# Modern Poets and Poetry of Spain/Epistle to the Duque de Frias

EPISTLE TO THE DUQUE DE FRIAS,
ON THE DEATH OF THE DUQUESA.
From the dark gloomy borders of the Seine,
Where with black clouds around the heaven extends,
The earth o'erwhelm'd with snow, the heart with pain,
Thee thy unhappy friend his greeting sends; ​To thee still more unhappy! nor deters
Him ev'n the fear to touch the wounds unheal'd,
Yet bleeding sore, or see thee how it stirs
Fresh tears to bathe thine eyes thy sorrows yield.
What would he be, if man were not to weep?
A thousand times I've thanked our God, who gave
The heart to soothe its griefs in tears to steep;
As rain we see subdue the raging wave.
Weep then, ay, weep! others, and abler friends
As faithful, with success may in thine ears
Make heard the voice that stoic virtue lends;
But I, who in the world my cup of tears
Oft to the dregs have drain'd, no cure could find
For grief, but what from grief I might derive;
When with vain struggling tired, the powerless mind
Submissive ceased beneath the weight to strive.
Dear friend! wilt thou believe me? time will come,
When the sharp edge of sorrow worn away,
That grief and anguish now so burdensome,
At length a placid sadness will allay;
In which absorb'd, as yet o'erwhelm'd, the soul
Folds itself up all silently to bear;
Nor seeks nor envies, as around they roll,
The world's delights or pleasures more to share. ​Thou doubt'st perchance; and once there was a time
I also doubted it; and endless thought
My deep affliction, and insulting crime
To tell me to an end it could be brought.
And yet it was! for so from God to man
That is another mercy, which alone,
Amidst so many woes 't is his to scan,
Aids him this weary life to suffer on.
Hope then, believe my words, and trust in me:
Who in this world the unhappy privilege
Has bought so dear to speak of misery?
These many years that saw it me assiege,
Saw me no day but as the plaything vile
Of a dire fate, that like a shrub amain
The hurricane tears up, and raised awhile
It fiercely dashes to the earth again.
I know it true, against the blows of fate,
When that against ourselves they only glance,
The firm heart shielded can withstand its hate;
But so it is not oft: and thou, perchance,
Mayst think I never one have lost I loved
More than my life. If sorrow will give truce
Thee for a moment, turn thine eyes disproved
To an unhappy orphan, weak, recluse, ​And sorrowing solitary in the world,
Without scarce one to whom to weep his woe;
For to the grave relentless death had hurl'd,
One after one, all he was born to know.
In the same season, thou wilt see sufficed
Thy loss to open forth the wounds I bear,
I lost a mother kind, and idolized,
My joy, and comforter in every care;
On her steps my reaved father to the grave
Soon followed, and both sank o'erwhelm'd in tears,
Calling my name afar; the cries they gave
Fell on my heart, but not upon my ears.
I ran, I flew, I came, but all in vain:
Both now beneath the fatal stone reposed,
And I my height of anguish to attain,
But found the covering earth yet newly closed.
Thou in thy grave affliction more hast found
Thee to console, if possible; (how turn
Rebels against me thy own woes around!
From my rude voice perforce thou hast to learn
That he who fortune flattered not before,
Will neither flatter grief) thou in thy loss
Hast found a thousand comforts, which forbore
My cruel fate to grant my path across; ​Thou soothing saw'st thy wife in her last pains;
Her last sigh couldst receive; couldst press her hands,
Her arms raised to thee, and her pledge remains
In thine, her daughter still thy love demands.
But I, not wishing it, am in thy breast
A dagger striking, thus again to view
That fatal night's dark image to suggest,
When life with death its fearful struggles drew.
Now ended are her pains, for ever o'er!
Herself she pray'd for it, with pious eyes
To heaven, and hope, amidst the pangs she bore,
Shone on her brow serene in death to rise.
O! were it given us to penetrate
The secrets of the tomb, how oft our grief
Would it not soften down, however great!
