Snares set to murder souls, but heaven secur'd The favourite nymph, and taught her victory. Or does she seek, or has she found, her babe, Amongst the infant-nation of the blest, And clasp'd it to her soul, to satiate there The young maternal passion, and absolve. The unfulfill'd embrace? Thrice happy child, That saw the light, and turn'd its eyes aside From our dim regions to the eternal Sun, And led the parent's way to glory! There Thou art for ever hers, with powers enlarg'd For love reciprocal and sweet converse. Behold her ancestors, (a pious race,) Rang'd in fair order, at her sight, rejoice, And sing her welcome. She along their seats Gliding, salutes them all with honours due, Such as are paid in heaven: and last she finds A mansion fashion'd of distinguish'd light, But vacant: 66 this," with sure presage she cries, "Awaits my father; when will he arrive? "How long, alas, how long!" Then calls her mate: 66 Die, thou dear partner of my mortal cares, · Die, and partake my bliss; we are for ever one." Ah me, where roves my fancy! What kind dreams Crowd with sweet violence on my waking mind! And call her thoughts her own, so lately freed From earth's vain scenes, gay visits, gratulations, Tell me on what sublimer theme she dwells O when shall thy release from cumbrous flesh And mortal ears could bear them!— Or lies she now before the eternal throne Prostrate in humble form, with deep devotion Overwhelm'd, and self-abasement at the sight Of the uncover'd Godhead, face to face? Seraphic crowns pay homage at his feet, And hers amongst them, not of dimmer ore, Nor set with meaner gems: but vain ambition, And emulation vain, and fond conceit, And pride, for ever banish'd, flies the place, Curst pride, the dress of hell. Tell me, Urania, How her joys heighten, and her golden hours Circle in love. O stamp upon my soul Some blissful image of the fair deceas'd, To call my passions and my eyes aside From the dear breathless clay, distressing sight! That leagu'd with nature's sharpest pains, and spoil'd So sweet a structure! The impoisoning taint O'erspreads the building wrought with skill divine, And ruins the rich temple to the dust. Was this the countenance where the world ad mir'd Features of wit and virtue? This the face Where love triumph'd, and beauty on these cheeks, As on a throne, beneath her radiant eyes ON THE DEATH OF AN AGED AND HONOURED RELATIVE, MRS. M. W., JULY 13, 1693. I KNOW the kindred mind: 'tis she,'tis she. The kindred mind from fleshly bondage free: Long did the earthy house restrain In toilsom slavery that ethereal guest; Prison'd her round in walls of pain, And twisted cramps and achés with her chain; The pillars trembled, and the building fell. A tedious train of fourscore years, The prisoner smil'd to be releast, She felt her fetters loose, and mounted to her rest. Gaze on, my soul, and let a perfect view Paint her idea all anew: Rase out those melancholy shapes of woe With youthful green, and spotless white; Beyond the power of fancy shine, [shrine. Conceal the inimitable strokes behind a graceful Describe the saint from head to feet, Make all the lines in just proportion meet: But let her posture be Filling a chair of high degree; Observe how near it stands to the almighty seat. Paint the new graces of her eyes; Fresh in her looks let sprightly youth arise, And joys unknown below the skies. Sits here triumphant on the brow, |