Of him, t' whofe happy-making fight alone When once our heav'nly-guided foul fhall clime, Then all this earthy grofnefs quit,
Attir'd with stars, we fhall for ever fit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O
E flaming Pow'rs, and winged Warriors bright That erft with mufic, and triumphant fong, First heard by happy watchful fhepherds ear, So fweetly fung your joy the clouds along Through the foft filence of the lift'ning night; Now mourn, and if fad fhare with us to bear Your fiery effence can diftil no tear, Burn in your fighs, and borrow Seas wept from our deep forrow :
He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us cafe Alas, how foon our fin
'Sore doth begin
His infancy to seise !
O more exceeding love or law more just? Juft law indeed, but more exceeding love! For we by rightful doom remedilefs
Were loft in death, till he that dwelt above High thron'd in fecret blifs, for us frail duft Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakedness ;
And that great covenant which we still tranfgrefs Entirely fatisfied,
And the full wrath befide
Of vengeful juftice bore for our excess,
And feals obedience firft with wounding fmart 25
Huge pangs and strong
Will pierce more near his heart.
LEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Wed your divine founds, and mix'd pow'r employ Dead things with inbreath'd fenfe able to pierce, And to our high-rais'd phantasy present That undisturbed fong of pure concent, Ay fang before the faphir-color'd throne To him that fits thereon
With faintly fhout, and folemn jubilee, Where the bright Seraphim in burning row Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow, And the cherubic hoft in thousand quires Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, Hymns devout and holy pfalms
Singing everlastingly;
That we on earth with undifcording voice May rightly answer that melodious noise ; As once we did, till difproportion'd fin
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din 20 Broke the fair mufic that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whofe love their motion fway'd In perfect diapafon, whilft they stood
In first obedience, and their state of good. O may we foon again renew that forg,
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celeftial confort us unite,
To live with him, and fing in endless morn of light.
HIS rich marble doth enter The honor'd Wife of Winchester, A Vicount's daughter, an Earl's heir, Befides what her virtues fair Added to her noble birth,
More than fhe could own from earth. Summers three times eight fave one She had told; alas too foon,
After fo fhort time of breath,
To houfe with darkness, and with death. Yet had the number of her days Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no ftrife
Her high birth, and her graces sweet
In giving limit to her life.
Quickly found a lover meet;
The virgin quire for her requeft The God that fits at marriage feast; He at their invoking came
But with a scarce well-lighted flame; And in his garland as he stood, Ye might difcern a cyprefs bud. Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely fon,
And now with fecond hope the goes,
And calls Lucina to her throws;
But whether by mischance or blame Atropos for Lucina came; And with remorseless cruelty Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree : The hapless babe before his birth Had burial, yet not laid in earth, And the languifh'd mother's womb Was not long a living tomb. So have I feen fome tender flip, Sav'd with care from winter's nip, The pride of her carnation train, Pluck'd up by fome unheedy fwain, Who only thought to crop the flow'r New fhot up from vernal show'r ; But the fair bloffom hangs the head Side-ways, as on a dying bed, And thofe pearls of dew she wears, Prove to be prefaging tears, Which the fad morn had let fall On her haft ning funeral. Gentle Lady, may thy grave Peace and quiet ever have ; After this thy travel fore Sweet reft feife thee evermore, That to give the world increase, Shortned haft thy own life's leafe. Here, befides the forrowing That thy noble house doth bring, Here be tears of perfect moan Wept for thee in Helicon,
And fome flowers, and fome bays, For thy herfe, to ftrow the ways, Sent thee from the banks of Came, Devoted to thy virtuous name;
Whilft thou, bright Saint, high fitft in glory,
Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian fhepherdefs,
Who after years of barrenness,
The highly favor'd Jofeph bore
To him that ferv'd for her before,
And at her next birth much like thee, Through pangs fled to felicity, Far within the bofom bright Of blazing Majefty and Light :
There with thee, new welcome Saint, Like fortunes may her foul acquaint, With thee there clad in radiant sheen, No Marchionefs, but now a Queen.
OW the bright morning ftar, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the eaft, and leads with her
The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowflip, and the pale primrofe. Hail bounteous May that doft infpire Mirth and youth and warm defire; Woods and groves are of thy dreffing, Hill and dale doth boaft thy bleffing. Thus we falute thee with our early fong, And welcome thee, and with thee long.
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