« EdellinenJatka »
Long may she exercise her fruitful pains !
Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud; Hear'st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud ? There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play About their godlike mate, and sing him on his way. He cleaves the liquid air, behold, he flies, And every moment gains upon the skies. The new-come guest admires the ethereal state, The sapphire portal, and the golden gate; And now admitted in the shining throng, He shows the passport which he brought along. His passport is his innocence and grace, Well known to all the natives of the place. Now sing, ye joyful angels, and admire Your brother's voice that comes to mend your quire: Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow ; 80 For like Amyntas none is left below.
ON THE DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG
He who could view the book of destiny,
Thus then he disappear'd, was rarified ;
His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone : And yet we murmur that he went so soon ; Though miracles are short and rarely shown.
Learn then, ye mournful parents, and divide That love in many, which in one was tied. That individual blessing is no more, But multiplied in your remaining store. The Name's dispers’d, but does not all expire; 50 The sparkles blaze, though not the globe of fire. Love him by parts, in all your numerous race, And from those parts form one collected grace; Then, when you have refin’d to that degree, Imagine all in one, and think that one is he.
UPON YOUNG MR. ROGERS,
OF gentle blood, his parents' only treasure,
ON THE DEATH OF MR. PURCELL.
SET TO MUSIC BY DR. BLOW.
MARK how the lark and linnet sing;
With rival notes
To welcome in the spring.
But in the close of night,
They cease their mutual spite,
So ceas'd the rival crew, when Purcell came; 10
The godlike man,
As he too late began.
Had he been there,
Their sovereign's fear
Had sent him back before. The power of harmony too well they know : He long ere this had tun'd their jarring sphere,
And left no hell below.
The heavenly choir, who heard his notes from high, Let down the scale of music from the sky:
They handed him along, And all the way he taught, and all the way they
sung Ye brethren of the lyre, and tuneful voice, Lament his lot; but at your own rejoice: Now live secure, and linger out your days ; The gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's lays, 30
Nor know to mend their choice.