The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume Ii Part 11

ON THE DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN.

He who could view the book of destiny, And read whatever there was writ of thee, O charming youth, in the first opening page, So many graces in so green an age, Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind, A soul at once so manly and so kind; Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er, And after some few leaves should find no more, Nought but a blank remain, a dead void s.p.a.ce, A step of life that promised such a race. 10 We must not, dare not think, that Heaven began A child, and could not finish him a man; Reflecting what a mighty store was laid Of rich materials, and a model made: The cost already furnish'd; so bestow'd, As more was never to one soul allow'd: Yet after this profusion spent in vain, Nothing but mouldering ashes to remain, I guess not, lest I split upon the shelf, Yet durst I guess, Heaven kept it for himself; 20 And giving us the use, did soon recall, Ere we could spare, the mighty princ.i.p.al.

Thus then he disappeared, was rarified; For 'tis improper speech to say he died: He was exhaled; his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.

'Tis sin produces death; and he had none, But the taint Adam left on every son.

He added not, he was so pure, so good, 'Twas but the original forfeit of his blood: 30 And that so little, that the river ran More clear than the corrupted fount began.

Nothing remain'd of the first muddy clay; The length of course had wash'd it in the way: So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.

As such we loved, admired, almost adored, Gave all the tribute mortals could afford.

Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above Grew angry at our superst.i.tious love: 40 For when we more than human homage pay, The charming cause is justly s.n.a.t.c.h'd away.

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 flame's dispersed, 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 refined to that degree, Imagine all in one, and think that one is he.

VII.

UPON YOUNG MR ROGERS OF GLOUCESTERs.h.i.+RE.

Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure, Their lasting sorrow, and their vanish'd pleasure, Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace, A large provision for so short a race; More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his date, Too early fitted for a better state; But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay, He leap'd o'er age, and took the shortest way.

VIII.

ON THE DEATH OF MR PURCELL.

SET TO MUSIC BY DR BLOW.

1 Mark how the lark and linnet sing; With rival notes They strain their warbling throats, To welcome in the spring.

But in the close of night, When Philomel begins her heavenly lay, They cease their mutual spite, Drink in her music with delight, And, listening, silently obey.

2 So ceased the rival crew, when Purcell came; They sung no more, or only sung his fame: Struck dumb, they all admired the G.o.dlike man: The G.o.dlike man, Alas! too soon retired, As he too late began.

We beg not h.e.l.l our Orpheus to restore: Had he been there, Their sovereign's fear Had sent him back before.

The power of harmony too well they knew: He long ere this had tuned their jarring sphere, And left no h.e.l.l below.

3 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 G.o.ds are pleased alone with Purcell's lays, Nor know to mend their choice.

IX.

EPITAPH ON THE LADY WHITMORE.

Fair, kind, and true, a treasure each alone, A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one, Rest in this tomb, raised at thy husband's cost, Here sadly summing what he had, and lost.

Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join, Come first, and offer at her sacred shrine; Pray but for half the virtues of this wife, Compound for all the rest, with longer life; And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd, So loved when living, and when dead so mourn'd.

X.

EPITAPH ON SIR PALMES FAIRBONE'S TOMB IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

SACRED TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF SIR PALMES FAIRBONE, KNIGHT, GOVERNOR OF TANGIER; IN EXECUTION OF WHICH COMMAND, HE WAS MORTALLY WOUNDED BY A SHOT FROM THE MOORS, THEN BESIEGING THE TOWN, IN THE FORTY-SIXTH YEAR OF HIS AGE. OCTOBER 24, 1680.

Ye sacred relics, which your marble keep, Here, undisturb'd by wars, in quiet sleep: Discharge the trust, which, when it was below, Pairbone's undaunted soul did undergo, And be the town's Palladium from the foe.

Alive and dead these walls he will defend: Great actions great examples must attend.

The Candian siege his early valour knew, Where Turkish blood did his young hands imbrue.

From thence returning with deserved applause, 10 Against the Moors his well-flesh'd sword he draws; The same the courage, and the same the cause.

His youth and age, his life and death, combine, As in some great and regular design, All of a piece throughout, and all divine.

Still nearer heaven his virtues shone more bright, Like rising flames expanding in their height; The martyr's glory crown'd the soldier's fight.

More bravely British general never fell, Nor general's death was e'er revenged so well; 20 Which his pleased eyes beheld before their close, Follow'd by thousand victims of his foes.

To his lamented loss for time to come His pious widow consecrates this tomb.

XI.

UNDER MR MILTON'S PICTURE, BEFORE HIS PARADISE LOST.[38]

Three Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn.

The first, in loftiness of thought surpa.s.s'd; The next, in majesty; in both the last.

The force of nature could no further go; To make a third, she join'd the former two.