a lasting Monument of aiery Fame Swist with the Name round the Creation fly And bear it kindly to the starry Sky While Heaven and Stars shall last fair Florimena shall not dye XVI To others aiery Fame shall be Blest Saint a solid Monument to thee Rais'd of the strongest and the loftiest Verse Which shall thy real Praise rehearse Built by thy weeping Poet's hands Firm as Death's Throne it self the Pile for ever stands The Throne of Death shall from thy Tomb arise Her Empire 's fixt where Florimena lyes Fam'd shall it stand when Ages shall be past My Grief alone shall here inspire My clowdy Grief shall flash out Fire No Muse shall loosely sing of you Death now since thou art seiz'd may seize the Muses too This Mausoleum shall for ever last The Muses Harmony would now appear But jarring Discord should they raise it here Let them not dare to strike their Lyre Unless the sound make all who hear expire In decent Mourning be you only seen Mourn Florimena dead fair Florimena was the Muses Queen XVII I now all Aid you bring besides refuse You Muses here your selves would want a Muse. Sorrow alone inspires my mournful Lays I sing with sorrow now fair Florimena's Praise Wither ye Laurels on the Poets Brow An Air of mourning thro' my Lines shall pass Since they can only tell that Florimena was She was indeed all we could wish her now Well may our Tears to her a Tribute fall To Florimena she deserves them all To her who when alive blest ev'ry sight To her alone who crown'd the use of light Tho' now in Death's dark gloomy night she lyes Our Tears are Off'rings due alive we offer'd up our Eyes XVIII Our Sorrow now more than our Love we find Sorrow tho always weeping is not blind Tho Love it self wants Eyes too plain we see Help'd by its Flames what our Misfortunes be Too fierce is Passion 's raging Fire In vain alas in vain we strive By Sorrow's streams to make its sparks expire Tears quench not burning Love but keep it more alive Whate'r bright Hymen's Lamps have Pow'r to do The Torch of Death with glaring light does all Disasters shew XIX Behold Queen Sorrow in a Mist appears A dusky Robe of foggy Clouds she wears Drawn by wing'd Sighs see how she slowly glides A smoaking Torch she bears extinguish'd in her Hands Pity and Love attend her Chariot's sides Still in one Posture leaning low she lies Fair is her Face but blubber'd are her Cheeks and blear'd her Eyes Her dewy Crown is set with largest Tears Above her awful Mother Silence stands And ore her Head Does a black melancholy Cov'ring spread Pourtray'd with inwrought Images of Ears The Banners of her Foe she bears Inly the troubled Goddess Sorrow moans Like Sybil's Priestesses she swells And ere she sighs that she will sigh foretels Or like the Sea by late past Storms opprest Heaves slowly up her panting Breast And heavily she groans The Matron Silence hates the Noise she made For she reigns only when her Daughter Sorrow's dead XX. Come Goddess come thy Ayres infuse A charming Eloquence Affliction bears My Helicon shall be compos'd of Tears Throw off thy sad Expressive Matron Silence now Unlock thy Tongue unlock thy Brow Like melting Canens mourning for her Love Breath out in sighs fair Florimena's Name Your Being to her Death you owe Teach me in melancholy Ayres to move And fix her charming Praise in Fame Of Florimena's Merits shall I boast The Earth shall know tho dear the Knowledge cost Know only Paradise and find it lost None of the Nine thee Goddess here I chuse Come thou inspiring Sorrow thou my Muse. XXI Sad shall the weeping World her Vertues know When she was griev'd she made all others so Such Softness her Affliction wore Thy self great Goddess could not move us more Like Influence in her Tears as in her Eyes she bore Whene'r she wept the World in floods she found And with another Deluge all the Globe lay drown'd O could my Soul frame the least Dawn of Hope That Plaints and Wailings could afford Relief The Sluces of my Eyes should ope And I would rowl in an impetuous flood of Grief Yes let me plunge behold I go Her Praise shall bear me up in Fancy's Main Now now I rise now Thoughts like Seas Insult and dash me there a Billow plays And now my Sorrow sinks me down again XXII The mighty Artist when his Skill excell'd Drawing the Greek in all his height of Woe The Form the Limbs and Posture just did show But at the Face he found the Pencil fail'd A mourning Vail ore that he wisely drew So Florimena must thy Painter do For could I run your num'rous Vertues ore Tell if your Hero's Griefs or your lov'd Charms were more It were impossible to paint your Beauty too XXIII Beyond that Greek's this Hero's Grief appears He lost the best of Wives and Hope of glorious Heirs Lovely as Glory's self the Nymph