From Heav'nly Joys, that Interval afford
To thy fad Children, and thy mourning Lord.
See how they grieve, miitaken in their Love,
And fhed a Beam of Comfort from above;
Give 'em, as much as mortal Eyes can bear,
A tranfient View of thy full Glories there;
That they with mod'rate Sorrow may sustain
And mollify their Loffes in thy Gain.
Or elfe divide the Grief; for fuch thou wert,
That fhou'd not all Relations bear a part,
It were enough to break a fingle Heart.
Let this fuffice: Nor thou, great Saint, refuse
This humble Tribute of no vulgar Mufe :
Who, not by Cares, or Wants, or Age depreft,
Stems a wild Deluge with a dauntless Breast;
And dares to fing thy Praises in a Clime
Where Vice triumphs, and Virtue is a Crime;
Where e'en to draw the Picture of thy Mind,
Is Satire on the most of Human Kind:
Take it, while yet 'tis Praife; before my Rage,
Unfafely juft, break loofe on this bad Age;
So bad, that thou thy self hadft no Defence
From Vice, but barely by departing hence.
Be what, and where thou art : To wish thy place,
Were, in the beft, Presumption more than Grace.
Thy Relicks, (fuch thy Works of Mercy are)
Have, in this Poem, been my holy care.
As Earth thy Body keeps, thy Soul the Sky,
So fhall this Verse preferve thy Memory;
For thou shalt make it live, because it fings of thee.
To the Pious Memory of the Accomplish'd Young Lady, Mrs. ANNE KILLIGREW, Excellent in the two Sifter-Arts of Poefy and Painting. An O D E.
Hou youngest Virgin-Daughter of the Skies,
Made in the laft Promotion of the Bleft;
Whofe Palms, new pluck'd from Paradife,
In fpreading Branches more fublimely rife,
Rich with Immortal Green above the reft:
Whether, adopted to fome Neighb'ring Star,
Thou roll'st above us, in thy wand'ring Race,
Or, in Proceffion fix'd and regular,
Moy'd with the Heav'n's Majestick Pace;
Or, call'd to more Superior Blifs,
Thou tread'ft, with Seraphims, the vaft Abyss:
Whatever happy Region is thy Place,
Ceafe thy Celestial Song a little space;
Thou wilt have time enough for Hymns Divine,
Since Heav'n's Eternal Year is thine.
Hear then a Mortal Muse thy Praise rehearse,
In no ignoble Verfe;
But fuch as thy own Voice did practise here,
When thy first Fruits of Poesy were giv'n ;
To make thy felf a welcome Inmate there :
While yet a young Probationer,
And Candidate of Heav'n.
If by Traduction came thy Mind,
Our Wonder is the lefs to find
A Soul fo charming from a Stock so good;
Thy Father was transfus'd into thy Blood :
So wert thou born into a tuneful strain,
An early, rich, and inexhausted Vein.
But if thy Pre existing Soul
Was form'd, at first, with Myriads more,
It did through all the Mighty Poets roll,
Who Greek or Latin Laurels wore,
And was that Sappho last, which once it was before. If so, then cease thy flight, O Heav'n-born Mind! Thou haft no Drofs to purge from thy rich Ore: Nor can thy Soul a fairer Manfion find,
Than was the beauteous Frame fhe left behind: Return to fill or mend the Choir of thy Celestial kind. III.
May we prefume to fay, that, at thy Birth,
New joy was fprung in Heav'n, as well as here on Earth.
For fure the milder Planets did combine
On thy Aufpicious Horoscope to fhine,
And e'en the most Malicious were in Trine.
Thy Brother-Angels at thy Birth
Strung each his Lyre, and tun'd it high,
That all the People of the Sky
Might know a Poetess was born on Earth.
And then, if ever, Mortal Ears
Had heard the Mufick of the Spheres.
And if no cluft'ring Swarm of Bees
On thy fweet Mouth diftill'd their golden Dew,
"Twas that fuch vulgar Miracles
Heav'n had not Leifure to renew :
For all thy Bleft Fraternity-of Love
Solemniz'd there thy Birth, and kept thy Holy-day above. IV.
O Gracious God! How far have we
Prophan'd thy Heav'nly Gift of Poefy?
Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,
Debas'd to each obfcene and impious Ufe,
Whose Harmony was first ordain'd Above
For Tongues of Angels, and for Hymns of Love?
O wretched We! why were we hurry'd down
This lubrique and adult'rate Age,
(Nay added fat Pollutions of our own)
Tincrease the fteaming Ordures of the Stage?
What can we fay t'excufe our Second Fall?
Let this thy Veftal, Heav'n, atone for all :
Her Arethufian Stream remains unfoil'd,
Unmix'd with Foreign Filth, and undefil'd ;
Her Wit was more than Man, her Innocence a Child.
V.
Art she had none, yet wanted none ;
For Nature did that Want supply:
So rich in Treasures of her Own,
She might our boafted Stores defy :
Such noble Vigour did her Verse adorn,
That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born.
Her Morals too were in her Bofom bred,
By great Examples daily fed,
What in the best of Books, her Father's Life, fhe read.
And to be read herself fhe need not fear;
Each Teft, and ev'ry Light, her Muse will bear,
Though Epictetus with his Lamp were there.
E'en Love (for Love fometimes her Muse exprest)
Was but a Lambent flame which play'd about her Breaft:
Light as the Vapours of a Morning Dream,
So cold herself, whilft fhe fuch Warmth expreft,
'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's Stream.
Born to the Spacious Empire of the Nine,
One wou'd have thought, she shou'd have been content
To manage well that mighty Government;
But what can young ambitious Souls confine?
To the next Realm fhe stretch'd her Sway,
For Painture near adjoining lay,
A plenteous Province, and alluring Prey.
A Chamber of Dependences was fram'd,
(As Conquerors will never want Pretence,
When arm'd, to justify th' Offence)
And the whole Fief, in right of Poetry, she claim'd.
The Country open lay without Defence :
For Poets frequent Inrodes there had made,
And perfectly cou'd reprefent
The Shape, the Face, with ev'ry Lineament;
And all the largeDomains which the Dumb Sifter sway'd. All bow'd beneath her Government,
Receiv'd in Triumph wherefoe'er she went. Her Pencil drew, whate'er her Soul defign'd,
And oft the happy Draught furpafs'd the Image in her
The Sylvan Scenes of Herds and Flocks,
And fruitful Plains and barren Rocks,
Of fhallow Brooks that flow'd fo clear,
The bottom did the top appear;
Of deeper too and ampler Floods,
Which, as in Mirrours, fhew'd the Woods;
Of lofty Trees, with Sacred Shades,
And Perspectives of pleasant Glades,
Where Nymphs of brighteft Form appear,
And fhaggy Satyrs standing near,
Which them at once admire and fear.
The Ruins too of fome Majestick Piece,
Boafting the Pow'r of ancient Rome or Greece,
Whofe Statues, Freezes, Columns.broken lie,
And, tho' defac'd, the Wonder of the Eye;
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