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* Rich with immortal green above the rest :
3 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 heaven's majestic pace; ..

Or, call’d to more superior bliss, - Thou tread's, 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 heaven's eternal


is thine. 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 given;
To make thyself a welcome inmate there :

While yet a young probationer,
And candidate of heaven:

If by traduction came thy mind,

Our wonder is the less to find
A soul fo charming from a stock so good;
Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood:
So wert thou born into a tuneful strain,
An early, rich, and inexhausted vein,

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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, And was that Sappho last, which once it was

before. If so, then cease thy flight, О heaven-born

mind ! Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore : Nor can thy foul a fairer mansion find,

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

May we presume to say, that, at thy birth,
New joy was sprung in heaven, as well as here on

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,

That all the people of the sky
Might know a poetess was born on earth,

And then, if ever, mortal ears
Ilad heard the music of the spheres,

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And if no clust'ring fwarm of bees
On thy sweet mouth distill’d their golden dew,

'Twas that such vulgar miracles

Heaven had not leisure to renew :
For all thy bleft fraternity of love
Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy holy-day

O gracious God! how far have we
Prophan'd thy heavenly gift of poefy ?
fins 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

(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, heaven, atone for all :
Her Arethufian stream remains unfoil'd,
.Unmix'd with foreign filth, and undefild ;
Her wit was more than man, her innocence a



Art she had none, yet wanted none ;
For nature did that want supply :
So rich in treasures of her own,

She might our boasted stores defy :
Such noble vigor 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 test, and every light, her muse will bear, Tho Epictetus with his lamp were there. E’en love (for love sometimes her muse expreft) Was but a lambent flame which play'd about her

breast: Light as the vapors of a morning dream, So cold herself, whilst she such warmth expreft, 'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's stream.

VI. Born to the spacious empire of the Nine, One would have thought, she should have been

content Το manage

well that mighty government ; But what can young ambitious souls confine ?

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To the next realm the 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 armd, 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 represent

The shape, the face, with every lineament ;
And all the large domains which the Dumb Sister

All bow'd beneath her government,

Receiv'd in triumph wherefoe'r she went.
Her pencil drew, whate'er her soul design’d,
And oft the happy draught surpass’d the image in

her mind.
The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks,
And fruitful plains and barren rocks,
Of shallow brooks that flow'd so clear,
The bottom did the top appear ;
Of deeper too and ampler floods,
Which, as in mirrors, shew'd the woods;
Of lofty trees, with sacred Mades,
And perspectives of pleasant glades,

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