Thy generous fruits, though gather'd ere their prime, Still fhew'd a quickness; and maturing time

But mellows what we write, to the dull fweets of rhyme.

Once more, hail, and farewel; farewel, thou young,
But ah too fhort, Marcellus of our tongue!

Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound;
But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.

II.

To the pious Memory of the accomplished young Lady Mrs. ANNE KILLIGREW, excellent in the two Sifter-Arts of PoESY and PAINTING.

AN OD E.

I.

THOU youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,
Made in the laft promotion of the bleft;
Whofe palms, new-pluck'd from paradife,
In fpreading branches more fublimely rife,
Rich with immortal green above the rest:
Whether, adopted to fome neighbouring star,
Thou roll'ft above us, in thy wandering race,
Or, in proceffion fix'd and regular,
Mov'd with the heaven majestic pace;
Or, call'd to more fuperior bliss,

Thou treadft, with feraphims, the vast abyss :
Whatever happy region is thy place,

Ceafe thy celestial fong a little space ;

Thou

Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,
Since heaven's eternal year is thine.
Hear then a mortal Mufe thy praise rehearse,
In no ignoble verse;

But fuch as thy own voice did practise here,
When thy first fruits of Poefy were given ;
To make thyfelf a welcome inmate there :
While yet a young probationer,

And candidate of heaven.

II.

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

A foul fo charming from a stock so good j
Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood:
So wert thou born into a tuneful strain,
An early, rich, and inexhaufted vein.
But if thy pre-existing foul

Was form'd, at firft, with myriads more,
It did through all the mighty poets roll,

Who Greek or Latin laurels wore,

And was that Sappho laft, which once it was before. If so, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born mind! Thou haft no drofs to purge from thy rich ore: Nor can thy foul a fairer manfion find,

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

III.

May we prefume to fay, that, at thy birth,

New joy was fprung in heaven, as well as here on earth.

For fure the milder planets did combine
On thy aufpicious horofcope to fhine,
And ev'n the most malicious were in trine.
Thy brother-angels at thy birth

Strung each his lyre, and tun'd it high,
That all the people of the sky

Might know a poetefs was born on earth.
And then, if ever, mortal ears
Had heard the music of the fpheres.
And if no clustering fwarm of bees

On thy fweet mouth diftill'd their golden dew,
"Twas that such vulgar miracles

Heaven had not leifure to renew :

For all thy bleft fraternity of love

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

IV.

✪ gracious God! how far have we
Prophan'd thy heavenly gift of poesy ?
Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,.
Debas'd to each obfcene and impious ufe,
Whofe harmony was firft ordain'd above
For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love?
✪ wretched we! why were we hurry'd down.
This lubrique and adulterate age,.

(Nay added fat pollutions of our own)
T' increase the ftreaming ordures of the stage?
What can we fay t' excufe our fecond fall?
Let this thy veftal, heaven, atone for all :
Her Arethufian fream remains unfoil'd,

Unmix'd

Unmix'd with foreign filth, and undefil'd;

Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.

V.

Art she had none, yet wanted none;

For nature did that want fupply:

So rich in treasures of her own,
She might our boasted stores defy:

Such noble vigour did her verse adorn,

That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born.
Her morals too were in her bosom bred,

By great examples daily fed,

What in the best of books, her father's life, she read.
And to be read herself she need not fear;

Each teft, and every light, her Muse will bear,
Though Epictetus with his lamp were there.
Ev'n love (for love fometimes her Muse exprest)
Was but a lambent flame which play'd about her breast:
Light as the vapours of a morning dream,

So cold herself, whilst she such warmth expreft,
'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's ftream.

VI.

Born to the spacious empire of the Nine,

One would have thought, fhe should have been content

To manage well that mighty government ;

But what can young ambitious fouls confine ?
To the next realm she stretch'd her sway,
For Painture near adjoining lay,

A plenteous province, and alluring prey.
A Chamber of Dependencies was fram'd.

(As conquerors will never want pretence,

When arm'd, to justify th' offence)

And the whole fief, in right of Poetry, the claim'd.
The country open lay without defence :

For Poets frequent inroads there had made,
And perfectly could reprefent

The shape, the face, with every lineament;

And all the large domains which the Dumb Sitter sway'd. All bow'd beneath her government,

Receiv'd in triumph wherefoe'er she went.

Her pencil drew, whate'er her foul defign'd,
And oft the happy draught furpafs'd the image in her

mind.

The fylvan fcenes of herds and flocks,
And fruitful plains and barren rocks,

Of fhallow brooks that flow'd fo clear,
The bottom did the top appear;
Of deeper too and ampler floods,
Which, as in mirrors, fhew'd the woods;
Of lofty trees, with facred fhades,
And perfpectives of pleafant glades,
Where nymphs of brightest form appear,
And fhaggy Satyrs standing near,
Which them at once admire and fear.
The ruins too of fome majeftic piece,
Boafting the power of ancient Rome or Greece,
Whofe ftatues, freezes, columns, broken lie,
And, though defac'd, the wonder of the eye;
What nature, art, bold fiction, e'er durft frame,
Her forming hand gave feature to the name.

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