Page images
PDF
EPUB

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;

[ocr errors]

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 t

come.

He kept his hour, and found her where she lay
Cloth'd all in white, the livery of e day: [act,
Scarce had she sinn'd in thrug, or word, or
Unless omissions were to pass for face:
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

[blocks in formation]

grace;

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.

[ocr errors]

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.

He who could view the book of destiny,
And read whatever there was writ of thee.
O charming youth, in the first opening page,
So many graces in so green an age,
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
Struck dumb, they all adınir'd the godlike man:
They sung no more, or only sung his fame:
The godlike man,
Alas! too soon retired,
As he too late began.

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

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join, Come first, and offer at her sacred shrine; Pray but for half the virtues of this wife, Compound for all the rest, with longer life; And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd,

So lov'd when living, and when dead so mourn'd.

EPITAPH ON SIR PALMES FAIRBONE'S TOMBIN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

Sacred to the immortal memory of Sir Palmes Fairbone, Knight, Governor of Tangier; in execution of which command, he was mortally wounded by a shot from the Moors, then besieging the town in the forty sixth year of his age. October 24,1680.

YE sacred relics, which your marble keep,
Here, undisturb'd by wars, in quiet sleep :
Discharge the trust, which, when it was be-
Fairbone's undaunted soul did undergo, [low,
And be the town's Palladium from the foe.
Alive and dead these walls he will defend :
Great actions great examples must attend.
The Candian siege his early valour knew,
Where Turkish blood did his young hands im-
brue.

From thence returning with deserv'd applause, Against the Moors his well flesh'd sword he draws;

The same the courage, and the same the cause.
His youth and age, his life and death, combine,
As in some great and regular design,
All of a piece throughout, and all divine.
Still nearer heaven his virtues shone more
bright,

Like rising flames expanding in their height;
The martyr's glory crown'd the soldier's fight.
More bravely British general never fell,
Nor general's death was e'er reveng'd so well;
Which his pleas'd eyes beheld before their close,
Follow'd by thousand victims of his foes.
To his lamented loss for time to come
His pious widow consecrates this tomb.

UNDER MR. MILTON'S PICTURE BEFORE HIS PARADISE LOST.

THREE poets in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first, in loftiness of thought surpass'd; The next, in majesty; in both the last.

The force of nature could no further go;
To make a third, she join'd the former two.

ON THE

MONUMENT OF A FAIR MAIDEN LADY,

WHO DIED AT BATH, AND IS THERE IN TERRED.*

BELOW this marble monument is laid
All that heaven wants of this celestial maid.
Preserve, O sacred tomb, thy trust con-
sign'd,

The mould was made on purpose for the mind:
And she would lose, if, at the atter day,
One atom could be mix'd of other clay.
Such were the features of her heavenly face,
Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious
grace:

So faultless was the frame, as if the whole
Had been an emanation of the soul;
Which her own inward symmetry reveal'd;
And like a picture shone, in glass anneal'd.
Or like the sun eclips'd, with shaded light:
Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by sight.
Each thought was visible that roll'd within:
As through a crystal case the figur'd hours are

seen.

And heaven did this transparent veil provide,
Because she had no guilty thought to hide.
All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies:
For marriage, though it sullies not, it dyes.
High though her wit, yet humble was her mind;
As if she could not, or she would not find
How much her worth transcended all her kind.
Yet she had learn'd so much of heaven below,
That when arriv'd, she scarce had more to
But only to refresh the former hint; [know:
And read her Maker in a fairer print.
So pious, as she had no time to spare
For human thoughts, but was confin'd to prayer.
Yet in such charities she pass'd the day,
'Twas wondrous how she found an hour to pray.

• This lady is interred in the Abbey-church. The epitaph is on a white marble stone fixed in the wall, together with this inscription: 'Here lies the body of Mary, third daughter of Richard Frampton, of Moreton in Dorsetshire, Esq; and of Jane his wife, sole daughter of Sir Francis Coffington, of Founthill in Wilts, who was born January 1, 1676, and died after seven weeks illness on the 6th of September, 1699.

This monument was erected by Catharine Frampton, her second sister and executrix, in testimony of her grief, affection, and gratitude.' D.

[blocks in formation]

Confirm'd the cause for which he fought before,
Rests here, rewarded by a heavenly prince;
For what his earthly could not recompense.
Pray, reader, that such times no more appear:
Or, if they happen, learn true honour here.
Ask of this age's faith and loyalty, [thee.
Which, to preserve them, heaven confin'd in
Few subjects could a king like thine deserve:
And fewer, such a king so well could serve.
Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state
By sufferings rose, and gave the law to fate.
Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns given
To earth, and meant for ornaments to heaven.

SONGS, ODES, AND A MASQUE.

THE FAIR STRANGER, A SONG.*

HAPPY and free, securely blest,
No beauty could disturb my rest;

This song is a compliment to the Duchess of Portsmouth, on her first coming to England. D.

ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN. CLARENDON had law and sense,

Clifford was fierce and brave; Bennet's grave look was a pretence, And Danby's matchless impudence

'Help'd to support the knave.

But Sunderland,* Godolphin, Lory, These will appear such chits in story,

'T will turn all politics to jests, To be repeated like John Dory, When fiddlers sing at feasts.

Protect us, mighty Providence,

What would these madmen have? First, they would bribe us without pence, Deceive us without common sense,

And without power enslave.

• But Sunderland] This nobleman had certainly great and various abilities, with a complete ver satility of genius, and a most insinuating address; but he was totally void of all principles, moral or religious, and a much more abandoned character than Shaftesbury, whom it is so common to calumniate. He certainly urged James II. to pursue arbitrary and illegal measures, that he intended should be his ruin, and betrayed him to the Prince of Orange. The Abbe de Longuerue relates, that Dr. Massey, of Christ Church, assured him, he once received an order from King James to expel twenty. four students of that college in Oxford, if they did not embrace popery. Massey, astonished at the order, was advised by a friend to go to London, and show it to the king; who assured him he had never given him such an order, and commended Massey for not having obeyed it; yet still this infatuated monarch continued to trust Sunderland. Dr. J. W.

« EelmineJätka »