he view'd Bright as his Arms Not Glory's self with greater Toils was woo'd His Tears he paid this Fair the other only had his Blood Ah! who successfully can paint So dread a Warriour and so sweet a Saint Terrour and Beauty in this Pair combin'd Well mortal Artists here may make a stand When Heav'n it self can scarce renew its hand Strong Mars and brighter Venus justly join'd In quest of this and this alone we rove If he had triumph'd more in War or she in Love XXIV When fam'd for wond'rous Conquests wond'rous Charms No Pride this conq'ring killing Beauty knew But mildly like her Lord she look'd on those she did subdue Grown by her Trophies great enough to yield To him victorious still in every Field Her self the dearest Prize surrender'd to his Arms. If any Pride this brightest Fair could move She felt it only in her Warriour's Love Proud of submitting to this Conq'rour more Than of all Captives she had made before Her Iudgment not her Scorn all else denies His Sword alone she found was pointed as her Eyes XXV Strange Pow'r of charming his Submission gains He conquers thus and triumphs through his Chains And yet alone he doubts of Conquest here This mildest Foe knew how to raise his Fear Against this Chief whole show'rs of Darts did move Many were lodg'd within his manly Breast But far far deeper deadlier than the rest He felt the thrilling Dart of strong victorious Love That did his Senses and his Thoughts controul Those pierc'd his Body only that his Soul But now no Balm can cure his wounded Heart For cruel trayt'rous Love with Death has chang'd his Dart. XXVI Great is the force of Paint yet it denies The skilful Touches of the Artist's Thought No Imag'ry from Colours can be brought To shew enough the Griefs of his or Beauties of her Eyes Orpheus 't is said by Notes could draw Forests and Rocks and Herds along In spight of Nature's settled Law To hear all ravish'd his
delightful Song The charming Poet softly plays They leap and dance and time his Lays No Rocks so hard but he could move And soften with his Ayres of Love This Sense had Herds but Florimena's Charms Had rais'd them with more fierce Alarms Far greater would their Transports be And only seeing Fair they would have follow'd thee XXVII As happy Martyrs Visions shew The Ioys of Heav'n which none till Death must view So I inlighten'd by thy Beauty's Flame See all the Extasies that Thought can frame Like the great immov'd Painter I conceive Such ravishing Idea's here My Pencil would my Soul deceive No fixt Proportion would the Painting bear But I at once should ramble ev'ry where O Sorrow here thy Curtain place Draw a black Veil ore this too beauteous Face To thee alas unhappily I run Alas the Veil is drawn and Death the willing Task has done XXVIII Like Lightning shining was her Beauty view'd From a fair Sky produc'd without a Cloud A while the glitt'ring Blessing strikes our Eyes From Heav'n its purest Flashes came A heav'nly yet destroying Flame Which only robs us of our Sight and dies The short liv'd Comfort shews our Fears And strait again it disappears Thro' darkest Gloom it brings us Light Its Life conducts us to our Death And guides us to black Shades beneath The momentary View it chears It only now makes all the Globe seem bright To pass like fleeting Thought away and leave more solid Night The World lies clad in Darkness when 't is gone Storms and fierce Show'rs descend and strait rolls the loud Thunder on XXIX Nor was it Beauty in this Nymph alone Which made her conqu'ring Warriour's Soul her own Tho wond'rous Magick in soft Glances lies Had it been true that Lovers and that Love were blind This bright victorious Fair had triumph'd in his Mind Not all his Love from Looks the Hero drew She had a Tongue as charming as her Eyes At once a Venus and Minerva too Let meaner Beauties only boast Their tuneful Voices Pow'r to move They find that when they charm the most Those Swains whose Fires before did glow A little ravish'd own a Love Their Breath can to that Height the Burnings blow But Florimena's Ayres much more could do They rais'd the Fire and kept it flaming too XXX This Nymph's each Cesture had some Grace that charm'd She could not look or speak or move But she commanded awful Love And the Beholders of all Sense disarm'd Her Glances still so bright they flew Or struck admiring Lovers blind Or all their Senses to their Eyes confin'd That they could only view Or if the sung Oh Heav'ns what Man can bear The very Thought of so divine an Ayre Methinks young Love with hov'ring Spirits flies Around her charming Lips and basks about her Eyes No God from the sweet Spheres such Transports drew So soft so melting soft her Voice and yet so piercing too XXXI Each Note excessive