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
Refufe to dance upon my strings:

There beneath th' ev'ning sky

I fung my cares asleep, and rais'd my wishes high
To everlasting things.

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,
In the fuperiour sweetnefs drown'd:
In vain I bid my tuneful pow'rs unite;
My foul retir'd and left my tongue :
I was all ear, and Philomela's fong
Was all divine delight.

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.

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'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,
Who died March 8th, 1701-Z.

BENEATH these honours of a tomb
Greatnefs in humble ruin lies:

(How earth confines in narrow room
What heroes leave beneath the fkies!)
2. Preferve, O venerable Pile!
Inviolate thy facred trust;
To thy cold arms the British isle
Weeping commits her richest duft.
3. Ye gentleft ministers of Fate
Attend the Monarch as he lies,
And bid the fofteft flumbers wait
With filken cords to bind his eyes.

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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.
5. Ye fifter-arts of Paint and Verfe
Place Albion fainting by his fide,
Her groans arifing o'er the hearfe,
And Belgia finking when he dy'd.

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6. High o'er the grave Religion fet
In folemn gold, pronounce the ground
Sacred to bar unhallow'd feet,
And plant her guardian Virtues round.

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,

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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
And watch the warriour's fleeping clay
Till the laft trumpet roufe his urn
To aid the triumphs of the day.

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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
And trees of life bear fruits of love.

3. There glory fits on ev'ry face,
There friendship smiles in ev'ry eye,
There fhall our tongues relate the grace
That led us homeward to the sky.

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;
That golden hour how long it stays!

6. How long muft we lie ling'ring here
While faints around us take their flight?
Smiling they quit this dusky sphere
And mount the hills of heav'nly light.
Volume VI.

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