In this same moment who of the belief
Could not assure thee, while thou dost lament,
Unhappy, thy lost wife's untimely doom,
That she is there enjoying permanent
A lot more happy than this side the tomb?
Thou, silent, lowly bendest down thy head;
But thou mayst not be silent; answer me;
Sound, if thou darest it, the abyss to tread,
That separates thy lost loved wife from thee. ​Take through eternity thy course, and then
Tell me of where she is, what is her state?
Happy or miserable? or again,
We should rejoice in, or lament her fate?
To thee I may repeat it, others gay
Will laugh at my dark fancy; not long past
The time I was by that enchanting bay
Of the Tyrrhenian sea; the city vast,
Mother of pleasures, I forsook, and bent,
Absorbed, my feeble steps, where lowly lies
Pompeii; palaces with gardens blent
And fountains brilliant, shone before my eyes;
But deeper penetrates the mind, and sad,
Slowly along I went with heavy heart:
Flowers amid lava grew! and rich, and glad
Today the scenes on every side impart
The towns and villages, which others hide
That stood as happy there a former day;
Those now that flourish built up by the side
Of some forgotten that have passed away.
At length I came where we the walls descry
Of the deserted city, which the abode
Proclaim'd it was of men in times gone by;
Their sepulchres stood bordering the road! ​There for a resting-place the traveller stays,
For shade and for repose: the gate now gain'd,
Awhile the vacillating foot delays
To enter, as if fearing it profaned
Too bold the mansions of the dead. No word,
No sound, no murmur. It would seem that there
Ev'n Echo's self is mute, no answer heard!
Slowly I through the narrow streets repair
Without a human footstep! Porticos
And plazas by no living beings trod,
Walls with deserted hearths, and temples rose
And altars, without victims or a god.
How little, mean and miserable seem'd
The world before mine eyes, when there I stood!
A bitter smile upon my features gleam'd,
To think of man's ambition, schemes of blood,
And projects without end, when by a blast,
Like smoke, their good and evil are represt;
Ashes a mighty city overcast,
As light dust covers o'er some poor ants' nest!
Thus wrapp'd in mournful thoughts, I paced along
That vast and silent precinct, as behind
Roves some unbodied shade the tombs among;
The ties me yet to this low earth that bind ​I felt to loosen, and the soul set free
Launch'd itself forth, ev'n into endless space,
Leaving behind it ages. — Couldst thou see
What is this wretched life, compared its trace
With that immensity, most surely, friend,
In thine eyes would remain congeal'd those tears,
Which now profuse thou shedd'st, and thou wouldst bend
Down on the earth thy gaze, where soon appears,
Thyself must see, the end of all our toil;
The rest that she enjoys beyond the sky,
For whom thou weep'st, whilst o'er this care-worn soil
Dragging life's heavy burden, as do I.
Yet till 't is granted thee to meet again
Thy lost adored, the moments consecrate
Of absence to her memory that remain:
Thy heart let her remembrance animate;
Let thy lips ever her dear name repeat:
Nor how forget that clear ingenuous mind,
That heavenly beauty, generous soul, to meet
So rare! the world admired such gifts combined.
But now I see thee to the dusky grove
Of cypress and rose-bay trees take thy way;
On thy right hand a crown is hanging, wove
Of mournful everlastings; nor astray ​Thine eyes scarce raising, fearing to behold
The monument of thine eternal grief,
That guards her ashes! Different she consoled,
Hastening in charity, as for relief
The poor unhappy and the orphans knew!
For whom she ever show'd a parent's care:
They who partook her gifts and kindness true,
Now in long files and slow, thy griefs to share
Silent and mournful on thy steps attend,
Around her tomb; dost thou not hear them? theirs,
Theirs are the tearful sobbings that ascend,
And cries that interrupt the funeral prayers.
Not ev'n a flower to deck her sepulchre,
Have I to send thee! flowers may not be grown
To bud in beds of ice; or if they were,
They soon would wither at my touch alone.