Transport brings And still she charms the more the more she sings Hark how pleas'd Eccho does the Tunes restore The Eccho soft returns the Ayres And seems to listen and has Fears Lest any other Eccho hears Her coy Narcissus here the Maid had mov'd Returning Florimena's Song The charming Youth she would have drawn along Not the reflection of a Face but Voice he would have lov'd Till Death shut in her Charms her Charms ah now no more In every part Musick the lovely Florimena wore In every part of her soft Frame and she was Harmony all ore XXXII The Sweets of Hybla from her Breath did flow And her fair lovely Cheeks did with fresh Beauty glow Devouring Death luxurious now I see Strange That no Art not its own Charms can save Beauty almost immortal from the Grave He blasts the blooming Fruit and he destroys the Tree Where'er the Glories of her Face were shown Beauty in hers could not be surer seen than Wonder in our own So lovely fair if such a thing there be As Beauty's self 't was Florimena and 't was only she XXXIII But now that Sun of Beauty and of Love Shines in an other Radiant Sphere above Tho'nought could clowd her clear Meridian Light When the short space was ended which she run And the bright Task of radiant Day was done She set all heavenly fair in Death's eternal Night Night and thick Darkness ore the Globe we find While smaller Beauties by her absence here Like Stars with fainter Light appear Which can't orecome those Clouds which she has left behind Such were the Beauties Florimena wore The Stars themselves were not in Number more Scarce the Nymph's other Merits can I trace Transported so With the aërial Images I grow Of all the blushing Glories in her beauteous Face My Pencil fond does of that Stroak appear And who ah who would stir that could dwell ever here XXXV Too lovely Face to be exprest in Paint Thou the most charming Shrine of the most charming Saint Seraphick Beauty reign'd thro' out the whole In all such wondrous Sweetness was display'd Divine in Body more divine in Soul The one on purpose for the other made Now may we mourn since Florimena's dead The second but more fair Astraea fled The first by Strise and impious Wars was driven But this when all her Pray'rs were heard And Peace to flourish ore the Globe prepar'd Flew pleas'd and calmly up to her own native Heaven XXXVI She fled indeed a blest Astraea there But left alas no Florimena here All that we good divine and lovely call Name but that Word it comprehends them all Her Darts could every Gazer hit One shooting Glance alone could move With lambent Fires of inoffensive Love She had the Flames of Beauty and the Warmth of Wit Swift as her Looks could her bright Notions rise Her Fancy and her Thought were clear and charming as her Eyes XXXVII Her Frame all Sweets which Love desires could boast In her possession the blest Hero knew The force of Beauty and of Passion too She was most lovely and she lov'd the most The transport of her mortal Charms If such the smallest Charm of hers could be Had been too vast a Prize for any other's Arms But on her Lord Ambrosial Show'rs did fall She prov'd by all her Actions Love could see He had and he deserv'd them all He only lovely to her Eyes did seem Fondly and dear she lov'd as fondly was belov'd by him XXXVIII Soft were the Flames their glowing Bosoms bore Such bright such pleasing Likeness in them lay Such equal Influence too they wore As those fair Beams which in her Eyes did play Him did this Nymph to all Mankind prefer Her Hero's Passion did she prize As dear as her own charming Eyes Those Myrtles which her Love made grow He valu'd high as his own Lawrel-Bough And of all Womankind he burnt alone for her Her in whose soft Embrace such Bliss was given He prest a Goddess and he thought himself in Heaven XXXIX As her bright Form
to either of the Former nor to the Latter in Iudgment As to the present Poem if his Lordship shall please to accept and patronize that too I shall here likewise have my Ends accomplish'd for 't is design'd intire his Lordship's as was the late bright Subject who has giv'n the sad Occasion But if it miss the wish'd Success there are but six Days lost for I can produce unquestion'd Witness that within the Limits of that time I wrote it nor did I sit up labouriously at it like those who made the Mourning for her Ladyship's Relations tho I must own 't was finished without any great Intermission which gives me some Hopes that it máy all be of a piece I must take leave to say too so large a Field such copious Merits gave me that it flow'd from me easie free and unconstrain'd as from her Ladyship's Acquaintance did their Tears Thence 't is that the mourning Muse grown fond of her own Melody has sung so long