O double sacrilege on things divine, But thus Orinda dy'd: ness, and many troubles, I was forced to defer them till this time. Ovid, going to his banish Heaven, by the same disease, did both translate:ment, and writing from on shipboard to his friends, As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate. Meantime her warlike brother on the seas When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound, For those who wake, and those who sleep : And foremost from the tomb shall bound, For they are cover'd with the lightest ground; And straight, with inborn vigour, on the wing, Like mounting larks, to the new morning sing. There thou, sweet saint, before the quire shall go, As harbinger of Heaven, the way to show, The way which thou so well hast learnt below. III. UPON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF Dundee. Oн, last and best of Scots! who did maintain IV. ELEANORA: A PANEGYRICAL POEM, DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE COUNTESS OF ABINGDON. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF MY LORD, THE commands with which you honoured me some months ago are now performed: they had been sooner; but, betwixt ill health, some busi excused the faults of his poetry by his misfortunes, and told them, that good verses never flow but from a serene and composed spirit. Wit, which is a kind of Mercury, with wings fastened to his head and heels, can fly but slowly in a damp air. I therefore chose rather to obey you late than ill; if at least I am capable of writing any thing, at any time, which is worthy your perusal and your patronage. I cannot say, that I have escaped from a shipwreck; but have only gained a rock by hard swimming; where I may pant a while and gather breath: for the doctors give me a sad assurance, that my disease never took its leave of any man, but with a purpose to return. However, my lord, I have laid hold on the interval, and managed the small stock, which age has left me, to the best advantage, in per forming this inconsiderable service to my lady's memory. We, who are priests of Apollo, have not the inspiration when we please; but must wait till the god comes rushing on us, and invades us with a fury which we are not able to resist: which gives us double strength while the fit continues, and leaves us languishing and spent at its departure. Let me not seem to boast, my lord; for I have really felt it on this occasion, and prophesied beyond my natural power. Let me add, and hope to be believed, that the excellency of the subject contributed much to the happiness of the execution; and that the weight of thirty years was taken off me while I was writing. I swam with the tide, and the water under me was buoyant. The reader will easily observe, that I was transported by the multitude and variety of my similitudes; which are generally the product of a luxuriant fancy, and the wantonness of wit. Had I called in my judgment to my assistance, I had certainly retrenched many of them. But I defend them not; let them pass for beautiful faults amongst the better sort of critics: for the whole poem, though written in that which they call heroic verse, is of the Pindaric nature, as well in the thought as the expression; and, as such, requires the same grains of allowance for it. It was intended, as your lordship sees in the title, not for an elegy, but a panegyric: a kind of apotheosis, indeed, if a heathen word may be ap plied to a Christian use. And on all occasions of praise, if we take the ancients for our patterns, we are bound by prescription to employ the magnificence of words, and the force of figures, to adorn the sublimity of thoughts. Isocrates amongst the Grecian orators, and Cicero and | been so truly loved by you while she was livings and so gratefully honoured after she was dead. Few there are who have either had, or could have, such a loss; and yet fewer who carried their love and constancy beyond the grave. The exteriors of mourning, a decent funeral, and black habits, are the usual stints of common hus bands: and perhaps their wives deserve no better than to be mourned with hypocrisy, and forgot with ease. But you have distinguished yourself from ordinary lovers, by a real and lasting grief for the deceased; and by endeavouring to raise for her the most durable monument, which is that of verse. And so it would have proved, if the workman had been equal to the work, and your choice of the artificer as happy as your design. Yet, as Phidias, when he had made the statue of Minerva, could not forbear to engrave his own name, as author of the piece: so give me leave to hope, that, by subscribing mine to this poem, I may live by the goddess, and transmit my name to posterity by the memory of hers. 