Page images
PDF
EPUB
[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

HE who could view the book of destiny,

And read whatever there was writ of thee,
O charming youth, in the firft opening page,
So many graces in fo green an age,

Such wit, fuch modefty, fuch ftrength of mind,
A foul at once fo manly, and fo kind;

Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er,
And after fome few leaves fhould find no more,
Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space,
A ftep of life that promis'd fuch a race.

We must not, dare not think, that heaven began
A child, and could not finifh him a man ;
Reflecting what a mighty ftore was laid
Of rich materials, and a model made :
The coft already furnifh'd; fo beftow'd,
As more was never to one foul allow'd :
Yet, after this profufion spent in vain,
Nothing but mouldering afhes to remain,
I guess not, left I split upon the shelf,
Yet, durft I guess, heaven kept it for himself;
And giving us the ufe, did foon recal,
Ere we could fpare, the mighty principal.
Thus then he disappear'd,' was rarify'd ;
For 'tis improper speech to say he dy’d:
He was exhal'd; his great Creator drew
His fpirit, as the fun the morning dew.

'Tis fin produces death; and he had none
But the taint Adam left on every fon.
He added not, he was fo pure, so good,
'Twas but th' original forfeit of his blood :
And that fo 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
So deep, and yet fo clear, we might behold
The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.

way:

[ocr errors]

As fuch we lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd,
Gave all the tribute mortals could afford,
Perhaps we gave fo much, the powers above
Grew angry at our fuperftitious love :
For when we more than human homage pay,
The charming caufe is juftly fnatch'd away.
Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone:
And yet we murmur that he went too foon
Though miracles are short and rarely shown.
Hear then, ye mournful parents, and divide
That love in many, which in one was ty'd.
That individual blessing is no more,
But multiply'd in your remaining store.
The flame 's difpers'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 from thofe parts form one collected grace;
Then, when you have refin'd to that degree,
Imagine all in one, and think that one is he.
VOL. II.

}

Upon

VII.

Upon young Mr. ROGERS of Gloucestershire. OF gentle blood, his parents only treasure,

Their lafting forrow, and their vanish'd pleasure, Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace, A large provifion for fo fhort a race;

More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his date,
Too early fitted for a better ftate;

But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay,
He leap'd o'er age, and took the shortest way.

VIII.

On the DEATH of Mr. PURCELL.

Set to Mufic by Dr. BLow.

I.

MARK how the lark and linnet fing:

With rival notes

They ftrain 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 mufic with delight,

And listening filently obey.

II.

So ceas'd the rival crew, when Purcell came;
They fung no more, or only fung his fame :

Struck

Struck dumb, they all admir'd the godlike man:

The godlike man,

Alas! too foon retir'd,

As he too late began.

We beg not hell our Orpheus to restore :

Had he been there,

Their fovereign's fear

Had fent 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,

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

FA

IX.

EPITAPH on the Lady WHITMORE.

AIR, kind, and true, a treasure each alone,
A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one,
Reft in this tomb, rais'd at thy husband's coft,
Here fadly fumming, what he had, and lost.

[blocks in formation]

Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join,
Come first, and offer at her facred fhrine;
Pray but for half the virtues of this wife,
Compound for all the reft, with longer life;
And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd,
So lov'd when living, and when dead fo mourn'd.

X.

Epitaph on Sir PALMES FAIRBONE's Tomb in Weftminfter-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 hot from the Moors, then befieging the town, in the forty-fixth year of his age, October 24, 1680.

YE

your

marble keep,

E facred relics, which
Here, undisturb'd by wars, in quiet fleep:
Discharge the truft, which, when it was below,
Fairbone's undaunted foul did undergo,
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 fiege his early valour knew,
Where Turkish blood did his young hands imbrue.
From thence returning with deferv'd applause,
Against the Moors his well-flefh'd fword he draws;
The fame the courage, and the fame the cause.

}

His

« PreviousContinue »