For poets frequent inroads there had made, The shape, the face, with every lineament, And all the large domains which the Dumb Sister All bow'd beneath her government, [sway'd; Received in triumph wheresoe'er she went. Her pencil drew whate'er her soul design'd, [mind. And oft the happy draft surpass'd the image in her VII. The scene then changed: with bold erccted look Our martial king the sight with reverence strook: For not content to express his outward part, Her hand call'd out the image of his heart: This warlike mind, his soul devoid of fear, As in that day she took the crown from sacred hands: In beauty foremost, as in rank, the queen. VIII. Now all those charms, that blooming grace, And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd Oh, double sacrilege on things divine, But thus Orinda1 died: Heaven, by the same disease, did both translate: As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate. IX. Meantime her warlike brother on the seas The winds too soon will waft thee here: Alas, thou know'st not thou art wreck'd at home! X. When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound, The judging God shall close the book of fate : For those who wake, and those who sleep; From the four corners of the sky; When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread, Those clothed with flesh, and life inspires the dead; 1 Orinda :' Mrs. Catherine Philips, author of a book of poems, died, like Mrs. Killigrew, of the small-pox, in 1664, being only thirty-two years of age. st shall hear the sound, a the tomb shall bound, ting larks, to the new morning sing. nou, sweet saint, before the quire shalt go, arbinger of heaven, the way to show, e way which thou so well hast learn'd below. III. UPON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF DUNDEE.' Он, last and best of Scots! who didst maintain This is translated from a Latin elegy by Dr. Pitcairn. ELEONORA A PANEGYRICAL POEM, DEDICATED TO TH JRY OF TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF ABINGDON, &c. MY LORD,-The commands, with which you honoured me some months ago, are now performed: they had been sooner; but betwixt ill health, some business, and many troubles, I was forced to defer them till this time. Ovid, going to his banishment, and writing from on shipboard to his friends, excused the faults of his poetry by his misfortunes; and told them, that good verses never flow but from a serene and composed spirit. Wit, which is a kind of Mercury, with wings fastened to his head and heels, can fly but slowly in a damp air. I therefore chose rather to obey you late than ill: if at least I am capable of writing anything, at any time, which is worthy your perusal and your patronage. I cannot say that I have escaped from a shipwreck; but have only gained a rock by hard swimming, where I may pant a while and gather breath for the doctors give me a sad assurance, that my disease never took its leave of any man, but with a purpose to return. However, my lord,. I have laid hold on the interval, and managed the small stock, which age has left me, to the best advantage, in performing this inconsiderable service to my lady's memory. We, who are priests of Apollo, have not the inspiration when we please; but must wait until the god comes rushing on us, and invades us with a fury which we are not able to resist which gives us double strength while the fit continues, and leaves us languishing and spent at its departure.. Let me not seem to boast, my lord, for I have really felt it on this occasion, and prophesied beyond my natural power. Let me add, and hope to be believed, that the excellency of the subject contributed much to the happiness of the execution; and that the weight of thirty years was taken off me while I was writing. I swam with the tide, and the water under me was buoyant. The reader will easily observe that I was transported by the multitude and variety of my similitudes; which are generally the product of a luxuriant fancy, and the wantonness of wit. Had I called in my judgment to my assistance, I had certainly retrenched many of them. But I defend them not; let. them pass for beautiful faults amongst the better sort of critics: for the wholepoem, though written in that which they call Heroic verse, is of the Pindaric nature, as well in the thought as the expression; and, as such, requires the same grains of allowance for it. It was intended, as your lordship sees in the |