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 fo green an age,
Such wit, fuch modefty, such strength of mind,
A foul at once fo manly, and fo kind;
Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er,
And after fome few leaves fhould find no more,
Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space,
A step of life that promis'd fuch a race.
We must not, dare not think, that Heaven
began
A child, and could not finish him a man;
Reflecting what a mighty ftore was laid
Of rich materials, and a model made:
The coft already furnish'd; so bestow'd,
As more was never to one foul allow'd:
Yet after this profusion spent in vain,
Nothing but mouldering afhes to remain,
I guess not, left I fplit upon the shelf,
Yet durft I guess, Heaven kept it for himself;
And giving us the ufe, did foon recal,
Ere we could fpare, the mighty principal.
Thus then he difappear'd, was rarify'd;
For 'tis improper speech to say he dy❜d:
He was exhal'd; his great Creator drew
His fpirit, as the fun the morning dew.
'Tis fin produces death; and he had none,
But the taint Adam left on every fon.
He added not, he was fo pure, fo good,
'Twas but the original forfeit of his blood :
And that fo 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 fo clear, we might behold 35
The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.
As fuch we lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd,
Gave all the tribute mortals could afford.
Perhaps we gave fo much, the powers above
Grew angry at our fuperftitious love:
For when we more than human homage pay,
The charming caufe is juftly fnatch'd away.
Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone: And yet we murmur that he went so soon ; 44 Though miracles are short and rarely shown.
Learn then, ye mournful parents, and divide That love in many, which in one was ty'd. That individual bleffing is no more, But multiply'd in your remaining store,
The flame's difpers'd, but does not all expire; The fparkles blaze, though not the globe of
Love him by parts, in all your numerous race, And from those parts form one collected grace; Then, when you have refin❜d to that degree,
Imagine all in one, and think that one is he. 55
OF gentle blood, his parents' only treasure, Their lafting forrow, and their vanish'd plea
Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace, A large provision for fo 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.
SET TO MUSIC BY DR. BLOW.
MARK how the lark and linnet fing;
With rival notes
They strain their warbling throats,
To welcome in the fpring.
But in the close of night,
When Philomel begins her heavenly lay,
They cease their mutual spite,
Drink in her mufic with delight,
And, lift'ning, filently obey.
So ceas'd the rival crew, when Purcell came; They fung no more, or only fung his fame: 11 Struck dumb, they all admir'd the godlike man: The godlike man,
Alas! too foon retired,
As he too late began.
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