And she was so familiarly receiv'd,
As one returning, not as one arriv'd.

Muse, down again precipitate thy flight: For how can mortal eyes sus- of her various tain immortal light! virtues. But as the sun in water we can bear, Yet not the sun, but his reflection there, So let us view her, here, in what she was,

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And take her image in this wat'ry glass: Yet look not ev'ry lineament to see; Some will be cast in shades, and some will be

So lamely drawn, you'll scarcely know 't is she.

For where such various virtues we recite, 'Tis like the Milky Way, all over bright, But sown so thick with stars, 't is undistinguish'd light.

Her virtue, not her virtues, let us call; For one heroic comprehends 'em all: One, as a constellation is but one, Tho' 't is a train of stars, that, rolling on, Rise in their turn, and in the zodiac

scends.

As in perfumes compos'd with art and cost,

"Tis hard to say what scent is uppermost; Nor this part musk or civet can we call, Or amber, but a rich result of all;

So she was all a sweet, whose ev'ry part, In due proportion mix'd, proclaim'd the Maker's art.

No single virtue we could most commend, Whether the wife, the mother, or the friend;

For she was all, in that supreme degree, That, as no one prevail'd, so all was she. The sev'ral parts lay hidden in the piece; Th' occasion but exerted that, or this.

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A wife as tender, and as true withal, As the first woman was before of her conjuher fall; gal virtues. Made for the man, of whom she was a part;

Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart.

A second Eve, but by no crime accurs'd; 170 As beauteous, not as brittle as the first. Had she been first, still Paradise had bin, And death had found no entrance by her sin:

So she not only had preserv'd from ill Her sex and ours, but liv'd their pattern still.

Love and obedience to her lord she bore; She much obey'd him, but she lov'd him

Her eldest thus, by consequence, was best,
As longer cultivated than the rest.
The babe had all that infant care beguiles,
And early knew his mother in her smiles:
But when dilated organs let in day
To the young soul, and gave it room to
play,

At his first aptness, the maternal love
Those rudiments of reason did improve.
The tender age was pliant to command;
Like wax it yielded to the forming hand:
True to th' artificer, the labor'd mind
With ease was pious, generous, just, and
kind;

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gress are;

Still in their own, tho' from the palace far:

Thus her friend's heart her country dwelling was,

A sweet retirement to a coarser place; 260 Where pomp and ceremonies enter'd not, Where greatness was shut out, and bus'ness well forgot.

This is th' imperfect draught; but short as far

As the true height and bigness of a star Exceeds the measures of th' astronomer. She shines above, we know; but in what place,

How near the throne, and Heav'n's imperial face,

By our weak optics is but vainly guess'd; Distance and altitude conceal the rest. 269 Tho' all these rare endowments of the

So little penance needs, when souls are almost pure.

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As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue;

Or, one dream pass'd, we slide into a new; So close they follow, such wild order keep, We think ourselves awake, and are asleep: So softly death succeeded life in her;

She did but dream of heav'n, and she was there.

No pains she suffer'd, nor expir'd with noise;

Her soul was whisper'd out with God's still voice;

As an old friend is beckon'd to a feast,

And treated like a long familiar guest. 320 He took her as he found, but found her so, As one in hourly readiness to Her preparedgo:

ness to die.

Ev'n on that day, in all her trim prepar'd; As early notice she from heav'n had heard, And some descending courtier from above Had giv'n her timely warning to remove; Or counsel'd her to dress the nuptial room,

ON THE DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN

[This elegy was first printed in Poetical Miscellanies, the Fifth Part, 1704. Christie infers, because of the resemblance of certain lines in this poem to passages in Eleonora (see notes), that the two pieces were written at about the same time.]

He who could view the book of destiny,
And read whatever there was writ of thee,
O charming youth, in the first op'ning page,
So many graces in so green an age,
Such wit, such modesty, such strength of
mind,

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,

Naught but a blank remain, a dead void

'T was but th' original forfeit of his blood; 30 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 lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd, Gave all the tribute mortals could afford. Perhaps we gave so much, the pow'rs above Grew angry at our superstitious love; For when we more than human homage pay, The charming cause is justly snatch'd away. Thus was the crime not his, but ours

alone;

And yet we murmur that he went so soon, Tho' miracles are short and rarely shown.

40

[Nothing is known of the date or occasion of the following poem, which was first published in Poetical Miscellanies, the Fifth Part, 1704. It seems convenient to place it here, after another elegy, first printed in the same collection.]