Entirely satisfied,

And the full wrath beside

Of vengeful justice bore for our excess,

And seals obedience first with wounding smart

This day, but O ere long

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near his heart.

VII.

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd pow'r employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais'd phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,
Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne
To him that sits thereon

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee,
Where the bright seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow,
And the cherubic host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,

With those just spirits that wear victorious palms, Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly;

That we on earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportion'd sin

Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair music 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 Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celestial concert us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.

VIII.

AN EPITAPH

ON THE

MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER.

THIS rich marble doth enter

The honour'd wife of Winchester,

A viscount's daughter, an earl's heir,
Besides what her virtues fair

Added to her noble birth,

More than she could own from earth.

Summers three times eight save one
She had told; alas too soon,

After so short time of breath,

To house with darkness, and with death.
Yet had the number of her days

Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.

Her high birth, and her graces sweet
Quickly found a lover meet;

The virgin quire for her request
The god that sits at marriage feast;
He at their invoking came

But with a scarce well-lighted flame;
And in his garland as he stood,
Ye might discern a cypress bud.

Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely son,
And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes;

But whether by mischance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;

And with remorseless cruelty

Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree:

The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languish'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.
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 flow'r
New shot up from vernal show'r;
But the fair blossom hangs the head
Side ways, as on a dying bed,
And those pearls of dew she wears,
Prove to be presaging tears,

Which the sad morn had let fall
On her hast'ning funeral.
Gentle lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travel sore

Sweet rest seize thee evermore,

That to give the world increase,
Short'ned hast thy own life's lease.
Here, besides the sorrowing

That thy noble house doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan

Wept for thee in Helicon,

And some flowers, and some bays,
For thy hearse, to strow the ways,

Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name;

Whilst thou, bright saint, high sit'st in glory
Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian shepherdess,

Who after years of barrenness,
The highly-favour'd Joseph bore

To him that serv'd for her before,

And at her next birth much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,

Far within the bosom bright

Of blazing majesty and light:

There with thee, new welcome saint,
Like fortunes may her soul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No marchioness, but now a queen.

IX.
SONG.

ON MAY MORNING.

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.