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Unmix'd with foreign filth, and undefiled;
She might our boasted stores defy ;
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, Though Epictetus with his lamp were there. E'en love (for love sometimes her muse exprest) Was but a lambent flame which play'd about her
breast : Light as the vapours of a morning dream, So cold herself, whilst she such warmth exprest, 'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's stream.
VI. Born to the spacious empire of the Nine, One would havethoughtsheshould have been content To manage
well that mighty government; But what can young ambitious souls confine ?
To the next realm she stretch'd her sway,
For Painture near adjoining lay,
À chamber of dependencies was framed, (As conquerers will never want pretence,
When arm'd, to justify the offence,)
* This line certainly gave rise to that of Pope in Gay's epitaph:
In wit a man, simplicity a child.
And the whole fief, in right of poetry, she claim’d.
And perfectly could represent
The shape, the face, with every lineament, And all the large domains which the Dumb Sister
sway'd ; All bow'd beneath her government,
Received in triumph wheresoe'er she went.
So strange a concourse ne'er was seen before, But when the peopled ark the whole creation bore.
VII. The scene then changed; with bold erected look Our martial king* the sight with reverence strook :
James II. painted by Mrs Killigrew.
For, not content to express his outward part,
Our phoenix queenf was pourtray'd too so bright,
Thus nothing to her genius was denied, But like a ball of fire the further thrown,
Still with a greater blaze she shone, And her bright soul broke out on every side, What next she had design'd, heaven only knows: To such immoderate growth her conquest rose, That fate alone its progress could oppose.
Not wit, nor piety, could fate prevent;
To sweep at once her life and beauty too;
To work more mischievously slow,
† Mary of Este, as eminent for beauty as rank, also painted by the subject of the elegy.
O double sacrilege on things divine,
But thus Orinda died ;
* Mrs Katherine Philips, whom the affectation of her age
called Orinda, was the daughter of Mr Towler, a citizen of London. Aubrey, the most credulous of mankind, tells us, in MS. Memoirs of her life, that she read through the Bible before she was four years old, and would take sermons verbatim by the time she was ten. She married a decent respectable country gentleman, called Wogan; a name which, when it occurred in her extensive literary correspondence, she exchanged for the fantastic appellation of Antenor. She maintained a literary intercourse for many years with bishops, earls, and wits, the main object of which was the management and extrication of her husband's affairs. But whether because the correspondents of Orinda were slack in at. tending to her requests in her husband's favour, or whether because a learned lady is a bad manager of sublunary concerns, An. tenor's circumstances became embarrassed, notwithstanding all Orinda's exertions, and the fair solicitor was obliged to retreat with him into Cardiganshire. Returning from this seclusion to London, in 1664, she was seized with the small-pox, which carried her off in the 33d
year Her poems and translations were collected into a folio after her death, which bears the title of “ Poems by the most deservedly admired Mrs Katherine Philips, the matchless ORINDA. London, 1667."-See BALLARD's Memoirs of Learned Ladies, p. 287.
This lady is here mentioned with the more propriety, as Mrs Anne Killigrew dedicated the following lines to her memory:
Orinda (Albion's and our sexes grace)
of her age.
And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays.
Ah, generous youth ! that wish forbear,
The winds too soon will waft thee here: Slack all thy sails, and fear to come ; Alas, thou know'st not thou art wreck'd at home! No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face, Thou hast already had her last embrace. But look aloft, and if thou ken'st from far Among the Pleiads a new-kindled star, If any sparkles than the rest more bright, 'Tis she that shines in that propitious light.
X. When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound,
To raise the nations under ground;
When in the valley of Jehosophat,
And there the last assizes keep,
From the four corners of the sky;
And foremost from the tomb shall bound, For they are covered with the lightest ground; And straight, with inborn vigour, on the wing, Like mountain larks, to the new morning sing. There thou, sweet saint, before the choir shall
go, As harbinger of heaven the way to show, The way which thou so well hast learnt below.