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On the death of the very excellent Lady,
the Lady GLYNNE.
WHile riſing tears our willing tongue prevent,
We only can in tears be eloquent.
The Muſe now ſpeaks, that has ſo long forbore,
She pays the debt, when grief can give no more.
She pays the debt to Mariana's grave,
And mourns her fate, ſhe would have died to ſave.
Ah cruel powers ! that can ſo ſoon receive
Such matchleſs worth, as You ſo ſeldom give.
Could She whole Ages dwell with us below,
Eternity would ſtill be left for You.
But oh ! You think, while ſhe unkindly ſtays,
Your joys imperfect, and your Heav'n the leſs.
I ſee, I fee, the fatal meſſage come !
The abſent Saint is to be ſummon'd home.
In her fair breaſt, ſuch godlike paſſions move,
She rob's the Skies, and makes a dearth above.
Yet oh ! how vain, how groundleſs was your fear !
You yet enjoy'd Her, when ſhe bleſt us here:
You were the ſubject of her ſacred flame,
Paid gratefully to Heaven, from whence it came:
While wond'ring Angels modeſtly look'd down,
And bluſh't, with generous ſhame to be outdone.
Inferior virtues were not worth our boaſt,
Thoſe leſſer ſtreams in this great tide are loft.
O ! ſhould I ſing her hoſpitable door,
Her ſweetneſs, prudence, and her charming power ;
New praiſe would ever load my joyful tongue,
Eternal as the Theme, would be the Song.
But once, kind Muſe, once more thy Votary bleſs,
And Phæbus ever crown thee with ſucceſs :
Since only tears can paint the fatal ſcene,
Tell die ſad Tale, and weep at every line.
Tell, how the Saint in doubtful ſlumbers lay,
Too kind to leave us, yet too good to ſtay.
Tell how concern'd her noble Lover fate,
And Heav'n invok'd, and urg'd remorſleſs fate.
While the dear fruit and object of their joys,
With tears uncommon, ſtain'd his beauteous eyes.
So wounded Venus lay in Jove's abodes,
Such care, ſuch horrour ſeiz'd the deathleſs gods ;
When Mars grown tender, mourn'd the fatal blow,
And Cupid wept, and broke his Golden Bow.
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