The distant heard, by fame, her pious deeds,
And laid her up for their extremest needs;
A future cordial for a fainting mind;
For, what was ne'er refus'd, all hop'd to find,
Each in his turn: the rich might freely come,
As to a friend; but to the poor, 't was home.
As to some holy house the afflicted came,
The hunger-starv'd, naked and the lame;
Want and discases fled before her name.
For zeal like hers her servants were too slow;
She was the first, where need requir'd, to go;
Herself the foundress and attendant too.

Sure she had guests sometimes to entertain,
Guests in disguise, of her great Master's
train:
[know;
Her Lord himself might come, for ought we
Since in a servant's form he liv'd below:
Beneath her roof he might be pleas'd to stay;
Or some benighted angel, in his way, [appear
Might ease his wings, and, seeing heaven
In its best work of mercy, think it there,
Where all the deeds of charity and love
Were in as constant method, as above,
All carried on; all of a piece with theirs
As free her alms, as diligent her cares;
As loud her praises, and as warm her prayers.
Yet was she not profuse; but fear'd to waste,
And wisely manag'd, that the stock might
last;

That all might be supplied, and she not grieve, When crowds appear'd, she had not to relieve: Which to prevent, she still increas'd her store; Laid up, and spar'd, that she might give the

more.

So Pharaoh, or some greater king than he,
Provided for the seventh necessity :
Taught from above his magazines to frame;
That famine was prevented ere it came.
Thus Heaven, though all-sufficent, shows a
In his economy, and bounds his gift: [thrift
Creating, for our day, one single light;
And his reflection too supplies the night.
Perhaps a thousand other worlds, that lie
Remote from us, and latent in the sky,
Are lighten'd by his beams, and kindly nurst
Of which our earthly dunghill is the worst.

Now, as all virtues keep the middle line, Yet somewhat more to one extreme incline, Such was her soul; abhorring avarice, Bounteous, but almost bounteous to a vice: Had she given more, it had profusion been, And turn'd the excess of goodness into sin.

These virtues rais'd her fabric to the sky; For that, which is next heaven, is charity. But, as high turrets, for their airy steep, Require foundations, in proportion deep; And lofty cedars as far upward shoot,

As to the nether heavens they drive the root:

So low did her secure foundation lie,
She was not humble, but Humility.
Scarcely she knew that she was great, or fair,
Or wise, beyond what other woman are,
Or, which is better, knew, but never durst
compare.

For to be conscious of what all admire,
And not be vain, advances virtue higher.
But still she found, or rather thought she found,
Her own worth wanting, others' to abound:
Ascrib'd above their due to every one,
Unjust and scanty to herself alone.

Such her devotion was, as might give rules
Of speculation to disputing schools,
And teach us equally the scales to hold
Betwixt the two extremes of hot and cold,
That pious heat may moderately prevail,
And we be warm'd, but not be scorch'd with
zeal.

Business might shorten, not disturb her prayer,
Heaven had the best, if not the greater share.
An active life long orisons forbids; [deeds.
Yet still she pray'd, for still she pray'd by
Her every day was sabbath; only free
From hours of prayer, for hours of charity.
Such as the Jews from servile toil releas'd;
Where works of mercy were a part of rest;
Such as blest angels exercise above,
Varied with sacred hymns and acts of love :
Such sabbaths as that one she now enjoys,
E'en that perpetual one, which she employs,
(For such vicissitudes in heaven there are)
In praise alternate, and alternate prayer.
All this she practis'd here; that when she sprung
Amidst the choirs, at the first sight she sung:
Sung, and was sung herself in angels' lays;
For, praising her, they did her Maker praise.
All offices of heaven so well she knew,
Before she came, that nothing there was new:
And she was so familiarly receiv'd,
As one returning, not as one arriv'd.

