: "Mess. Hudson and Goodwin, If the following Elegy meets with your approbation, I request you to give it place in your corner. Yours, &c. Caroline."



What sorrowful sounds do I hear,
Move slowly along in the gale?
How solemn the fall on my ear,
As softly they pass thro the vale?
Sweet Corydon's notes are all o'er—
Now lovely he sleeps in the clay;
His cheeks bloom with roses no more,
Since death call'd his spirit away.

Sweet woodbines will rise round his tomb,
And willows, there, sorrowing wave—
Young hyacinths fresh and bloom,
While hawthorns encircle his grave.
Each morn when the sun gilds the east,
The green grass, bespangled with dew,
Will cast his bright beams to the west,
To charm the sad Caroline's view.

Oh Corydon! hear the sad cries,
Of Caroline, plaintive and slow;
Oh spirit! look down from the skies,
And pity the mourner below.
'Tis Caroline's voice in the breeze,
Which Philomel hears on the plain;
Then striving the mourner to please,
In sympathy joins in her strain.

Ye shepherds, so blithsome and young,
Retire from your sports on the green;
Since Corydon's deaf to your song,
The wolves tore his lambs on the plain.
Each swain round the forrest will stray,
And sorrowing hang down his head;
With his pipe then in symphony play
Some dirge to young Corydon's shade.

And when the still night has unfurl'd
Her robe, o'er the hamlets around;
Gray twilight rends from the world,
And darkness encumbers the ground:
I'll quit my lone gloomy abode—
To Corydon's urn will I fly;
There kneel down and bless the just God,
Who dwells in bright mansions on high.

Since Corydon hears me no more,
In gloom let the woodlands appear!
Ye ocean's be still'd of your roar—
Let Autumn extend round the year.
I'll hie me thro meadow and lawn,
There cull the bright flowers of May,
Then rise on the wings of the morn,
And waft my young spirit away.

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