1.+Group+Analysis

**Hyperbole** **Hyperbole** is a type of figurative language. It is often confused with a simile or metaphor because it compares two objects. It is a figure of speech which is an exaggeration. People often used expressions such as "I nearly died laughing" or "I tried a thousand times." These statements are not literally true, but make them sound impressive of to emphasize something, such as feeling, effort, or reaction. In poetry, hyperbole can emphasize or dramatize a person's opinions or emotions. Skilled poets use hyperbole to describe intense emotions and mental states.

The Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady By Alexander Pope What beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis she!--but why that bleeding bosom gored, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? O, ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, Is it, in Heav'n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender or too firm a heart, To act a lover's or a Roman's part? Is there no bright reversion in the sky For those who greatly think, or bravely die? Why bade ye else, ye Pow'rs! her soul aspire Above the vulgar flight of low desire? Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes; The glorious fault of angels and of gods; Thence to their images on earth it flows, And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows. Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age, Dull sullen pris'ners in the body's cage: **Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,** And close confined to their own palace, sleep.
 * Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres;**
 * Like Eastern kings a lazy state they keep,**

From these perhaps (ere Nature bade her die) Fate snatch'd her early to the pitying sky. As into air the purer spirits flow, And sep'rate from their kindred dregs below, So flew the soul to its congenial place, Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.

But thou, false guardian of a charge too good! Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood! See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, Cold is that breast which warm'd the world before, And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall; On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates. There passengers shall stand, and pointing say (While the long fun'rals blacken all the way), 'Lo! these were they whose souls the Furies steel'd Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! So perish all whose breast ne'er learned to glow For others' good, or melt at others' woe!
 * These cheeks now fading at the blast of Death: **
 * Thus, if eternal Justice rules the ball, **
 * And cursed with hearts unknowing how to yield.' **

What can atone (O ever-injured shade!) Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful bier. Be foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd! What tho' no friends in sable weeds appear, Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances, and the public show? What tho' no weeping Loves thy ashes grace, Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face? What tho' no sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb? And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast: There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the year shall blow; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground now sacred by the reliques made.
 * Yet shall thy grave with rising flow'rs be drest, **

So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. How loved, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!

Deaf the praised ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev'n he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays; Then from his closing eyes they form shall part, Life's idle business at one gasp be o'er, The Muse forgot, and thou beloved no more!
 * Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, **
 * And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart; **

**Analysis**
 * The author's main purpose in The Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady is to describe the love a young woman has for a man. However near the end of the poem he does not love her back and therefore she commits suicide. The hyperbole "These cheeks now fading at the blast of Death" help the authors overall purpose because it describes her and how she kills herself just because of love, or rather the lack of love. Death did not really blast her, that is where the hyperbole comes in, it emphasizes the shock that death has on her body. It does not go into detail how she dies but it must have gone very fast because it was a "blast" of death.