To Mrs. Singer, (now Mrs. Rowe), On the fight of fome of ber divine poems, never printed. July 19. 1706. I. On the fair banks of gentle Thames I tun'd my harp, nor did celestial themes There beneath th' ev'ning sky I fung my cares asleep, and rais'd my wishes high Sudden from Albion's western coast Harmonious notes come gliding by; The neighb'ring fhepherds knew the filver found; ""Tis Philomela's voice," the neighb'ring fhepherds At once my strings all filent lie, At once my fainting Mufe was lost, II. Now be my harp for ever dumb, My Muse attempt no more: 'twas long ago I bid adieu to mortal things, To Grecian tales and wars of Rome; [cry. 12 20 'Twas long ago I broke all but th' immortal strings : Now thofe immortal frings have no employ Since a fair angel dwells below To tune the notes of heav'n and propagate the joy : HORE LYRIĊE. BOOK III. SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. An epitaph on King William 111. of glorious memory, BENEATH these honours of a tomb (How earth confines in narrow room 8 12 4. Reft his dear fword beneath his head, Round him his faithful arms fhall stand; Fix his bright enfigns on his bed, The guards and honours of our land. 16 20 6. High o'er the grave Religion fet 7. Fair Liberty, in sables drest, Write his lov'd name upon his urn, William, the fcourge of tyrants past "And awe of princes yet unborn.” 8. Sweet Peace his facred relicks keep With olives blooming round her head, And stretch her wings across the deep To blefs the nations with the shade. 9. Stand on the pile immortal Fame, Broad stars adorn thy brightest robe, Thy thousand voices found his name In filver accents round the globe. 10. Flatt'ry fhall faint beneath the found While hoary Truth infpires the fong, 24 28 32 36 Envy grow pale and bite the ground, And Slander gnaw her forky tongue. 11. Night and the Grave remove your gloom; Darkness becomes the vulgar dead, But Glory bids the royal tomb Difdain the horrours of a fhade. 12. Glory with all her lamps fhall burn 40 44 48 On the fudden death of Mrs. Mary Peacock. An elegiack fong, fent in a letter of condolence to Mr. N.P. merchant at Amfterdam. HARK! the bids all her friends adieu, Some angel calls her to the spheres, Our eyes the radiant faint pursue Thro' liquid telescopes of tears. 2. Farewell, bright foul! a fhort farewell Till we fhall meet again above In the sweet groves where pleasures dwell 3. There glory fits on ev'ry face, 4. O'er all the names of Christ our King Shall our harmonious voices rove, Our harps shall found from ev'ry string The wonders of his bleeding love. 5. Come, Sov'reign Lord, dear Saviour! come, Remove these separating days, Send thy bright wheels to fetch us home; 6. How long muft we lie ling'ring here 8 12 16 20 24 |