'Tis no flattery to assure your lordship, that she is re the younger Pliny amongst the Romans, have left us their precedents for our security: for I think I need not mention the inimitable Pindar, who stretches on these pinions out of sight, and is carried upward, as it were, into another world. This, at least, my lord, I may justly plead, that, if I have not performed so well as I think I have, yet I have used my best endeavours to excel myself. One disadvantage I have had; which is, never to have known or seen my lady: and to draw the lineaments of her mind from the description which I have received from others, is for a painter to set himself at work without the living original before him: which, the more beautiful it is, will be so much the more difficult for him to conceive, when he has only a relation given him of such and such features by an acquaintance or a friend, without the nice touches which give the best resemblance, and make the graces of the picture. Every artist is apt enough to flatter himself (and I amongst the rest) that their own ocular observations would have discovered more perfections, at least others, than have been deli-membered, in the present age, by all who have vered to them: though I have received mine from the best hands, that is, from persons who neither want a just understanding of my lady's worth, nor a due veneration for her memory. had the honour of her conversation and ac quaintance; and that I have never been in any company, since the news of her death was first brought me, where they have not extolled her virtues, and even spoken the same things of her in prose which I have done in verse. I therefore think myself obliged to thank your lordship for the commission which you have given me: how I have acquitted myself of it, must be left to the opinion of the world, in spite of any Doctor Donne, the greatest wit, though not the greatest poet of our nation, acknowledges, that he had never seen Mrs. Drury, whom he has made immortal in his admirable Anniversaries. I have had the same fortune, though I have not succeeded to the same genius. However, I have followed his footsteps in the design of his panegy-protestation which I can enter against the present ric; which was to raise an emulation in the living, to copy out the example of the dead. And therefore it was, that I once intended to have called this poem The Pattern: and though, on a second consideration, I changed the title into the name of the illustrious person, yet the design continues, and Eleonora is still the pattern of charity, devotion, and humility; of the best wife, the best mother, and the best of friends. age, as incompetent or corrupt judges. For my comfort, they are but Englishmen, and, as such, if they think ill of me to day, they are inconstant enough to think well of me to morrow. And, after all, I have not much to thank my fortune that I was born amongst them. The good of both sexes are so few in England, that they stand like exceptions against general rules: and though one of them has deserved a greater commendation than I could give her, they have taken care that I should not tire my pen with frequent exer. cise on the like subjects; that praises, like taxes, should be appropriated, and left almost as indi And now, my lord, though I have endeavoured to answer your commands, yet I could not answer it to the world, nor to my conscience, if I gave not your lordship my testimony of being the best husband now living: I say my testimonyvidual as the person. They say, my talent is only; for the praise of it is given you by yourself. They who despise the rules of virtue both in their practice and their morals, will think this a very trivial commendation. But I think it the peculiar happiness of the countess of Abingdon, to have satire: if it be so, it is a fruitful age, and there is an extraordinary crop to gather. But a single hand is insufficient for such a harvest: they have sown the dragon's teeth themselves, and it is but just they should reap each other in lampoons. You, my lord, who have the character of honour, | The distant heard, by fame, her pious deeds, And laid her up for their extremest needs; though it is not my happiness to know you, may A future cordial for a fainting mind; stand aside, with the small remainders of the For, what was ne'er refus'd, all hop'd to find, English nobility, truly such, and, unhurt your- Each in his turn: the rich might freely come, selves, behold the mad combat. If I have pleased As to a friend; but to the poor, 'twas home. As to some holy house th' afflicted came, you, and some few others, I have obtained my The hunger-starv'd, the naked, and the lame; end. You see I have disabled myself, like an Want and diseases fled before her name. elected speaker of the house: yet like him I have For zeal like her's her servants were too slow; undertaken the charge, and find the burthen suf- She was the first, where need requir'd, to go; Herself the foundress and attendant too. ficiently