Muse, down again precipitate thy flight:
For how can mortal eyes sustain immortal
But as the sun in water we can bear, [light?
Yet not the sun, but his reflection there,
So let us view her, here, in what she was,
And take her image in this watery glass:
Yet look not every lineament to see;
Some will be cast in shades, and some will be
So lamely drawn, you'll scarcely know 't is she.
For where such various virtues we recite,
'T is like the milky way, all over bright,
But sown so thick with stars, 't is undistin-
guish'd light.

Her virtue, not her virtues, let us call; For one heroic comprehends them all : One, as a constellation is but one,

Though 't is a train of stars, that, rolling on,

Rise in their turn, and in the zodiac run:
Ever in motion; now 't is Faith ascends,
Now Hope, now Charity, that upward tends,
And downwards with diffusive good descends.

As in perfumes compos'd with art and cost,
"T is hard to say what scent is uppermost ;~
Nor this part musk or civet can we call,
Or amber, but a rich result of all;

So she was all a sweet, whose every part, [art.
In due proportion mix'd, proclaim'd the Maker's
No single virtue we could most commend,
Whether the wife, the mother, or the friend;
For she was all, in that supreme degree,
That as no one prevail'd, so all was she.
The several parts lay hidden in the piece;
The occasion but exerted that, or this.

A wife as tender, and as true withal,
As the first woman was before her fall:
Made for the man, of whom she was a part;
Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart.
A second Eve, but by no crime accurs'd;
As beauteous, not as brittle as the first.
Had she been first, still Paradise had been,
And death had found no entrance by her sin.
So she not only had preserv'd from ill
Her sex and ours, but liv'd their pattern still.

Love and obedience to her lord she bore;
She much obey'd him, but she lov'd him more:
Not aw'd to duty by superior sway,
But taught by his indulgence to obey.
Thus we love God, as author of our good;
So subjects love just kings, or so they should.
Nor was it with ingratitude return'd;
In equal fires the blissful couple burn'd;
One joy possess'd them both, and in one grief
they mourn'd.

His passion still improv'd; he lov'd so fast,
As if he fear'd each day would be her last.
Too true a prophet to foresee the fate
That should so soon divide their happy state:
When he to heaven entirely must restore
That love, that heart, where he went halves
Yet as the soul is all in every part, [before.
So God and he might each have all her heart.
So had her children too; for Charity
Was not more fruitful, or more kind than she:
Each under other by degrees they grew;
A goodly perspective of distant view.
Anchises look'd not with so pleas'd a face,
In numbering o'er his future Roman race,
And marshalling the heroes of his name,
As, in their order, next to light they came.
Nor Cybele, with half so kind an eye,
Survey'd her sons and daughters of the sky;
Proud, shall I say, of her immortal fruit?
As far as pride with heavenly minds may suit.
Her pious love excell'd to all she bore;
New objects only multiplied it more.

And as the chosen found the pearly grain
As much as every vessel could contain;
As in the blissful vision each shall share
As much of glory as his soul can bear;
So did she love, and so dispense her care.
Her eldest thus, by consequence, was best,
As longer cultivated than the rest.
The babe had all that infant care beguiles,
And early knew his mother in her smiles:
But when dilated organs let in day
To the young soul, and gave it room to play,
At his first aptness, the maternal love
Those rudiments of reason did improve :
The tender age was pliant to command;
Like wax it yielded to the forming hand:
True to the artificer, the labour'd mind
With ease was pious, generous, just, and kind:
Soft for impression, from the first prepar'd,
Till virtue with long exercise grew hard:
With every act confirm'd, and made at last
So durable as not to be effac'd,

It turn'd to habit; and, from vices free,
Goodness resolv'd into necessity.

