Or wert thou that sweet-smiling youth ?1 Or that crown'd matron sage white-robed Truth? Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good? IX. Or wert thou of the golden-winged host, Who, having clad thyself in human weed, To scorn the sordid world, and unto heaven aspire? X. But oh! why didst thou not stay here below To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart? XI. Then thou, the Mother of so sweet a Child, Her false-imagin'd loss cease to lament, That, till the world's last end, shall make thy name to live. Youth: Mercy. ON TIME.1 FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race; Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain! For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, And last of all thy greedy self consum'd, Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual 2 kiss; And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is sincerely good And perfectly divine, With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine About the supreme throne Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone When once our heavenly-guided soul shall clime; Then, all this earthly grossness quit, Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time! 1 On Time:' this was meant to be set on a clock-case.- Individual:' inseparable. AT A SOLEMN MUSICK. BLEST pair of Syrens, pledges of Heaven's joy, With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee ; Singing everlastingly : That we on earth, with undiscording voice, As once we did, till disproportion'd sin Jarr'd against Nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair musick that all creatures made To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. O, may we soon again renew that song, And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light! AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER.1 THIS rich marble doth inter The honour'd wife of Winchester, A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir, More than she could own from earth. To house with darkness, and with death. Her high birth, and her graces sweet, The virgin quire for her request But with a scarce well-lighted flame; And now with second hope she goes, And calls Lucina 2 to her throes: 1 'Marchioness of Winchester:' she was Lady Jane Savage, daughter of Lord Savage, and married to the Marquis of Winchester, on whom Dryden wrote an epitaph. She died in child-birth of a second son. Milton knew her through his acquaintance with the Egerton family. He wrote this at Cambridge. Lucina:' goddess of midwives. เ But, whether by mischance or blame, So have I seen some tender slip, Sav'd with care from winter's nip, The pride of her carnation train, Pluck'd up by some unheedy swain, Who only thought to crop the flower New shot up from vernal shower; But the fair blossom hangs the head Side-ways, as on a dying bed, And those pearls of dew, she wears, Gentle Lady, may thy grave Peace and quiet ever have; Sweet rest seize thee evermore, |