If looking up to God, or down to us,
Thou find'st that any way be pervious,
Survey the ruins of thy house, and see
Thy widow'd, and thy orphan family:
Look on thy tender pledges left behind;
And, if thou canst a vacant minute find
From heavenly joys, that interval afford
To thy sad children, and thy mourning lord.
See how they grieve, mistaken in their love,
And shed a beam of comfort from above;
Give them, as much as mortal eyes can bear,
A transient view of thy full glories there;
That they with moderate sorrow may sustain
And mollify their losses in thy gain.

Or else divide the grief; for such thou wert,
That should not all relations bear a part,
It were enough to break a single heart.

Let this suffice: nor thou, great saint, refuse
This humble tribute of no vulgar muse:
Who, not by cares, or wants, or age depress'd,
Stems a wild deluge with a dauntless breast;
And dares to sing 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 praise; before my rage,
Unsafely just, break loose on this bad age;
So bad, that thou thyself hadst no defence
From vice, but barely by departing hence.

345

350

355

360

365

370

Be what, and where thou art: to wish thy place,

375

Were, in the best, presumption more than grace.
Thy relics (such thy works of mercy are)
Have, in this poem, been my holy care.
As earth thy body keeps, thy soul the sky,
So shall this verse preserve thy memory;
For thou shalt make it live, because it sings of
thee.

21

He wrung his hands, distracted with his care,
And sent his voice before him from afar.
Return, he cried, return, unhappy swain,
The spongy clouds are fill'd with gathering rain :
The promise of the day not only cross'd,
But e'en the spring, the spring itself is lost.
Amyntas-oh!-he could not speak the rest,
Nor needed, for presaging Damon guess'd.
Equal with Heaven young Damon loved the boy,
The boast of Nature, both his parents' joy.
His graceful form revolving in his mind;
So great a genius, and a soul so kind,
Gave sad assurance that his fears were true;
Too well the envy of the gods he knew:
For when their gifts too lavishly are placed,
Soon they repent, and will not make them last.
For sure it was too bountiful a dole,
The mother's features, and the father's soul.
Then thus he cried: The morn bespoke the

news:

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33

The mother, lovely, though with grief oppress'd Reclined his dying head upon her breast. The mournful family stood all around; One groan was heard, one universal sound:

45

All were in floods of tears and endless sorrow drown'd.

So dire a sadness sat on every look,

E'en Death repented he had given the stroke.
He grieved his fatal work had been ordain'd,
But promised length of life to those who yet
remain'd.

The mother's and her eldest daughter's grace,
It seems, had bribed him to prolong their space.
The father bore it with undaunted soul,
Like one who durst his destiny control:
Yet with becoming grief he bore his part,
Resign'd his son, but not resign'd his heart.
Patient as Job; and may he live to see,
Like him, a new increasing family!

DAMON.

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55

Such is my wish, and such my prophecy, For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould re

mains ;

Long may she exercise her fruitful pains! But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race More lasting, and endued with equal grace! Equal she may, but farther none can go: For he was all that was exact below.

MENALCAS.

60

Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud; Hear'st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud!

There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play About their godlike mate, and sing him on his

way.

70

He cleaves the liquid air, behold, he flies,
And every moment gains upon the skies.
The new-come guest admires the ethereal state,
The sapphire portal, and the golden gate;
And now admitted in the shining throng,
He shows the passport which he brought along.
His passport is his innocence and grace,
Well known to all the natives of the place.
Now sing, ye joyful angels, and admire
Your brother's voice that comes to mend your
quire:

Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow;
For like Amyntas none is left below.

76

81

ON THE DEATH OF

A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN.

HE who could view the book of destiny,
And read whatever there was writ of thee,
O charming youth, in the first opening page,
So many graces in so green an age,

10

Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind, 5
A soul at once so manly, and so kind;
Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er,
And after some few leaves should find no more,
Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space,
A step of life that promised such a race.
We must not, dare not think, that Heaven began
A child, and could not finish him a man;
Reflecting what a mighty store was laid
Of rich materials, and a model made:
The cost already furnish'd; so bestow'd,
As more was never to one soul allow'd:
Yet after this profusion spent in vain,
Nothing but mouldering ashes to remain,
I guess not, lest I split upon the shelf,
Yet durst I guess, Heaven kept it for himself;
And giving us the use, did soon recal,
Ere we could spare, the mighty principal.

Thus then he disappear'd, was rarified;
For 'tis improper speech to say he died:
He was exhaled; his great Creator drew
His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
"Tis sin produces death; and he had none,
But the taint Adam left on every son.
He added not, he was so pure, so good,
"Twas but the original forfeit of his blood:
And that so little, that the river ran
More clear than the corrupted fount began. `
Nothing remain'd of the first muddy clay;
The length of course had wash'd it in the way:
So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold
The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.
As such we loved, admired, almost adored,
Gave all the tribute mortals could afford.
Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above
Grew angry at our superstitious love:

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35

40

Ver. 81. For like Amyntas] This pastoral is very unworthy of our author. Dr. J. WARTON.

EPITAPH ON

SIR PALMES FAIRBONE'S TOMB

IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.

Sacred to the immortal memory of Sir Palmes Fairboue, Knight, Governor of Tangier; in execution of which command, he was mortally wounded by a shot from the Moors, then besieging the town, in the forty-sixth year of his age. October 24, 1680.

5

YE sacred relics, which your marble keep,
Here, undisturb'd by wars, in quiet sleep:
Discharge the trust, which, when it was below,
Fairbone's undaunted soul did undergo,
And be the town's Palladium from the foe.
Alive and dead these walls he will defend:
Great actions great examples must attend.
The Candian siege his early valour knew,
Where Turkish blood did his young hands im-
brue.

