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III. Great Gouge to dust! how doleful is the sound! How vast the stroke is, and how wide the wound! Oh painful stroke, diftrcfling death! A wound unmeasurably wide; No vulgar mortal dy'd When he resign’d his breath. The Muse that mourns a nation's fall Should wait at Gouge's funeral, Should mingle majesty and groans, Such as she sings to finking thrones, And in deep founding numbers tell How Sion trembled when this pillar fell. Sion grows weak and England poor : Nature herself with all her store
35 Can furnish such a pomp for Death no more.
V. How would he mount, how would he fly, Up thro' the occan of the sky Tow'rd the celestial coaft! With what amazing swiftness foar Till earth's dark ball was feen no more, And all its mountains loft! Scarce could the Muse pursue him with her sight; But angels, you can tell, For oft’ you met his wondrous flight And knew the stranger well; Say how he past the radiant spheres And vificed your happy seats, And trac'd the wellknown turnings of the golden And walk'd among the tars.
VI. Tell how he climb’d the everlasting hills, Surveying all the realms above, Borne on a strongwing'd faith, and on the fiery wheels Of an immortal love. 'Twas there he took a glorious fight Of the inheritance of faints in light, And read their title in their Saviour's right. How oft' the humble fcholar came, And to your songs he rais'd his cars To learn th' unutterable name,
70 To view th' eternal base that bears The new creation's franie.
The countenance of God he law,
90 And bold blasphemers shrink and fear t. Impudent tongues! to blast a Prophet's name! The poison sure was fetch'd from hell, Where the old blasphemers dwell, To taint the purest dust and blot the whitest fame. Impudent tonguez! you should be darted thro',. 96 Nail'd to your own black mouths, and lie Useless and dead till Slander die, Till Slander die with you. 'Tho'he was so great and good a man he did not escapecensure,
VIII. “We saw him,” say the ethereal throng, “ We saw his warm devotions rise, “We heard the fervour of his cries, “ And mix'd his praises with our fong ; “ We knew the secret flights of his retiring hours, Nightly he wak’d his inward pow'rs;
O might we dwell for ever there,
135 And swell the trumpet's warlike noise! He stands the herald of the threat'ning skies; Lo on his rev'rend brow the frowns divinely rise, All Sinai's thunder on his tongue and lightning in Round the high roof the curses fiew, [his eyes! Distinguishing cach guilty head,
141 Far from th’unequal war the Atheist Aed, His kindled arrows still pursue, His arrows strike the Atheist thro', [fpread. And o'er his inmost pow'rs a fudd'ring horrour The marble heart groans with an inward wound; Blaspheming fouls of harden'd steel Shriek out amaz'd at the new pangs they feel, And dread the echoes of the found : The lofty wretch arm’d and array'd
150 In gaudy pride sinks down his impious head, Plunges in dark despair and mingles with the dead.