Elegy on the Lord Chancellor

Elegy on the Lord Chancellor by John Donne

An elegy mourning the death of a Lord Chancellor, whose passing brings sorrow to a house that had rarely known it before, making the household the unlikely heir to grief while all its joy becomes sorrow's prey. The speaker calls this loss a strange chance deserving strange wonder, since nothing seems as strange as the mourners' own weeping. He reflects that the dead man's loud-speaking works were themselves sufficient praise, more than their cold tongues could ever have given, and that it was well he had spared them tears before now, so that they might have store of grief in reserve to fit this deep ill. The speaker likens the Chancellor to a sweet briar that climbed up by a tree, transplanted into paradise, or felled and burnt for holy sacrifice — and notes that whatever rose by such a support must wither once it is gone, just as the household withers now that he is dead. He declares that no family ever rigged a soul for heaven's discovery with whom more venturers dared more boldly to venture their estates, sharing in his joy. Those left behind lose what all friends loved in him, while he himself gains only life through death, a gain even his worst foes would allow him — if such a virtuous man could be said to have had any foes, for all virtues grew in his practice, and his name was known even to subtle schoolmen. The speaker questions what comfort can be hoped for in seeing his like begotten again, since those left behind must die first themselves, and yet cannot die yet. He turns to the Chancellor's children, calling them his pictures — but pictures of him dead, senseless, and cold as he now is. The elegy closes by declaring that no marble tomb is needed, since he is gone: he himself, and those around him, are already turned to stone with grief.

By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Elegy, Metaphysical Poetry, Commemorative Poetry · 350 words

First lines

Sorrow, who to this house scarce knew the way, / Is, O, heir of it, our all is his prey. / This strange chance claims strange wonder, and to us / Nothing can be so strange as to weep thus. / 'Tis well his life's loud-speaking works deserve, / And give praise too, our cold tongues could not serve; / 'Tis well he kept tears from our eyes before, / That to fit this deep ill we might have store. / O, if a sweet briar climb up by a tree, / If to a paradise that transplanted be, / Or fell'd, and burnt for holy sacrifice, / Yet that must wither which by it did rise, / As we for him dead; though no family / E'er rigg'd a soul for heaven's discovery / With whom more venturers more boldly dare / Venture their states, with him in joy to share, / We lose what all friends loved, him; he gains now / But life by death, which worst foes would allow, / If he could have foes, in whose practice grew / All virtues, whose name subtle schoolmen knew. / What ease can hope that we shall see him beget, / When we must die first, and cannot die yet? / His children are his pictures; O, they be / Pictures of him dead, senseless, cold as he. / Here needs no marble tomb, since he is gone, / He, and about him his, are turn'd to stone.

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elegy · memorial · mourning · lament · metaphysical · baroque · tribute · eulogy · death · loss · ceremonial · formal

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Elegy on the Lord Chancellor is listed on Textopian as a poem by John Donne, dated 1633 CE.

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