an Ode However long as it is Mr. Congreve belov'd for his Candour as much as for his Wit admir'd was pleas'd not only to approve but greatly to commend it in having read it thrice The Stile is Pindarical or at least that which is vulgarly call'd so 't is of the same Libertine sort tho' not such as Mr. Cowley was so successful in but indeed it deserves not to be thought even an Imitation of Pindar for in all his Odes there was a constant Measure certainly observ'd and tho' the Number of every Verse was not answer'd by the immediately succeeding Line yet infallibly 't was answer'd with an harmonious Disposition in some other in the Stanza it was the artful Measure that his Genius kept which made him appear so much at liberty and his Muse tho' fetter'd with such Grace danc'd to the Musick of her own Chains she seem'd to have her freedom Thus soaring so irregularly high on that account indeed I may be said to have out flown even Pindar 'T is no easie Task for the Muse constantly to beat her aiery Wings in Fancy's middle Region and yet to seem to the Beholders still to rise Her Flight is to be perform'd like that of Daedalus she 's to be born up but by a constant Motion and not only to shun the Ocean the Abyss of Thought but even the Heats of a too scorching Sun tho' Phoebus is the God inspires her But mine yet artless and making but her second Iourney thro' the Air like Icarus perhaps might miss her way her Wings like his being only wax'd Unskilful as she is she flyes undaunted for she esteems it better to have dar'd to rise than not at all attempt it She chose therefore that Style whose rapid Current might bear her up the best besides this mournful Theam in my opinion requir'd such Numbers most Numbers resembling the late bright Subject which has caus'd them where awful Lustre shone at once and tender Beauty warm'd Pastoral may seem to some to have been most proper here that is indeed the common Mode of writing and had the Subject here been common I should have chosen it too but 't is a Path so worn already that no Genius less than that of the admirable Author of Pastora can without servilely following others Tracks with any pleasure tread and if he deviates from it he may err besides Pastoral only begs our Pity but Pindarick forces I shall now offer only this in respect of the present and the former Poem To abuse the Poet doubtless you may be apt to reflect upon his Muses now I confess in both I have been very familiar with them nor quitted them till the very end should I go about to excuse my self I could urge that Mr. Cowley says calling frequently on the Aid of the Muses is a Liberty Pindarick can hardly live without but if you are angry that I have made use of all of them at once I 'll only answer 'T is better to have them all than like you when you pretend to write to have none When the Muses Statues were to be made they were at first design'd but Three but the Artist making Nine intending that the three most beautiful should be chosen found all too charming for any one to be deny'd and sure the Muses should themselves be favour'd rather than their Statues But this Gentlemen I suppose won't take with you who I dare be bold to promise will never raise a Statue to a Muse. THE VICTORY OF DEATH I. COME all ye Muses mourning come The beauteous matchless Florimena dead The best the loveliest Muse is fled Hurl down your Lyres their Voice must be As silent and as dead as she Hurl them ah hurl them to the ground Let Cypress Boughs alone be worn Cypress must your Heads adorn Pull off your Wreaths of Lawrel now The Lawrel withers on the Muses Brow From your pale Temples be they rudely torn Throw down your Lyres on them her Crown Let ev'ry weeping Muse throw down Stifling the Musick of the Lyre Let them be strow'd ore Florimena's Tomb And as the dying Tunes expire Let no melodious Harmony be found But at their Fall let breaking Strings in Murmurs only sound II. Your gladsome Notes late tun'd to Ioys I must not here awake My Grief all Melody destroys And my own Discord must my Musick make Let ev'ry Muse as chast appear As the fair Saint for whom they now come here Not on Parnassus airy Heads In dancing measures shall ye move Or flow'ry Lawns or fragrant Meads In any spreading Bow'r or Grove Or where your wanton Fancy leads You shall not loosely now have leave to rove But silent hear of Death the fatal Death of Love III. No more your Musick I require Your Voice is useless useless is your Lyre I want no Ayres to fan a raging Fire My Soul a hov'ring Cloud appears Within it gloomy Seeds it bears The strugling Flashes of my Thought Through their own Gloom to Light are brought My Sighs are Winds my Show'rs are Tears My jars of Grief burst out in dismal