Thus fix'd she virtue's inage, that's her own,
Till the whole mother in the children shone;
For that was their perfection: she was such,
They never could express her mind too much.
So unexhausted her perfections were,
That for more children, she had more to spare;
For souls unborn, whom her untimely death
Depriv'd of bodies, and of mortal breath;
And (could they take the impressions of her
Enough still left to sanctify her kind. [mind)
Then wonder not to see this soul extend
The bounds, and seek some other self, a friend:
As swelling seas to gentle rivers glide,
To seek repose, and empty out the tide;
So this full soul, in narrow limits pent,
Unable to contain her, sought a vent,
To issue out, and in some friendly breast
Discharge her treasures, and securely rest:
To unbosom all the secrets of her heart,
Take good advice, but better to impart.
For 't is the bliss of friendship's holy state,
To mix their minds, and to communicate;
Though bodies cannot, souls can penetrate :
Fix'd to her choice, inviolably true,
And wisely choosing, for she chose but few.
Some she must have; but in no one could find
A tally fitted for so large a mind. [are;

The souls of friends like kings in progress Still in their own, though from the palace far: Thus her friend's heart her country dwell

This is the imperfect draught; but short as As the true height and bigness of a star [far Exceeds the measures of the astronomer. She shines above, we know; but in what place, How near the throne, and heaven's imperial By our weak optics is but vainly guess'd; [face, Distance and altitude conceal the rest. [mind Though all these rare endowments of the Were in a narrow space of life confin'd, The figure was with full perfection crown'd; Though not so large an orb, as truly round.

As when in glory, through the public place, The spoils of conquer'd nations were to pass, And but one day for triumph was allow'd, The consul was constrain'd his pomp to crowd; And so the swift procession hurried on, That all, though not distinctly, might be shown: So in the straiten'd bounds of life confin'd, She gave but glimpses of her glorious mind: And multitudes of virtues pass'd along; Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng, Ambitious to be seen, and then make room For greater multitudes that were to come.

Yet unemploy'd no minute slipp'd away; Moments were precious in so short a stay. The haste of heaven to have her was so great, That some were single acts, though each comBut every act stood ready to repeat. [plete; Her fellow-saints with busy care will look For her blest name in fate's eternal book; And, pleas'd to be outdone, with joy will see Numberless virtues, endless charity: But more will wonder at so short an age, To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page: And with a pious fear begin to doubt The piece imperfect, and the rest torn out. But 't was her Saviour's time; and, could there A copy near the original, 't was she.

[be

As precious gums are not for lasting fire,
They but perfume the temple, and expire:
So was she soon exhal'd, and vanish'd hence;
A short sweet odour, of a vast expense.
She vanish'd, we can scarcely say she died;
For but a now did heaven and earth divide:
She pass'd serenely with a single breath;
This moment perfect health, the next was
One sigh did her eternal bliss assure; [death:
So little penance needs, when souls are almost
pure.

As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue;
Or, one dream pass'd, we slide into a new;
So close they follow, such wild order keep,
We think ourselves awake, and are asleep :
So softly death succeeded life in her: [there.
She did but dream of heaven, and she was
No pains she suffer'd, nor expir'd with noise;
Her soul was whisper'd out with God's still
voice;

As an old friend is beckon'd to a feast,
And treated like a long familiar guest.
He took her as he found, but found her so,
As one in hourly readiness to go:
E'en on that day, in all her trim prepar'd;
As early notice she from heaven had heard,
And some descending courier from above
Had given her timely warning to remove;
Or counsell'd her to dress the nuptial room,
For on that night the bridegroom was to

come.

He kept his hour, and found her where she lay
Cloth'd all in white, the livery of the day: [act;
Scarce had she sinn'd in thought, or word, or
Unless omissions were to pass for fact:
That hardly death a consequence could draw,
To make her liable to nature's law.
And, that she died, we only have to show
The mortal part of her she left below:
The rest, so smooth, so suddenly she went,
Look'd like translation through the firma-
ment,

Or like the fiery car on the third errand sent.
O happy soul! if thou canst view from high,
Where thou art all intelligence, all eye,
If looking up to God, or down to us,
Thou find'st that any way be previous,
Survey the ruins of thy house, and see
Thy widow'd, and thy orphan family:
Look on thy tender pledges left behind;
And, if thou canst a vacant minute find
From heavenly joys, that interval afford
To thy sad children, and thy mourning lord.
See how they grieve mistaken in their love,
And shed a beam of comfort from above;
Give them, as much as mortal eyes can bear,
A transient view of thy full glories there;
That they with moderate sorrow may sustain
And mollify their losses in thy gain.