recompensed by the honour. Be pleased to accept of these my unworthy labours, this paper monument; and let her pious memory, which I am sure is sacred to you, not only plead the pardon of my many faults, but gain me your protection, which is ambitiously sought by, As when some great and gracious monarch dies, Who, then, perhaps, were offering vows in vain, The nation felt it in th' extremest parts, Such multitudes she fed, she cloth'd, she nurst, No less than Heaven, to heap huge treasures there. None could be needy, whom she saw, or knew; Sure she had guests sometimes to entertain, Guests in disguise, of her great Master's train: Her Lord himself might come, for aught we know; Beneath her roof he might be pleas'd to stay; Since in a servant's form he liv'd below: Or some benighted angel, in his way, Might ease his wings, and, seeing Heaven appear In its best work of mercy, think it there: Where all the deeds of charity and love Were in as constant method as above, All carry'd on; all of a piece with theirs; As free her alms, as diligent her cares; As loud her praises, and as warm her prayers. Yet was she not profuse; but fear'd to waste, And wisely manag'd, that the stock might last, That all might be supply'd, and she not grieve, When crowds appear'd, she had not to relieve: Which to prevent, she still increas'd her store; Laid up, and spar'd, that she might give the more. So Pharaoh, or some greater king than he, Provided for the seventh necessity : Taught from above his magazines to frame; That famine was prevented ere it came. Thus Heaven, though all-sufficient, shows a thrift In his economy, and bounds his gift: Creating, for our day, one single light; And his reflection too supplies the night; Perhaps a thousand other worlds, that lie Remote from us, and latent in the sky, Are lighten'd by his beams, and kindly nurst; Of which our earthly dunghill is the worst. Now, as all virtues keep the middle line, Yet somewhat more to one extreme incline, Such was her soul; abhorring avarice, Bounteous, but almost bounteous to a vice: Had she given more, it had profusion been, And turn'd th' excess of goodness into sin. These virtues rais'd her fabric to the sky; Such her devotion was, as might give rules That pious heat may moderately prevail, Yet still she pray'd, for still she pray'd by deeds. Vary'd with sacred hymns and acts of love: [light. Thus we love God, as author of our good; His passion still improv'd; he lov'd so fast, That should so soon divide their happy state: That love, that heart, where he went halves be- Yet as the soul is all in every part, So God and he might each have all her heart. Muse, down again precipitate thy flight: No single virtue we could most commend, A wife as tender, and as true withal, -She much obey'd him, but she lov'd him more: It turn'd to habit; and, from vices free, Thus fix'd she Virtue's image, that's her own, Then wonder not to see this soul extend Tunbosom all the secrets of her heart, The souls of friends like kings in progress are; 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 Heaven's imperial face, By our weak optics is but vainly guest; Distance and altitude conceal the rest. Though all these rare endowments of the mind Were in a narrow space of life confin'd, The figure was with full perfection crown'd; Though not so large an orb, as truly round. As when in glory, through the public place, The spoils of conquer'd nations were to pass, And but one day for triumph was allow'd, The consul was constrain'd his pomp to crowd; And so the swift procession hurry'd on, That all, though not distinctly, might be shown: So in the straiten'd bounds of life confin'd, She gave but glimpses of her glorious mind: And multitudes of virtues pass'd along; Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng, Ambitious to be seen, and then make room For greater multitudes that were to come. Yet unemploy'd no minute slipt away; Her fellow-saints with busy care will look No pains she suffer'd, nor expir'd with noise; O happy soul! if thou canst view from high, Let this suffice: nor thou, great saint, refuse But 'twas her Saviour's time; and, could there be So bad, that thou thyself hadst no defence A copy near th' original, 'twas she. As precious gums are not for lasting fire, So little penance needs, when souls are almost pure. She did but dream of Heaven, and she was there. From vice, but barely by departing bence. Be what and where thou art: to wish thy place, Were, in the best, presumption more than grace. Thy relics (such thy works of mercy are) Have, in this poem, been my holy care. As earth thy body keeps, thy soul the sky, So shall this verse preserve thy memory; For thou shalt make it live, because it sings of thee. V. ON THE DEATH OF AMYNTAS. A PASTORAL, ELEGY. 'Twas on a joyless and a gloomy morn, Wet was the grass, and hung with pearls the thorn; |