Part 12 (1/2)

Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads As the mild heav'n on roses sheds, When at their cheeks--like pearls--they wear The clouds that court them in a tear!

And may they be fed from above By Him which first ordain'd your love!

Fresh as the hours may all your pleasures be, And healthful as eternity!

Sweet as the flowers' first breath, and close As th' unseen spreadings of the rose, When he unfolds his curtain'd head, And makes his bosom the sun's bed!

Soft as yourselves run your whole lives, and clear As your own gla.s.s, or what s.h.i.+nes there!

Smooth as heav'n's face, and bright as he When without mask or tiffany!

In all your time not one jar meet But peace as silent as his feet!

Like the day's warmth may all your comforts be, Untoil'd for, and serene as he, Yet free and full as is that sheaf Of sunbeams gilding ev'ry leaf, When now the tyrant-heat expires And his cool'd locks breathe milder fires!

And as those parcell'd glories he doth shed Are the fair issues of his head, Which, ne'er so distant, are soon known By th' heat and l.u.s.tre for his own; So may each branch of yours we see Your copies and our wonders be!

And when no more on earth you must remain, Invited hence to heav'n again, Then may your virtuous, virgin-flames s.h.i.+ne in those heirs of your fair names, And teach the world that mystery, Yourselves in your posterity!

So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring, And, gather'd up to heav'n, leave here a spring.

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. HALL, SLAIN AT PONTEFRACT, 1648.

I knew it would be thus! and my just fears Of thy great spirit are improv'd to tears.

Yet flow these not from any base distrust Of a fair name, or that thy honour must Confin'd to those cold relics sadly sit In the same cell an obscure anchorite.

Such low distempers murder; they that must Abuse thee so, weep not, but wound thy dust.

But I past such dim mourners can descry Thy fame above all clouds of obloquy, And like the sun with his victorious rays Charge through that darkness to the last of days.

'Tis true, fair manhood hath a female eye, And tears are beauteous in a victory, Nor are we so high-proof, but grief will find Through all our guards a way to wound the mind; But in thy fall what adds the brackish sum More than a blot unto thy martyrdom?

Which scorns such wretched suffrages, and stands More by thy single worth than our whole bands.

Yet could the puling tribute rescue ought In this sad loss, or wert thou to be brought Back here by tears, I would in any wise Pay down the sum, or quite consume my eyes.

Thou fell'st our double ruin; and this rent Forc'd in thy life shak'd both the Church and tent.

Learning in others steals them from the van, And basely wise emasculates the man, But lodg'd in thy brave soul the bookish feat Serv'd only as the light unto thy heat.

Thus when some quitted action, to their shame, And only got a discreet coward's name, Thou with thy blood mad'st purchase of renown, And died'st the glory of the sword and gown.

Thy blood hath hallow'd Pomfret, and this blow --Profan'd before--hath church'd the Castle now.

Nor is't a common valour we deplore, But such as with fifteen a hundred bore, And lightning-like--not coop'd within a wall-- In storms of fire and steel fell on them all.

Thou wert no woolsack soldier, nor of those Whose courage lies in winking at their foes, That live at loopholes, and consume their breath On match or pipes, and sometimes peep at death; No, it were sin to number these with thee, But that--thus pois'd--our loss we better see.

The fair and open valour was thy s.h.i.+eld, And thy known station, the defying field.

Yet these in thee I would not virtues call, But that this age must know that thou hadst all.

Those richer graces that adorn'd thy mind Like stars of the first magnitude, so s.h.i.+n'd, That if oppos'd unto these lesser lights All we can say is this, they were fair nights.

Thy piety and learning did unite, And though with sev'ral beams made up one light, And such thy judgment was, that I dare swear Whole councils might as soon and synods err.

But all these now are out! and as some star Hurl'd in diurnal motions from far, And seen to droop at night, is vainly said To fall and find an occidental bed, Though in that other world what we judge West Proves elevation, and a new, fresh East; So though our weaker sense denies us sight, And bodies cannot trace the spirit's flight, We know those graces to be still in thee, But wing'd above us to eternity.

Since then--thus flown--thou art so much refin'd That we can only reach thee with the mind, I will not in this dark and narrow gla.s.s Let thy scant shadow for perfections pa.s.s, But leave thee to be read more high, more quaint, In thy own blood a soldier and a saint.

----_Salve aeternum mihi maxime Palla!_ _aeternumque vale!_----