VII.

Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock
That was the casket of Heav'n's richest store,
And here though grief my feeble hands

up

lock.
Yet on the soften’d quarry would I score
My plaining verse as lively as before;

For sure so well instructed are my tears, !
That they would fitly fall in order'd characters.

VIII.

Or should I thence hurried on viewless wing,
Take up a weeping on the mountains wild,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would soon unbosom all their echoes mild,
And I (for grief is easily beguiled)

Might think th' infection of my sorrows loud

Had hit a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud. This subject the Author finding to be above the years he bad, when he wrote it,

and nothing satisfied with what was begin, left it unfinished.

ON TIME.

Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;.
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,..
And merely mortal dross ;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast intomb'd,
And last of all thy greedy self consumed,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss ;

To be set on

! In Milton's MS. written with his own hand, --"On Time. * clock-case."- WARTON.

And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When everything that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine,
With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine
About the

supreme throne
Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall climb,
Then all this earthly grossness quit,
Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee,

O Time.

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd pow'r employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce;
And to our high-raised phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,
Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne
To Him that sits thereon,
With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow,
And the cherubic host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms
Singing everlastingly:
That we on earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise ;
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair music that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.
O may we soon again renew that song,
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celestial concert us unite,
To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light.

SONG. ON MAY MORNING.

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

Added to her noble birth, More than she could own from earth. Summers three times eight save one She had told; alas ! too soon, After so short time of breath, To house with darkness, and with death. Yet had the number of her days Been as complete as was her praise, Nature and Fate had had no strife In giving limit to her life. Her high birth, and her graces sweet Quickly found a lover meet; The virgin choir for her request The god that sits at marriage feast; He at their invoking came, But with a scarce well-lighted flame; And in his garland as he stood, Ye might discern a cyprus bud." Once had the early matrons run To greet her of a lovely son, And now with second hope she goes And calls Lucina to her throes; But whether by mischance or blame Atroposa 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 languish'd mother's womb Was not long a living tomb. So have I seen some tender slip, Saved with care from winter's nip, The pride of her carnation train, Pluck'd up by some unheedy swain, Who only thought to crop the flower New shot up from vernal shower; But the fair blossom hangs the head

Side-ways, as on a dying bed,
And those pearls of dew she wears
Prove to be presaging tears,
Which the sad morn had let fall
On her hastening funeral.
Gentle Lady, may thy grave

ace and quiet ever have;
After this thy travail sore
Sweet rest seize thee evermore,
That to give the world increase,
Shorten'd hast thy own life's lease.
Here, besides the sorrowing
That thy noble house doth bring,
Here be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon,
And some flowers, and some bays,
For thy hearse, to strew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Came,
Devoted to thy virtuous name;
Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitt'st in glory,
Next her, much like to thee in story
That fair Syrian shepherdess,
Who after years

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