E flaming Powers, and winged Warriors bright,
That erst with mufic, and triumphant fong,
First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear,
So fweetly fung your joy the clouds along
Through the foft filence of the lift'ning night;
Now mourn, and if fad fhare with us to bear
Your fiery effence can distil no tear,
Burn in your fighs, and borrow
Seas wept from our deep forrow :
He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere
Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us eafe;
Alas, how foon our fin
Sore doth begin
His infancy to feize!
O more exceeding love or law more just!
Just law indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightful doom remedilefs
Were loft in death, till he that dwelt above
High thron'd in fecret blifs, for us frail duft
Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakedness;
And that great covenant which we still transgress
Entirely fatisfied,
And the full wrath befide
Of vengeful juftice bore for our excess,
And feals obedience first with wounding smart
This day, but O ere long
Huge pangs and strong
Will pierce more near his heart.
AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.
LEST pair of Syrens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious fifters, Voice and Verfe,
your divine founds, and mix'd power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais'd phantafy prefent
That undisturbed fong of pure concent,
Ay fung before the fapphire-color'd throne
To him that fits thereon
With faintly fhout and folemn jubilee,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow,
And the cherubic host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With thofe juft Spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy pfalms
That we on earth with undiscording voice
May rightly anfwer that melodious noife;
As once we did, till difproportion'd sin
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair mufic that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whofe love their motion fway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they food
In first obedience, and their state of good.
O may we foon again renew that fong,
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celeftial concert us unite,
To live with him, and fing in endless morn of light!
An EPITAPH on the Marchionefs of Winchester*.
HIS rich marble doth inter
The honor'd wife of Winchester,
A Vifcount's daughter, an Earl's heir,
Befides what her virtues fair
Added to her noble birth,
More than fhe could own from earth.
Summers three times eight fave one
She had told; alas too foon,
After fo fhort time of breath,
To house with darknefs, and with death.
Yet, had the number of her days
Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and fate had had no ftrife
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth and her graces fweet
Quickly found a lover meet;
The virgin quire for her request
The God that fits at marriage feast;
He at their invoking came
But with a scarce well-lighted flame;
And in his garland as he stood
Ye might difcern a cyprefs-bud.
Once had the early matrons run
To greet her of a lovely fon,
* Jane, daughter of Thomas Lord Viscount Savage of Rock-Savage,
And now with fecond hope fhe goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes;
But whether by mifchance or blame
Atropos for Lucina came;
And with remorseless cruelty
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree:
The hapless babe before his birth
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,
And the languifh'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.
So have I seen some tender flip,
Sav'd with care from winter's nip,
The pride of her carnation train,
Pluck'd up by fome unheedy fwain,
Who only thought to crop the flower
New shot up from vernal shower;
But the fair bloffom hangs the head
Side-ways as on a dying bed,
And thofe pearls of dew the wears,
Prove to be prefaging tears,
Which the fad morn had let fall
On her hastening funeral.
Gentle Lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travel fore
Sweet reft feize thee evermore,
That to give the world increase,
Shortned haft thy own life's lease!
Here, befides the forrowing
That thy noble house doth bring,
Wept for thee in Helicon,
ON MAY MORNING.
Here be tears of perfect moan
And fome flowers, and fome bays,
For thy herse, to strow the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name;
Whilft thou, bright Saint, high sitst in glory,
Next her much like to thee in story,
That fair Syrian fhepherdess,
Who after years of barrenness,
The highly-favor'd Joseph bore
To him that ferv'd for her before,
And at her next birth, much like thee,
Through pangs fled to felicity,
Far within the bofom bright
Of blazing Majesty and Light:
There with thee, new welcome Saint,
Like fortunes may her foul acquaint,
With thee there clad in radiant sheen,
No Marchioness, but now a Queen.
Now the bright morning ftar, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowflip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that doft infpire
Mirth and youth and warm defire;
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