HEAV'NS youngest fon, its Benjamin,

Divinity's next brother, facred Poefie,
No longer fhall a virgin reckoned be
(What ere with others 'tis) by me,

A female mufe, as were the nine;
But (full of vigour masculine)

An essence male, with angels his companions fhine.
With angels firft the heavenly youth was bred,
And, when a child, inftructed them to fing

The praises of th' Immortal King

Who Lucifer in triumph led:

For, as in chains the monster fank to hell,

And tumbling headlong down the precipice fell,

By him first taught, "How art thou fallen thou morning star ?"

they faid,

Too fondly then, we have fancy'd him a maid:

We, the vain brethren of the rhyming trade;
A female angel less would Urbin's* kill upbraid.

II.

Thus 'twas in heaven: this, Poefy's fex and age;
And, when he thence t'our lower world came down,
He chofe a form more like his own,

And Jefse's youngeft fon infpir'd with holy rage,
The fprightly fhepherd felt unufual fire,

And up he took his tuneful lyre;

He took it up, and struck't, and his own soft touches did admire.

Thou, Poefy, on him didft beftow

Thy choiceft gift, a honour fhew'd before to none;

And, to prepare his way to th' Hebrew throne,

Gav'ft him thy empire and dominion;

* Raphael Urbin, the famous painter.

The happy land of verfe, where flow

Rivers of milk, and woods of laurel grow;

Wherewith thou didft adorn his brow,

And mad'ft his firft, more flourishing, and triumphant crown. Afsift me thy great prophet's praise to fing,

David, the poet's, and blefs'd Ifrael's King;

And with the dancing echo, let the mountains ring!
Then on the wings of fome aufpicious wind,

Let his great name from earth be rais'd on high,
And in the ftarry volume of the sky,

A lasting record find:

Be with his mighty pfaltery join'd;

Which, taken long fince up into the air,

And call'd the harp, makes a bright conftellation there.

III.

Worthy it was to be tranflated hence,
And there, in view of all, exalted hang:
To which fo oft the princely prophet fang,
And myftic oracles did difpenfe.
Though had it ftill remain'd below,
More wonders of it we had feen,

How great the mighty Herbert's skill had been;
Herbert, who could fo much without it do;
Herbert, who did its chords diftinctly know;
More perfectly than any child of verfe below.
O! had we known him half fo well!

But then, my friend, there had been left for you
Nothing so fair, and worthy praise to do;
Who, fo exactly all his story tell,

That though he did not want his bays,
Nor all the monuments virtue can raife,
Your hand he did, to eternize his praise.
Herbert and Donne again are join'd,
Now here below, as they're above;

Thefe friends are in their old embraces twin'd;
And fince by you the interview's defign'd,
Too weak to part them death does prove;

For in this book they meet again, as in one heav'n they love.

April

BENSTEAD,}

SAM. WOODFORDE, D. D.