Or else divide the grief; for such thou wert,
That should not all relations bear a part,
It were enough to break a single heart.

Let this suffice: nor thou, great saint, refuse
This humble tribute of no vulgar muse:
Who, not by cares, or wants, or age depress'd,
Stems a wild deluge with a dauntless breast;
And dares to sing thy praises in a clime
Where vice triumphs, and virtue is a crime;
Where e'en to draw the picture of thy mind
Is satire on the most of human kind;
Take it, while yet 't is praise; before my rage,
Unsafely just, break loose on this bad age
So bad, that thou thyself hadst no defence
From vice, but barely by departing hence.
Be what and where thou art: to wish thy place
Were, in the best presumption more than grace.
Thy relics (such thy works of mercy are,)
Have, in this poem, been my holy care.

As earth thy body keeps, thy soul the sky,
So shall this verse preserve thy memory: [thee.
For thou shalt make it live, because it sings of

ON THE DEATH OF AMYNTAS. A PASTORAL ELEGY.

'Twas on a joyless and a gloomy morn,[thorn: Wet was the grass, and hung with pearls the When Damon, who design'd to pass the day With hounds and horns, and chase the flying

prey,

Rose early from his bed; but soon he found
The welkin pitch'd with sullen clouds around
An eastern wind, and dew upon the ground.
Thus while he stood, and sighing did survey
The fields, and curst the ill omens of the day,
He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace;
Wet were his eyes, and cheerless was his face:
He wrung his hands, distracted with his care,
And sent his voice before him from afar.
Return, he cried, return, unhappy swain,
The spungy clouds are fill'd with gathering rain:
The promise of the day not only cross'd,
But e'en the spring, the spring itself is lost.
Amyntas-oh!-he could not speak the rest,
Nor needed, for presaging Damon guess'd.
Equal with heaven young Damon lov'd the boy,
The boast of nature, both his parents' joy.
His graceful form revolving in his mind;
So great a genius, and a soul so kind,
Gave sad assurance that his fears were true;
Too well the envy of the gods he knew:
For when their gifts too lavishly are plac'd,
Soon they repent, and will not make them last.
For sure it was too bountiful a dole,
The mother's features, and the father's soul.
Then thus he cried: The morn bespoke the

news:

The morning did her cheerful light diffuse : But see how suddenly she chang'd her face, And brought on clouds and rain, the day's disgrace;

Just such, Amyntas, was thy promis'd race. What charms adorn'd thy youth, where nature smil'd,

And more than man was given us in a child!
His infancy was ripe: a soul sublime
In years so tender that prevented time: [away;
Heaven gave him all at once; then snatch'd
Ere mortals all his beauties could survey: [day.

Just like the flower that buds and withers in a

MENALCAS.

The mother, lovely, though with grief opprest, Reclin'd his dying head upon her breast.

I

The mourniui family stood all around;
One groan was heard, one universal sound:
All were in floods of tears and endless sorrow
So dire a sadness sat on every look, [drown'd,
E'en Death repented he had given the stroke.
He griev'd his fatal work had been ordain'd,
But promis'd length of life to those who yet re-
main'd.

The mother's and her eldest daughter's grace,
It seems, had brib'd him to prolong their space.
The father bore it with undaunted soul,
Like one who durst his destiny control :
Yet with becoming grief he bore his part,
Resign'd his son, but not resign'd his heart.
Patient as Job; and may he live to see,
Like him, a new increasing family!

DAMON.

Such is my wish, and such my prophecy, For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains;

Long may she exercise her fruitful pains! But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race More lasting, and endu'd with equal grace! Equal she may, but farther none can go: For he was all that was exact below.

MENALCAS.

Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud; Hear'st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud? There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs

play

[way. About their godlike mate, and sing him on his He cleaves the liquid air, behold he flies, And every moment gains upon the skies. The new come guest admires the ethereal state, The sapphire portal, and the golden gate; And now admitted in the shining throng, He shows the passport which he brought along. His passport is his innocence and grace, Well known to all the natives of the place. Now sing, ye joyful angels, and admire [quire; Your brother's voice that comes to mend your Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow; For like Amyntas none is left below.

ON THE DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN.

And read whatever there was writ of thee.
He who could view the book of destiny,
So many graces in so green an age,
O charming youth, in the first opening page,
Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind,
A soul at once so manly, and so kind;
Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er,
And after some few leaves should find no more,

Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space,
A step of life that promis'd such a race.
We must not, dare not think, that Heaven be-
A child, and could not finish him a man; [gan
Reflecting what a mighty store was laid
Of rich materials, and a model made :
The cost already furnish'd; so bestow'd,
As more was never to one soul allow'd:
Yet after this profusion spent in vain,
Nothing but mouldering ashes to remain,
I guess not, lest I split upon the shelf,
Yet durst I guess, Heaven kept it for himself;
And giving us the use, did soon recall,
Ere we could spare, the mighty principal.

Thus then he disappear'd, was rarified;
For 't is improper speech to say he died:
He was exhal'd; his great Creator drew
His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
"T is sin produces death; and he had none,
But the taint Adam left on every son.
He added not, he was so pure, so good,
'T was but the original forfeit of his blood:
And that so little, that the river ran
More clear than the corrupted fount began.
Nothing remain'd of the first muddy clay;
The length of course had wash'd it in the way:
So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold
The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.
As such we lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd,
Gave all the tribute mortals could afford.
Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above
Grew angry at our superstitious love:
For when we more than human homage pay,
The charming cause is justly snatch'd away.

Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone : And yet we murmur that he went so soon; Though miracles are short and rarely shown.

Learn then, ye mournful parents, and divide That love in many, which in one was tied. That individual blessing is no more, But multiplied in your remaining store. The flame's dispers'd, but does not all expire; The sparkles blaze, though not the globe of fire.

Love him by parts, in all your numerous race, And form those parts form one collected grace ; Then, when you have refin'd to that degree, Imagine all in one, and think that one is he.

Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace,
A large provision for so short a race;
More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his
Too early fitted for a better state; [date,
But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay,
He leap'd o'er age, and took the shortest way.

ON THE DEATH OF MR. PURCELL.
SET TO MUSIC BY DR. BLOW.
I.

MARK how the lark and linnet sing;
With rival notes

They strain their warbling throats,
To welcome in the spring.
But in the close of night,
When Philomel begins her heavenly lay,
They cease their mutual spite,
Drink in her music with delight,
And, list'ning, silently obey.
II.

So ceas'd the rival crew, when Purcell came,
They sung no more, or only sung his fame :
Struck dumb, they all admir'd the godlike man:
The godlike man,
Alas! too soon retired,
As he too late began.

We beg not hell our Orpheus to restore :
Had he been there,

Their sovereign's fear

Had sent him back before.

The power of harmony too well they knew: He long ere this had tun'd their jarring sphere, And left no hell below.

III.

The heavenly choir, who heard his notes from high,

Let down the scale of music from the sky :

They handed him along, [sung. And all the way he taught, and all the way they Ye brethren of the lyre, and tuneful voice, Lament his lot; but at your own rejoice: Now live secure, and linger out your days; The gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's lays, Nor know to mend their choice.

UPON YOUNG MR. ROGERS,

OF GLOUCESTERSHIRE.

Or gentle blood, his parents' only treasure, Their lasting sorrow, and their vanish'd pleasure,

EPITAPH ON THE LADY WHITMORE.

FAIR, kind, and true, a treasure each alone,
A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one,
Rest in this tomb, rais'd at thy husband's cost,
Here sadly summing what he had and lost.