Moans And thunder loudly in distorted Groans My op'ning Mind displays the awful Scene See see the beauteous Heav'n dead Florimena lies within IV. Behold ye Daughters sprung from Iove Which us'd in former Flights to move Swift as his Lightnings from above To the Elyzian Shades repair Their noiseless Pinions cut the Air In mourning Clouds see they come slowly down Those Wings which oft so swift have flown Dampt with their Tears are heavy grown Flagging they gently beat the Sky And rather seem to fall than fly Behold they bend to Albion's Shore The Clouds in Showrs shed all their store And Albion's chalky Cliffs are shadow'd ore As when the Sun through darken'd Skies is gone Fleeting ore Hills Shades are seen passing on So here ore us we see the Shadows run Since Florimena's clouded ore Fair Florimena Britain 's Sun V. Low as my Thought can place the Scene Their darksome Course the Muses
beyond all else could move So she excell'd in the extreamest Love The purest most seraphick Fires Were kindled in her fond Desires Soft as the thoughts of Angels was her Soul As free from looseness as 't is now above To the blest Partner of her Flame She gave it up entire for him its Wishes came He had it and enjoy'd it whole She gave her Soul her Love the dearest store She kindly gave her self gave all and wish'd to give him more XL. Whate'r soft female Beauty could bestow In Tides of flowing Ioys did rowl All that the Hero could desire to know Of most celestial Happiness did fall She too possest it most when so she gave it all But ah That Rival Death with horrid Charms Has snatch'd her pale and ghastly from her Lover's Arms. He cruel Monster does the World controul No want of Beauty here her Ruine prov'd Death was too much with her Attractions mov'd And the grim Tyrant forc'd her but because he lov'd XLI See where the lovely Charmer lyes Ah! Goddess Sorrow break your flight Too much already am I mov'd with this too mournful Sight See see the fairest Work that Heaven has made The fairest Blossom of the fair That ere blest mortal Eyes The Work of Heaven its choicest Care By an untimely fatal Blast Ere half the Bloom even of her youth is past O hard Decree of Fate must fade Why tell me why Was such a heavenly Fire So sweetly kindled here below If soon as it begun to raise Its glowing Brightness to a Blaze The self-same am'rous Breeze which did so gently blow Should by some whirl of Chance so rudely make its Flames expire See Goddess Sorrow see fair Florimena dead Weep weep till thou art blind beat fast thy Breast and gnash thy Teeth and knock thy Head XLII Prest by the Hand of Fate I knew All other Mortals lay And when he please to grasp us fast We all inevitably breath our last But never thought that Florimena too Must sure as vulgar Crowds decay How in the Dust can so much Beauty lye Strange that a thing so sacred so divine could dye XLIII Mark Sorrow mark the saddest Scene display'd Black as thy dismal Fancy ever lay'd Here must thy gloomy vast Idea's swell Heave heave thy panting tho' capacious Breast For the reception of such Pomp of Woe as cannot be exprest Inspire me with thy self tho' not even thou canst half the Horrour tell Too plain alas I view too plain This stroke of Fate 't is Florimena dyes I mark too well the mournful Scene I see thou shedst thy plenteous store And Sorrow's flowing Eyes are delug'd ore There all that 's lov'd all that is lovely lyes I gaze on the afflicting sight Death's dismal Torches glaring in my Eyes XLIV There the all-beauteous Nymph in Pangs appears See by the Taper's glimmering light I view the now amazing Sight Behold the sickly Taper hides its Fires The sickly Taper too almost expires Out let its Light be rudely blown Since the most radiant Florimena's Eyes Depriv'd of Lustre now are languid grown Let weaker Lights henceforth no more be shown Drown drown them all with flowing Tears For soon the lovely Charmer dies And like the setting Summer's Sun She who was Light it self and Brightness strait must to dark shades be gone XLV See where the Nymph's victorious Lord appears See how that Victor now lies bath'd in Tears Hear hear the Hero 's anxious Moans See on her Breast he leans his Head Dying almost lest Florimena should alas be dead And with more tort'ring Pain than hers he groans Unman'd and void of Courage rob'd of all Sunk with a load of Grief down prostrate does he fall Call oft on Heav'n and oft on Florimena call XLVI Behold Oh! killing Scene her dying Care Was now to offer up her latest grateful Pray'r If any Sins she had to be forgiv'n She sues for Mercy and she clears with Heav'n Pleas'd would she go but still Remorse does find On the account of her afflicted Love Tho flying to the Seats of blissful Ioys above