Mindless of Watts and friendship, cold he lies

Deaf and unthinking clay ..

....

But whither am I led? This artless grief Hurries the muse on, obstinate and deaf To all the nicer rules, and bears her down From the tall fabric to the neighbouring ground: The pleasing hours, the happy moments past In these sweet fields reviving on my taste Snatch me away, resistless, with impetuous haste. Spread thy strong pinions once again, my song, And reach the turret thou hast left so long: O'er the wide roofs its lofty head it rears, Long waiting our converse; but only hears The noisy tumults of the realms on high; The winds salute it whistling as they fly, Or jarring round the windows; rattling showers Lash the fair sides; above, loud thunder roars; But still the master sleeps; nor hears the voice Of sacred friendship, nor the tempest's noise: An iron slumber sits on every sense,

In vain the heavenly thunders strive to rouse it thence.

One labour more, my muse, the golden sphere Seems to demand: See through the dusky air Downward it shines upon the rising moon; And as she labours up to reach her noon, Pursues her orb with repercussive light, And streaming gold repays the paler beams of night:

But not one ray can reach the darksome grave, Or pierce the solid gloom that fills the cave Where Gunston dwells in death. Behold, it flames Like some new meteor with diffusive beams Through the mid-heaven, and overcomes the stars; "So shines thy Gunston's soul above the spheres," Raphael replies, and wipes away my tears. "We saw the flesh sink down with closing eyes, "We heard thy grief shriek out, he dies! he dies! "Mistaken grief! to call the flesh the friend! "On our fair wings did the bright youth ascend, "All heaven embrac'd him with immortal love "And sung his welcome to the courts above. "Gentle Ithuriel led him round the skies,

"The buildings struck him with immense surprise ; "The spires all radiant, and the mansions bright, "The roof high-vaulted with ethereal light: "Beauty and strength on the tall bulwarks sat, "In heavenly diamonds; and for every gate, "On golden hinges, a broad ruby turns, “Guards of the foe, and as it moves it burns ; "Millions of glories reign through every part: "Infinite power, and uncreated art,

"Stand here display'd, and to the strangers show "How it outshines the noblest seats below.

"The stranger fed his gazing powers awhile

66

Transported: Then with a regardless smile, "Glanc'd his eyes downward thro' the crystal floor, "And took eternal leave of what he built be

fore."

Now, fair Urania, leave the doleful strain : Raphael commands: Assume thy joys again. In everlasting numbers sing, and say,

"Gunston has mov'd his dwelling to the realms of day;

"Gunston the friend lives still; and give thy groans away."

TO MR. ARTHUR SHALLET, MERCHANT.

WORTHY SIR,

The subject of the following elegy was high in your esteem, and enjoyed a large share of your affections. Scarce doth his memory need the assistance of the muse to make it perpetual; but when she can at once pay her honours to the venerable dead, and by this address acknowledge the favours she has received from the living, it is a double pleasure to, Sir, your obliged humble servant,

I. WATTS.

TO THE MEMORY OF

THE REV. MR. THOMAS GOUGE,

WHO DIED JAN. 8, 1699-1700

YE virgin souls, whose sweet complaint
Could teach Euphrates1 not to flow,
Could Sion's ruin so divinely paint,

1 Psal. cxxxvii. Lament. i. 2, 3.

Array'd in beauty and in woe:

Awake, ye virgin souls, to mourn,

[urn.

And with your tuneful sorrows dress a prophet's

O could my lips or flowing eyes

But imitate such charming grief,

I'd teach the seas, and teach the skies,
Wailings, and sobs, and sympathies,
Nor should the stones or rocks be deaf;

Rocks shall have eyes, and stones have ears,

While Gouge's death is mourn'd in melody and tears.

Heaven was impatient of our crimes,
And sent his minister of death

To scourge the bold rebellion of the times,
And to demand our prophet's breath;
He came commission'd for the fates
Of awful Mead, and charming Bates;
There he essay'd the vengeance first,

Then took a dismal aim, and brought great Gouge to dust.

Great Gouge to dust! how doleful is the sound!
How vast the stroke is! and how wide the wound!
Oh painful stroke! distressing death!
A wound unmeasurably wide:

No vulgar mortal died

When he resign'd his breath.

The muse that mourns a nation's fall,
Should wait at Gouge's funeral,

Should mingle majesty and groans, Such as she sings to sinking thrones, And in deep sounding numbers tell, How Sion trembled, when this pillar fell. Sion grows weak, and England poor, Nature herself, with all her store,

Can furnish such a pomp for death no more.

The reverend man let all things moan;

Sure he was some ethereal mind,

Fated in flesh to be confin'd,

And order'd to be born.

His soul was of the angelic frame,

The same ingredients, and the mould the same,
When the Creator makes a minister of flame,
He was all form'd of heavenly things,
Mortals, believe what my Urania sings,
For she has seen him rise upon his flamy wings.

How would he mount, how would he fly
Up through the ocean of the sky,

Tow'rd the celestial coast!

With what amazing swiftness soar

Till earth's dark ball was seen no more,

And all its mountains lost!

Scarce could the muse pursue him with her sight: But angels, you can tell,

For oft you meet his wondrous flight,

And knew the stranger well;

Say, how he past the radiant spheres,