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Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit Wakes thee now though he inherit Nor the pride, por ample.pinion, That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion Through the azure deep of air : Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms, as glitter in the Muse’s ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate Beneath the good how far—but far above the great.
Upon the Death of Lord HASTINGS. M
UST noble Hastings immaturely die,
The honour of his ancient family, Beauty and learning thus together meet, To bring a winding for a wedding feet? Must virtue prove deatlı’s harbinger? must she, With him expiring, feel mortality ? Is death, fin's wages, grace's now? fall art Make us more learned, only to depart ? If merit be disease ; if virtue death ; To be good, not to be; who'd then bequeath Himself to discipline ? who'd not esteem Labour a crime ? study felf-murther deem? Our noble youth now have pretence to be Dunces securely, ignorant healthfully. Rare linguist whose worth speaks itself, wliose praise, Though not his own, all tongues belides do raise : Than whom great Alexander may seem less; Who conquer'd men, but not their languages. In his mouth nations spake; his tongue might be Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy.
His native foil was the four parts o'th' earth;
All Europe was too narrow for his birth.
A young apostle ; and with reverence may
I speak it, inspir’d with gift of tongues, as they.
gave him a child, what men in vain
Oft strive, by art though further’d, to obtain.
His body was an orb, his sublime foul
Did move on virtue's, and on learning's pole :
Whose regular motions better to our view,
Than Archimedes' sphere, the heavens did shew.
Graces and virtues, languages and arts,
Beauty and learning, fillid up all the parts.
Heaven's gifts, which do like falling stars appear
Scatter'd in others ; all, as in their sphere,
Were fix’d, conglobate in his soul; and thence
Shone through his body, with sweet influence ;
Letting their glories so on each limb fall,
The whole frame render'd was celeitial.'
Come, learned Ptolemy, and tryal make,
If thou this hero's altitude canst take :
But that transcends thy skill ; thrice happy all,
Could we but prove thus astronomical.
Liv’d Tycho now, ftruck with this ray which shone
More bright i’th’morn', than others beam at noon,
He'd take his aft:olabe, and seek out here
What new star 'twas did gild our hemisphere.
Replenish'd then with such rare gifts as these,
Where was room left for such a foul disease ?
The nation's fin hath drawn that veil, which shrouds
Our day-fpring in so sad benighting clouds,
Heaven would no longer trust its pledge; but thus
Recall'd it; rapt its Ganymede from us,
Was there no milder way but the small-pox,
filthiness of Pandora's box?
So many spots, like næves on Venus' foil,
One jewel fet off with so many a foil;
Blisters with pride swell’d, which through's flesh did sprout
Like rose-buds, stuck i’th' lily-íkin about.
Each little pimple had a tear in it,
To wail the fault its rising did commit:
Which, rebel-like, with it's own lord at strife,
Thus made an insurrection 'gainst his life.
Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin,
The cab’net of a richer soul within ?
No comet neeci foretel his change drew on,
Whole corps might seem a constellation.
O! ha i he dy'd of old, how great a strife
Had been, who from his death should draw their life?
Who should, by one rich clraught, become whate'er
Seneca, Cato, Numa, Cæfar, were ?
Learn’d, virtuous, pious, great; and have by this
An universal meterpfychosis.
Muit all these aged fires in one funeral
Expire ? ail die in one so young, so small ?
Who, had he liv'd his life out, his great fanie
Had (wol'n 'bove any Greek or Roman zame.
But hasty winter, with one blast, hath brought
The hopes of autumn, summer, spring, to nought.
Thus fades the cak i’th’sprig, i'th' blade the corn ;
Thus without young, this Picnix dies, new-born.
Must then old three-legg'd grey-bcards with their gout,
Catarrhs, rheuins, aches, live three long ages out ?
Time's offals, only fit for th' hospital !
Or to hang antiquaries rooms withal !
Must drunkards, lechers, fpent with finning, live
With such helps as broths, possets, physic give ?
None live, but such as should die ? hall we meet
With none but ghostly fathers in the street ?'
Grief makes me rail ; forrow will force its way ;
And showers of tears tempestuous fighs best lay.
The tongue may fail ; but overflowing eyes
Will weep out lasting fareams of elegies.
But thou, O virgin-widow, left alone,
Now thy beloved, heaven-ravish'd spouse is gone,
Whose skilful fire in vain strove to apply
Med’cines, when thy balm was no remedy,
With greater than platonic love, O wed
His foul, though not his body, to thy bed :
Let that make thee a mother ; bring thou forth
Th’ ideas of his virtue, knowledge, worth ;
Transcribe th' original in new copies ; give
Hastings o'th' better part : so shall he live
In’s nobler half ; and the great grandfire be
Of an heroic divine progeny :
An iffue, which t'eternity shall last,
Yet but th'irradiations which he cast.
Erect no mausoleums : for his beit
Monument is his spouse's marble breast.