She grieves to leave him lost in Woe behind Now his lov'd Hand in hers she presses fast A look ah too too languishing does cast And catching thick at Breath Close clasps him to her Soul and breaths these Words the last XLVII Now all my Ioys those Dreams of Life are gone And Night the lasting Night of Death is drawing on From thee unwillingly from thee I move My Strength decaying shews my Passion great What puts the Light out raises more the Heat I dye but dying thine Ah! happy ever prove I lose my Lover but preserve my Love Sustain me bear me bear me in thy Arms Thou best thou dearest Oh! adieu O thou my Lord my Love thou all ore Charms Take the last Pledge thy drying own can give No longer now alas no more I live Another last farewel I must renew Dear Man there they embrac'd and saint she murmur'd Be thou true XLVIII Here ceas'd the Nymph and gasping now she lies Lock'd are the Charms of her soft Voice and clos'd her Eyes In haste the Hero starts and spurns the ground Catches her faster and aloud he crys Plung'd in deep floods of Woe which dash him round Stay Charmer stay together will we go Yes by our tend'rest Loves it must it shall be so Dread and amazing does this Object seem Here Death is even terrible to him Now the last Pang from her fair Bosom flies And down opprest the Hero sinks as Florimena dies XLIX Whither ah whither does this Vision lead Ore Lawns methinks and Meads I rove On scatter'd dismal Yew and Cypress boughs I tread See see within a spacious Grove A mourning Hearse all deckt with white appears Within an open Coffin lies Which holds the loveliest Fair that ere bless'd human Eyes See at its side a gallant Chief does stand His Cask and Truncheon at his Feet he throws A Face all drown'd in Grief he shows Tears off his wreaths of Laurel from his Brow His useless and unvalu'd Laurels now The sacred Crowns disdainfully he tears And leans his pensive Head upon his Hand A view he takes of all his Blessings fled Fixt are his Looks and as he lov'd her living he adores her dead L. Those lovely Breasts the Warriour does behold Like Snow congeal'd stiff in Death's Frost and cold Those Breasts which still the living Nymph could shew Soft as that Milk which when a Child she drew No more the Hero must those Seats possess No more delightful Transports must he know No more their Sweets must all his Longings bless Nor on her charming Lips must he find Pleasures grow Her Eyes no more must with bright Motions roul No more divine Impulses of fierce Love must move the Warriour's Soul So much alas this loving Pair was one All his dear Sweets he sees with Florimena gone LI. When all the Rage of horrid War was ore In which a constant prosp'rous share he bore From all its
Heat and madding Fire In happy spreading fragrant Groves He wish'd at last to crown the tend'rest Loves And for a while retire Supinely laid Beneath some verdant cooling shade Whose Ayres might Thoughts of calmer Ioys inspire The Thund'rer so when the rash Youth had burn'd Part of the Skies and the terrestrial World Seeing the Boy was headlong hurl'd Now visiting the Meads and Bow'rs Perceiv'd a Nymph and brighter Flames he bore Than those which scorch'd the Globe and burn'd his Skies before With her he spent some pleasing Hours No more the Ruines which were made he mourn'd But from that Heav'n back to his own return'd LII Behold the God of Love upon the Plain Not far from hence behold his Train Hymen the God of Marriage too appears See in his Hand a Torch he bears Extinguish'd with his flowing Tears The beauteous Cytherea there comes on She rends her Locks and beats her Breast With all the signs of real Griefs exprest And mourns the fairer Cytherea gone Thro' ev'ry Bow'r and ev'ry Grove Wild and distracted does she rove Wild as the Forests where she runs and mourns the Fall of Beauty and of Love LIII See where the pensive Cupid weeping stands See how he wrings his little Hands Behold his slighted Quiver from him thrown His smoaking Torch too laid neglected down Hark on his Mother sadly does he call He holds a deadly piercing Dart And shrill he cries and points it at his Heart And threatens there to fall On those fair Banks the Loves prepare their Seat And all lament lost Florimena's Fate Those Streams to Helicon belong Those vocal Streams whose murm'ring Voice Raise an harmonious melancholy Noise And of themselves pour forth a mournsul Song Weeping whole Floods as they glide down along LIV. Behold alas the Hero now you see Striving the former Flames to trace Of Florimena's lovely Face Behold he looks almost as motionless and dead as she To whom his Story shall he now prepare And taste the greatest Pleasures of successful War Ah! how uncertain are our Blessings here When all