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Once more, hail, and farewell; farewell thou young,
But, ah, too short Marcellus of our tongue!
Thy brows with ivy and with laurels bound;

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But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.

II.

AN ODE

To the pious memory of the accomplished young Lady

MRS. ANNE KILLIGREW,

Excellent in the two sister-arts of Poesy and Painting.

I.

THOU youngest virgin-daughter of the Skies,
Made in the last promotion of the bless'd;
Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise,
In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
Rich with immortal green above the rest;
Whether, adopted to some neighb'ring star,
Thou roll'st above us in thy wand'ring race,
Or in procession fix'd and regular,
Mov'd with the heav'n's majestic pace;

Or, call'd to more superior bliss,

Thou tread'st with seraphims the vast abyss ;
Whatever happy region is thy place,

Cease thy celestial song a little

space;

Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,
Since heav'ns eternal year is thine:

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Hear, then, a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse
In no ignoble verse ;

But such as thy own voice did practise here,

When thy first fruits of poesy were giv'n ;
To make thyself a welcome inmate there;
While yet a young probationer,
And candidate of heav'n.

II.

If by traduction came thy mind,
Our wonder is the less, to find

A soul so charming from a stock so good;
Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood:
So wert thou born into a tuneful strain,
An carly, rich, and inexhausted vein.
But if thy pre-existing soul

Was form'd, at first, with myriads more,
It did thro' all the mighty poets roll,
Who Greek or Latin laurels wore,

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And was that Sappho last, which once it was before.
If so, then cease thy flight, O heav'n-born mind!
Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore: 35
Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find,

Than was the beauteous frame she left behind :
Return to fill or mend the choir of thycelestial kind
III.

May we presume to say, that, at thy birth,

New joy was sprung in heav'n, as well as here on

earth.

Volume III.

P

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For sure the milder planets did combine

On thy auspicious horoscope to shine,

And e'en the most malicious were in trine.

Thy brother-angels at thy birth

Strung each his lyre, and tun'd it high,

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That all the people of the sky

Might know a poetess was born on earth;

And then, if ever, mortal ears

Had heard the music of the spheres.

And if no clust'ring swarm of bees

On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew,

'Twas that such vulgar miracles

Heav'n had not leisure to renew;

For all thy bless'd fraternity of love

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[above.

Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy holy-day

IV.

O gracious God! how far have we

Profan'd thy heav'nly gift of poesy?

Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,
Debas'd to each obscene and impious use,
Whose harmony was first ordain'd above
For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love?
O wretched we! why were we hurry'd down
This lubrique and adult'rate age,

(Nay, added fat pollutions of our own)

T' increase the streaming ordures of the stage?
What can we say t' excuse our second fall?
Let this thy vestal, Heav'n! atone for all:

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What Nature, Art, bold Fiction, e'er durst frame,
Her forming hand gave feature to the name.
So strange a concourse ne'er was seen before,
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But when the peopled Ark the whole creation bore.
VII,

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The scene then chang'd, with bold erected look,
Our martial King the sight with rev'rence strook;
For, not content t' express his outward part,
Her hand call'd out the image of his heart:
His warlike mind, his soul devoid of fear,
His high-designing thoughts were figur'd there,
As when, by magic, ghosts are made appear.
Our phoenix Queen was pourtray'd, too, so bright,
Beauty alone could beauty take so right;
Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace,
Were all observ'd, as well as heav'nly face.

With such a peerless majesty she stands,

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As in that day she took the crown from sacred hands;
Before, a train of heroines, was seen,

In beauty foremost, as in rank the Queen.
Thus nothing to her genius was deny'd,
But, like a ball of fire, the further thrown,
Still with a greater blaze she shone,

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And her bright soul broke out on ev'ry side. What next she had design'd Heav'n only knows: To such immod'rate growth her conquest rose, That Fate alone its progress could oppose.

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Not wit nor picty could Fate prevent ;
Nor was the cruel Destiny content

To finish all the murder at a blow,

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To sweep, at once, her life and beauty too;

But, like a harden'd felon, took a pride

To work more mischievously slow,

And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd.

A double sacrilege on things divine,

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To rob the relic, and deface the shrine!
But thus Orinda dy'd:

Heav'n by the same disease did both translate:
As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate.

IX.

Mean time her warlike brother on the seas 165
His waving streamers to the winds displays,
And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays.
Ah, gen'rous youth! that wish forbear,

The winds too soon will waft thee here:

Slack all thy sails, and fear to come,

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Alas! thou know'st not thou art wreck'd at home?

No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face,

Thou hast already had her last embrace.

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