SHALLUM
to
HILPAH
,
An
EPISTLE
.
From
the
SPECTATOR
.
WHAT
Thought
can
figure
all
my
vast
Distress
?
What
Words
the
Anguish
of
my
Soul
express
,
When
to
my
Rival
you
resign'd
your
Charms
,
And
fill'd
his
richer
,
but
less
faithful
Arms
?
Loathing
the
Sun's
bright
Rays
to
Shades
I
fly
,
And
your
dear
Name
to
whisp'ring
Zephyrs
sigh
,
The
whisp'ring
Zephyrs
your
dear
Name
reply
;
These
threescore
Years
and
ten
thy
Loss
I've
mourn'd
,
While
Tirzah's
Hills
my
loud
Complaint
return'd
.
Dark
gloomy
Groves
to
raise
have
been
my
Care
,
Fit
Scenes
of
hopeless
Love
,
and
black
Despair
.
But
now
,
oh
—
Hilpah
Paradise
appears
,
And
a
new
Eden
rises
'midst
my
Tears
.
Here
opening
Flowers
the
ravish'd
Sense
invade
,
There
spreading
Cedars
form
a
grateful
Shade
.
Soft
gliding
Streams
,
which
murmur
as
they
flow
,
And
Gales
that
all
Arabia's
Odours
blow
.
Come
up
then
,
my
Belov'd
!
Oh
come
and
grace
This
Spot
of
Earth
,
with
a
young
lovely
Race
.
Let
a
fair
num'rous
Offspring
fill
each
Shade
,
And
a-new-peopled
World
by
thee
be
made
.
Remember
,
fair
One
,
that
the
Age
of
Man
Is
but
a
thousand
Years
,
and
quickly
gone
:
Beauty
,
tho'
much
admir'd
,
yet
soon
is
past
,
Its
transient
Glories
but
some
Centuries
last
:
Like
a
tall
Oak
,
which
long
on
Tirzah's
Height
Display'd
its
growing
Branches
to
the
Sight
;
Now
worn
with
Age
it
falls
,
nor
thought
of
more
,
Unless
some
Root
its
Memory
restore
:
Which
with
increasing
Verdure
still
may
rise
,
And
like
its
Parent-Tree
invade
the
Skies
,
Think
well
on
this
,
then
haste
to
make
me
blest
;
Be
happy
now
,
and
leave
to
Fate
the
rest
.