that 's brave and great and soft and heav'nly Fair Must stoop to sudden Chance and in a moment disappear Why in the Field did he such Wonders show Why did this Chief immortal Honours gain Since that for which he felt the racks of Glory's burning Pain The shining Mistress of his Arms was not immortal too LV. Behold Queen Sorrow now in haste is fled And all the other mournful Train Departing fast are scatter'd ore the Plain The warlike Lover too rears up once more his Head See see another Scene the Prospect yields Behold the peaceful blest Elyzian Fields Mark all the shades what preparation there They make to welcome to their Groves This far renown'd and celebrated Fair The loveliest Nymph that ever crown'd the most exalted Loves But seee O ravishing Ioy of all our sight See see those Angels in that Cloud descend Their course to Florimena's Grove they bend See now how smiling swift they all alight Their Fellow-Angel up they bear Bright as themselves bright as she late shone here The Scenes of Mourning quickly disappear The Hero bows his pious Thanks are giv'n She waves a flying Farewel in the Air And on her dear-lov'd Chief she gazes till she enters Heav'n FINIS THE MUSE To the PATRON Tempora mutantur nos mutamur in illis Haec olim meminisse juvabit BEhold my Son these mourning Robes I use To shew my Grief for your departed Mufe To Shades ah Too too melancholy gone Your Muse your Mistress and your Wife in one I who have long been woo'd and won by you Sue in my turn then hear me while I sue The Soul should seldom with its Wants comply Who faintly asks but teaches to deny Still should Wit 's Cause be pleaded by the fair The rising Poet is the Muses care 'T is you whose Bays with branching Laurels grow My best-lov'd Son the Muse addresses now Beneath their shade as a secure retreat Afford my new-born Child an humble Seat Fenc'd from the rude Insults of an impending Fate A Poet's Name he to your Fame does owe Yet now he sues to be no longer so Or first or last all do my Charms despise I make them witty oft but seldom wise 'T is true in Numbers still he feels Delight He has a Genius Born and loves to write But he repines that Custom ill has made A lib'ral Art a mercenary Trade None but immortal Dryden nobly vain Great in his fancy'd Empire of Disdain Felt Rage enough and Courage only to sustain But here this tend'rer Off-spring faintly sings With infant Voice and flys with feebler Wings Approaching Storms he dreads nor can he bear The furious Blasts of a malignant Air. The Poet's Title he would now disown Or rather boast it but for you alone By you and only you my Heir 't was given That Mankind knows me to be sprung from Heaven You whose sublimest Genius reach'd the height Whence first I flew and track'd my sacred flight Wisely to you does my new Off spring sue Of all Mankind he would serve chiefly you If Verse has Charms 't is now they must prevail Too well he knows all lost if here he fail You 'tis he claims nor shall he poorly strive For any other Patron CUTTS alive But hold I find I must not dare to raise Nor clap my joyful Wings to spread your Praise The bashful Poet does my Suppliant stand And gently checks me with his trembling Hand So pure his Flames And they who love the best Know what they feel can never be exprest Warm are his Thoughts as warm his new Desires Yet bear no vain or vast ambitious Fires To you his gen'rous Patron lost he flies On you builds humble Hopes on you relies Nor rose his Wishes since they first began Above the Poet or beneath the Man He courts no transient Present from your Hands 'T is here his nobler Expectation stands He would your Favours from your Choice derive Pleas'd he receives what you are pleas'd to give But if your gen'rous Temper doubts to choose The Poet's Mind lyes open to the Muse. Most fond he courts what you can best bestow For most he serves himself in serving you Not that his Merits any Claim can boast But Favours nere in grateful Souls are lost All have their prosp'rous Hours he courts the Time Want of Success is ever charg'd a Crime To make it certain who the Charm can raise He asks of Heaven and when it grants gives Praise Let not the happy view his Wreck with Scorn He was like them to flowing Plenty born His Scene of Life seem'd all serene as theirs With blooming Fortunes in his blooming Years Then flourishing Ioys did on his Senses fall But when War 's Thunder broke it blasted all On you my Son he owns his Hope must stand Nor would be rais'd by any vulgar Hand Tho' I the Muse thro' wilful Tracks have hurl'd And snatch'd him hence to my aërial World Like the fam'd Eagle prosp'rous may I prove Who bore up pale the trembling Youth above And fixt his happy Seat plac'd in the Courts of Iove FINIS