Whether, adopted to fome neighb'ring ftar,
Thou roll'ft above us, in thy wand'ring race,
Or, in proceffion fix'd and regular,
Mov'd with the heav'ns majestic pace;
Or, call'd to more fuperior blifs,
Thou tread'ft, with feraphims, the vast abyss:
Whatever happy region is thy place,
Ceafe thy celeftial fong a little space;
Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,
Since heaven's eternal year is thine.
Hear then a mortal muse thy praise rehearse,
In no ignoble verse;
But fuch as thy own voice did practise here,
When thy firft fruits of Poefy were given;
To make thyfelf a welcome inmate there :
While yet a young probationer,
And candidate of heaven.
If by traduction came thy mind,
Our wonder is the lefs to find
A foul fo charming from a ftock fo good;
Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood:
So wert thou born into a tuneful ftrain,
An early, rich, and inexhaufted vein.
But if thy pre-existing foul
Was form'd, at firft, with myriads more,
It did thro' all the mighty poets roll,
Who Greek or Latin laurels wore,
And was that 3 Sapho last, which once it was before, If so, then ceafe thy flight, O heaven-born mind! Thou haft no dro's to purge from thy rich ore:
3 And was that Sapho laft, &c. Our author here compliments Mrs. Killigrew, with admitting the doctrine of metempfychofis, and fuppofing the foul that informs her body to be the fame with that of Sapho's, who lived fix hundred years before the birth of Chrift, and was equally renowned for poetry and love. She was called the tenth Mufe.
Nor can thy foul a fairer manfion find,
Than was the beauteous frame fhe left behind:
Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celeftial kind.
III.
May we prefume to fay, that, at thy birth,
New joy was fprung in heaven, as well as here on
For fure the milder planets did combine
On thy aufpicious horofcope to shine,
And e'en the moft malicious were in trine.
Thy brother-angels at thy birth
Strung each his lyre, and tun'd it high,
That all the people of the sky
Might know a poetefs was born on earth.
And then, if ever, mortal ears
Had heard the mufic of the spheres.
And if no cluft'ring fwarm of bees
On thy sweet mouth diftill'd their golden dew, 'Twas that fuch vulgar miracles
Heaven had not leisure to renew :
For all thy bleft fraternity of love
Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy holy-day above.
IV.
O gracious God! how far have we
Prophan'd thy heavenly gift of poefy?
Made prostitute and profligate the Mufe,
Debas'd to each obfcene and impious use,
Whofe harmony was first ordain'd above
For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love?
O wretched we! why were we hurry'd down
This lubrique and adult'rate age,
(Nay added fat pollutions of our own)
T'increase the ftreaming ordures of the ftage?
What can we fay t' excufe our fecond fall?
Let this thy veftal, heaven, atone for all :
Her Arethufian ftream remains unfoil'd,
Unmix'd with foreign filth, and undefil'd;
Her wit 4 was more than man, her innocence a child.
V.
Art she had none, yet wanted none;
For nature did that want fupply:
So rich in treasures of her own,
She might our boafted ftores defy:
Such noble vigour did her verse adorn,
That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born.
Her morals too were in her bofom bred,
By great examples daily fed,
What in the best of books, her father's life, she read.
And to be read herself she need not fear;
Each teft, and every light, her muse will bear,
Tho' Epictetus 5 with his lamp were there.
E'en love (for love fometimes her mufe expreft)
Was but a lambent flame which play'd about her breast:
Light as the vapours of a morning dream,
So cold herself, whilft fhe fuch warmth expreft, 'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's ftream.
Born to the spacious empire of the Nine,
One would have thought, she should have been content
To manage well that mighty government;
But what can young ambitious fouls confine?
To the next realm she stretch'd her sway,
For Painture near adjoining lay,
A plenteous province, and alluring prey.
4 Pope has nearly borrowed this line for his epitaph on Gay: "In wit a man, fimplicity a child."
5 Lucian tells us, that a pragmatical fool gave 3000 drachmas for Epictetus's lamp, vainly imagining that ftudying by its light would indue him with fome of its former mafter's wisdom. Epictetus was a ftoic philofopher.
A Chamber of Dependencies was fram'd. (As conquerors will never want pretence, When arm'd, to juftify th' offence)
And the whole fief, in right of poetry, the claim'd,
The country open lay without defence:
For poets frequent inroads there had made,
And perfectly could reprefent
The fhape, the face, with every lineament;
And all the large domains which the Dumb Sifter fway'd,
All bow'd beneath her government,
Receiv'd in triumph wherefoe'r fhe went,
Her 6 pencil drew, whate'er her foul defign'd,
And oft the happy draught furpafs'd the image in her mind,
The fylvan fcenes of herds and flocks,
And fruitful plains and barren rocks,
Of shallow brooks that flow'd fo clear,
The bottom did the top appear;
Of deeper too and ampler floods,
Which, as in mirrours, fhew'd the woods;
Of lofty trees, with facred fhades,
And perfpectives of pleafant glades,
Where nymphs of brighteft form appear,
And fhaggy fatyrs ftanding near,
Which them at once admire and fear.
The ruins too of fome majestic piece,
Boafting the power of ancient Rome or Greece,
Whofe ftatues, freezes, columns broken lie,
And, tho' defac'd, the wonder of the eye;
What nature, art, bold fiction e'er durft frame,
Her forming hand gave feature to the name.
So ftrange a concourfe ne'er was feen before,
But when the peopled ark the whole creation bore,
6 Her pencil drew, &c. Her excellence in painting landscapes and portraits is celebrated in this and the enfuing ftanza, as is her drawing King Charles and his Queen.
The scene then chang'd, with bold erected look
Our martial king the fight with rev'rence ftrook:
For not content t'exprefs his outward part,
Her hand call'd out the image of his heart:
His warlike mind, his foul devoid of fear,
His high-defigning thoughts were figur'd there,
As when, by magic, ghofts are made appear.
Our phoenix queen was pourtray'd too fo bright,
Beauty alone could beauty take fo right:
Her dress, her shape, her matchlefs grace,
Were all obferv'd, as well as heavenly face.
With fuch a peerlefs majefty fhe ftands,
As in that day fhe took the crown from facred hands;
Before a train of heroines was seen,
In beauty foremost, as in rank, the queen.
Thus nothing to her genius was deny'd,
But like a ball of fire the further thrown,
Still with a greater blaze she shone,
And her bright foul broke out on ev'ry fide.
What next she had defign'd, heaven only knows:
To fuch immod❜rate growth her conqueft rofe,
That fate alone its progrefs could oppofe.
Now all thofe charms, that blooming grace,
The well-proportion'd fhape, and beauteous face,
Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes;
In earth the much-lamented virgin lies.
Not wit, nor piety could fate prevent;
Nor was the cruel destiny content
To finish all the murder at a blow,
To sweep at once her life, and beauty too;
But, like a harden'd felon, took a pride
To work more mischievously flow,
And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd.
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