From thence returning with deserved applause, Against the Moors his well-flesh'd sword he draws;

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15

The same the courage, and the same the cause.
His youth and age, his life and death, combine,
As in some great and regular design,
All of a piece throughout, and all divine.
Still nearer heaven his virtues shone more bright,
Like rising flames expanding in their height;
The martyr's glory crown'd the soldier's fight.
More bravely British general never fell,
Nor general's death was e'er revenged so well; 20
Which his pleased eyes beheld before their close,
Follow'd by thousand victims of his foes.
To his lamented loss for time to come
His pious widow consecrates this tomb.

ON THE MONUMENT OF

A FAIR MAIDEN LADY,

WHO DIED AT BATH, AND IS THERE INTERRED.

BELOW this marble monument is laid
All that heaven wants of this celestial maid.
Preserve, O sacred tomb, thy trust consign'd;
The mould was made on purpose for the mind:

Ver. 1. Three Poets] If any other proof was wanting of the high respect and veneration which our poet entertained of the superior genius of Milton, these six nervous lines will for ever remain as a strong and indisputable testimony. They are a confirmation of an anecdote communicated by Richardson, that the Earl of Dorset, having sent the Paradise Lost to Dryden, when he returned the book, he said, "This man cuts us all out, and the ancients too." I cannot therefore be induced to think that Dryden himself would have been pleased with the preference Johnson endeavours to give him to Milton, especially after saying (in express contradiction to Addison) that Milton wrote no language, but formed a Babylonish dialect, harsh and barbarous. He adds, that with respect to English poetry, Dryden

"Lateritiam invenit, marmoream reliquit."

Milton most assuredly did not build his lofty rhyme with coarse and perishable brick, but with the most costly and durable porphyry; nor would Dryden have thanked Johnson for saying in another place that "From his contemporaries he was in no danger; that he stood in the highest place; and that there was no name above his own."

The genius of Milton is universally allowed; but I am of opinion that his taste and judgment were equally ex cellent: witness the majesty with which he has drawn the figure of Satan, so different from what his favourite Dante had done, who was so likely to dazzle and mislead him, and who has so strangely mixed the grotesque with the great. Satan, says Dante in the Inferno, had a vast and most gigantic appearance; he stood up to his middle in ice, eagerly trying to disentangle himself, and for that purpose violently Happing his huge leathern wings. He has three different faces, a livid, a black, and a scarlet one. He has six blood-shot eyes; three mouths that pour forth torrents of blood; and in each mouth he holds a sinner. This is not, like Milton's, the figure of an archangel fallen. The Satan in the Davideis disgraces Cowley. Dr. J. WARTON.

This lady is interred in the Abbey-church. The epitaph is on a white marble stone fixed in the wall, together with this inscription: "Here lies the body of Mary, third daughter of Richard Frampton of Moreton in Dorsetshire, Esq., and of Jane his wife, sole daughter of Sir Francis Coffington of Founthill in Wilts, who was born January 1, 1676, and died after seven weeks illness on the 6th of September, 1698.

"This monument was erected by Catharine Frampton, her second sister and executrix, in testimony of her grief, affection, and gratitude." DERRICK.

M

20

And Heaven did this transparent veil provide,
Because she had no guilty thought to hide.
All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies:
For marriage, though it sullies not, it dyes.
High though her wit, yet humble was her mind;
As if she could not, or she would not find
How much her worth transcended all her kind.
Yet she had learn'd so much of heaven below,
That, when arrived, she scarce had more to
know:

But only to refresh the former hint;
And read her Maker in a fairer print.
So pious, as she had no time to spare

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30

For human thoughts, but was confined to prayer.
Yet in such charities she pass'd the day,
'Twas wondrous how she found an hour to pray.
A soul so calm, it knew not ebbs or flows,
Which passion could but curl, not discompose.
A female softness, with a manly mind:
A daughter duteous, and a sister kind:
In sickness patient, and in death resign'd.

EPITAPH ON

MRS. MARGARET PASTON,

OF BURNINGHAM IN NORFOLK.

So fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet So ripe a judgment, and so rare a wit,

35

Require at least an age in one to meet.

In her they met; but long they could not stay,
'Twas gold too fine to mix without allay.
Heaven's image was in her so well express'd,
Her very sight upbraided all the rest;
Too justly ravish'd from an age like this,
Now she is gone, the world is of a piece.

ON THE MONUMENT

OF THE

MARQUIS OF WINCHESTER.

Ver. 1. He who in impious] He was a nobleman of great spirit and intrepidity, who withstood, in his magnificent castle of Basing in Hampshire, an obstinate siege of two years against the rebels, who levelled it to the ground, because in every window was written Aymer Loyauté. He died in 1674, and was buried in the church of Englefield in Berkshire, where his monument with this epitaph still remains. It is remarkable that Milton wrote a beautiful epitaph on the Marchioness his lady. It was the singular lot, both of husband and wife, to have received the honour of being celebrated by two such poets. Dr. J. WARTON.

5

FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony
This universal frame began:
When nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Arise, ye more than dead.

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,
In order to their stations leap,
And Music's power obey.

10

pursue arbitrary and illegal measures, that he intended should be his ruin, and betrayed him to the Prince of Orange. The Abbé de Longuerue relates, that Dr. Massey, of Christ Church, assured him, he once received an order from King James to expel twenty-four students of that college in Oxford, if they did not embrace popery. Massey, astonished at the order, was advised by a friend to go to London, and show it to the king, who assured him he had never given such an order, and commended Massey for not having obeyed it; yet still this infatuated monarch continued to trust Sunderland. Dr. J. WARTON.

Ver. 1. From harmony,] The picture of Jubal in the second stanza is finely imagined; but this Ode is lost in the lustre of the subsequent one upon this subject. Dr. J. WARTON.