LUCASTA PAYING HER OBSEQUIES TO THE CHASTE MEMORY OF BOWES BARNE by RICHARD LOVELACE

SEE! what an undisturbed tear
She weeps for her last sleep;
But viewing her straight wak'd a star,
She weeps that she did weep.

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

Thus for a saint's apostacy,
The unimagin'd woes
And sorrows of the Hierarchy
None but an angel knows.

Thus for lost souls' recovery,
The clapping of all wings,
And triumphs 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.

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