« السابقةمتابعة »
Poor fleshly tabernacle entered,
His ftarry front low-rooft beneath the skies;
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide,
Thefe latter fcenes confine my roving verfe,
Of lute, or viol ftill more apt for mournful things.
Befriend me, Night, beft patronefs of grief,
That heav'n and earth are colour'd with my wo;
The leaves fhould all be black whereon I write, And letters where my tears have washt a wannish white.
See, see the chariot, and thofe rufhing wheels,
In penfive trance, and anguifh, and ecstatic fit.
Mine eye hath found that fad fepulchral rock
For fure fo well inftructed are my tears,
That they would fitly fall in order'd characters..
Or fhould I thence hurried on viewless wing,
Might think th' infection of my forrows loud,
This Subject the Author finding to be above the years he had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfy'd with what was begun, left it unfinisht.
FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Whofe fpeed is but the heavy plummets pace;
So little is thy gain,
For when as each thing bad thou haft entomb'd,
And laft of all thy greedy felf confum'd, not
Then long eternity fhall greet our blifs
With an individual kifs;
And joy thall overtake us as a flood,
When every thing that is fincerely good,, vilapy ni
And perfectly divine,
With truth, and peace, and love fhall ever fhine
About the fupreme throne
Of him, t'whofe happy-making fight alone,
When once our heav'nly-guided foul fhall clime,
Then all this earthy groffnefs quit,
Attir'd with ftars, we shall for ever fit,
Triumphing over death, and chance, and thee, Time.
Upon the Circumcifion.
YE flaming powers, and winged warriours bright,
That erft with mufic, and triumphant fong,
Burn in your fighs, and borrow
He who with all heav'n's heraldry whileare ow Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us cafe val Alas, how foon our fine but Alb by sono sé. Sore doth begin Lus (saklo amonu Piers D'any
His infancy to feize!
O more exceeding love or law more juftodos Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightful doom remedilefs.
Were loft in death, till he that dwelt above vivrin High thron'd in fecret blifs, for us frail duftex LaA Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakedness; slow ald And that great cov'nant which we fill tranfgrefs Intirely fatisfy'd,
And the full wrath befide
Of vengeful juftice bore for our excefs,
And feals obedience firft with wounding smart
This day; but O ere long
Huge pangs and ftrongr
Will pierce more near his heart.
At a folemn mufic.
BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of heav'n's joy, Sphear-born harmonious fifters, Voice and Verfe, Wed your divine founds, and mixt power employ Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais'd phantafy prefent
With faintly shout, and folemn jubilee,
That we on earth with undifcording voice
In first obedience, and their state of good.
O may we foon again renew that fong,
And keep in tune with heav'n, till God ere long
To live with him, and fing in endlefs morn of light,
Marchionefs of Winchefter.
'HIS rich marble doth enterr
The honour'd wife of Winchefter, A Viscount's daughter, an Earl's heir, Befides what her virtues fair
Added to her noble birth,
Summers three times eight fave one
After so short time of breath,
To house with darkness, and with death.
Her high birth, and her graces fweet,
But with a scarce-well-lighted flame;
But the fair blossom hangs the head nab subd