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Poem
August 8, 1821
Alexandria Gazette & Daily Advertiser
Alexandria, Virginia
What is this article about?
A poem from the Boston Centinel addresses a young widow, urging her to abandon fashionable circles and resume mourning her late husband Henry, recalling their loving past and warning against seeking new romance too soon.
Clipping
OCR Quality
95%
Excellent
Full Text
From the Boston Centinel.
LINES,
To a young Widow, on entering the circles of fashion, soon after the death of her husband.
O Lady, quit the throng, and throw
Those gaudy robes aside:
Resume again the garb of woe,
Nor vex thy Henry's shade.
O Lady, think how late you hung
With rapture on his arm,
And listened to that voice, which rung
The peal of Love's alarm.
O think how oft you fondly met
The glance of that dark eye,
Which flash'd with love and dear delight,
Or beam'd with tenderest joy.
O think how oft, when Grief entwin'd
Her cypress wreaths with Care,
Upon his bosom you reclin'd,
And sought a refuge there.
And think how oft he warmly kiss'd
Away each pensive tear,
And to his manly bosom press'd
His Wife forever dear.
And then thy smiles would bliss impart,
And softer scenes renew,
And soothe the throbbings of that heart,
Which only beat for you.
And can you then so soon forget
Those dear domestic joys,
And bow a slave at Fashion's feet,
To court a worthless prize:
And spread thy sex's wiles to win
Another to thy arms,
To live upon thy smiles serene,
And revel in thy charms?
It cannot be—Her injur'd right
Let memory resume;
And banish those allurements bright.
To weep o'er Henry's tomb,
Go sit beneath the marble stone,
And with thy sorrows lave
The grass, which scarcely yet has grown
Upon thy Husband's grave.
And while Diana's pensive beam
Shines through the willow bough,
Wildly lament the loss of him,
Who only lived for you,
ENDYMION.
LINES,
To a young Widow, on entering the circles of fashion, soon after the death of her husband.
O Lady, quit the throng, and throw
Those gaudy robes aside:
Resume again the garb of woe,
Nor vex thy Henry's shade.
O Lady, think how late you hung
With rapture on his arm,
And listened to that voice, which rung
The peal of Love's alarm.
O think how oft you fondly met
The glance of that dark eye,
Which flash'd with love and dear delight,
Or beam'd with tenderest joy.
O think how oft, when Grief entwin'd
Her cypress wreaths with Care,
Upon his bosom you reclin'd,
And sought a refuge there.
And think how oft he warmly kiss'd
Away each pensive tear,
And to his manly bosom press'd
His Wife forever dear.
And then thy smiles would bliss impart,
And softer scenes renew,
And soothe the throbbings of that heart,
Which only beat for you.
And can you then so soon forget
Those dear domestic joys,
And bow a slave at Fashion's feet,
To court a worthless prize:
And spread thy sex's wiles to win
Another to thy arms,
To live upon thy smiles serene,
And revel in thy charms?
It cannot be—Her injur'd right
Let memory resume;
And banish those allurements bright.
To weep o'er Henry's tomb,
Go sit beneath the marble stone,
And with thy sorrows lave
The grass, which scarcely yet has grown
Upon thy Husband's grave.
And while Diana's pensive beam
Shines through the willow bough,
Wildly lament the loss of him,
Who only lived for you,
ENDYMION.
What sub-type of article is it?
Elegy
Ode
What themes does it cover?
Death Mourning
Moral Virtue
Satire Society
What keywords are associated?
Widow Mourning
Fashion Critique
Husband Death
Domestic Joy
Moral Admonition
What entities or persons were involved?
From The Boston Centinel.
Poem Details
Title
Lines, To A Young Widow, On Entering The Circles Of Fashion, Soon After The Death Of Her Husband.
Author
From The Boston Centinel.
Subject
Admonition To A Widow Against Pursuing Fashion Soon After Her Husband's Death
Form / Style
Rhymed Quatrains
Key Lines
O Lady, Quit The Throng, And Throw
Those Gaudy Robes Aside:
Resume Again The Garb Of Woe,
Nor Vex Thy Henry's Shade.
And Can You Then So Soon Forget
Those Dear Domestic Joys,
And Bow A Slave At Fashion's Feet,
To Court A Worthless Prize:
To Weep O'er Henry's Tomb,
Go Sit Beneath The Marble Stone,
And With Thy Sorrows Lave
The Grass, Which Scarcely Yet Has Grown
Upon Thy Husband's Grave.