Classic Poem

He , when excess of sorrow had giv'n way
To the relief of words, thus curs'd his day:
" O perish may the day which first gave light
To me, most wretched; and the fatal night
Of my conception! Let that day be bound
In clouds of pitch, nor walk th' etherial round.
Let God not write it in His roll of days,
Nor let the sun restore it with his rays.
Let death's dark shades involve, no light appear
But dreadful lightnings; its own horrors fear.
Be it the first of miseries to all,
Or last of life, defam'd with funeral.
O be that dismal night for ever blind,
Lost in itself, nor to the day rejoin'd,
Nor number'd in the swift circumference
Of months and years, but vanish in offence!
O let it sad and solitary prove,
No sprightly music hear, nor songs of love.
Let wand'ring apparitions then affright
The trembling bride, and quench the nuptial light.
O let those hate it who the daylight hate,
Who mourn and groan beneath their sorrow's weight.
Let the eclipsed moon her throne resign,
Instead of stars let blazing meteors shine.
Let it not see the dawning fleck the skies,
Nor the gray morning from the ocean rise:
Because the door of life it left unclos'd,
And me, a wretch, to cruel fates expos'd.
O why was I not strangled in the womb,
Nor in that secret prison found a tomb?
Or since untimely born, why did not I
(The next of blessings) in that instant die?
Why kneel'd the midwife at my mother's throes,
With pain produc'd, and nurse for future woes?
Else had I an eternal requiem kept,
And in the arms of peace for ever slept:
With kings and princes rank'd, who lofty frames
In deserts rais'd, t'immortalize their names;
Who made the wealth of provinces their prey;
In death as mighty, and as rich as they:
Then I, as an abortive, had not been,
Nor with the hated light such sorrows seen;
Slept, where none are by violence opprest,
And where the weary from their labours rest;
No prisoners there, enforc'd by torments, cry,
But fearless by their old tormentors lye:
The mean and great on equal bases stand;
No servants there obey, nor lords command.
Why should afflicted souls in anguish live,
And only have immunity to grieve?
O how they wish for death to close their eyes!
But oh, in vain! since he the wretched flies.
For whom they dig, as pioneers for gold,
Which the dark entrails of the earth unfold;
And having found him, as their liberty,
With joy encounter, and contented die.
Why should he live, from whom God hath the path
Of safety hid, encompass'd with His wrath?
In storms of sighs I taste my bitter food,
My groans break from me, like a roaring flood.
The ruin which I fear'd, and in my thought
So oft revolv'd, one fatal hour hath brought.
Nor durst I on prosperity presume,
Or time in sleep and barren ease consume,
But watch'd my wary steps; and yet for all
My providence, these plagues upon me fall. "