The Poems of John Dryden

THE MONUMENT OF A FAIR MAIDEN LADY,
WHO DY'D AT BATH, AND IS THERE INTERr'd.

BELOW this Marble Monument is laid

All that Heav'n wants of this Celestial Maid.
Preserve, O sacred Tomb, thy Trust con-
sign'd:

The Mold was made on purpose for the
Mind:

And she wou'd lose, if at the latter Day

One Atom cou'd be mix'd, of other clay.
Such were the Features of her heavenly
Face;

Her Limbs were form'd with such harmonious
Grace,

So faultless was the Frame, as if the Whole
Had been an Emanation of the Soul; 10
Which her own inward Symmetry reveal'd;
And like a Picture shone, in Glass anneal'd
Or like the Sun eclips'd, with shaded Light:
Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by
Sight.

Each Thought was visible that rowl'd within:
As through a Crystal Case, the figur'd Hours

All white, a Virgin-Saint, she sought the
Skies:

For Marriage, tho' it sullies not, it dies. 20
High tho' her Wit, yet humble was her
Mind;

As if she cou'd not, or she wou'd not find
How much her Worth transcended all her

Kind.

Yet she had learn'dso much of Heav'n below,
That, when arriv'd, she scarce had more to
know:

But only to refresh the former Hint ;
And read her Maker in a fairer Print.
So Pious, as she had no time to spare,
For human Thoughts, but was confin'd to
Pray'r.

Yet in such Charities she pass'd the Day, 30
'Twas wondrous how she found an Hour to
Pray.

A Soul so calm, it knew not Ebbs or Flows,
Which Passion cou'd but curl; not discom-
pose.

A Female Softness, with a manly Mind;
A Daughter duteous, and a Sister kind:
In Sickness patient; and in Death resign'd.,

ON THE DEATH OF AMYNTAS.
A PASTORAL ELEGY.

'TWAS on a Joyless and a Gloomy Morn,
Wet was the Grass, and hung with Pearls
the Thorn,

When Damon, who design'd to pass the Day With Hounds and Horns, and chase the flying Prey,

Rose early from his Bed; but soon he found

The Welkin pitch'd with sullen Clouds

Thus while he stood, and sighing did survey
The Fields, and curs'd th' ill Omens of the
Day,

He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace; 10
Wet were his Eyes, and chearless was his
Face:

Hewrung his Hands, distracted with his Care,
And sent his Voice before him from afar.
Return, he cry'd, return unhappy Swain,
The spungy Clouds are fill'd with gath'ring
Rain:

The boast of Nature, both his Parents Joy.
His graceful Form revolving in his Mind;
So great a Genius, and a Soul so kind,
Gave sad assurance that his Fears were
true;

Too well the Envy of the Gods he knew:
For when their Gifts too lavishly are plac'd,
Soon they repent, and will not make them
last.

For, sure, it was too bountiful a Dole,
The Mother's Features, and the Father's
Soul.

Then thus he cry'd, The Morn bespoke the News, 30

The Morning did her chearful Light diffuse, But see how suddenly she changed her Face,

And brought on Clouds and Rains, the Day's disgrace:

Just such, Amyntas, was thy promis'd Race.

What Charms adorn'd thy Youth where
Nature smil'd,

And more than Man was giv'n us in a Child.
His Infancy was ripe: a Soul sublime
In Years so tender that prevented time;
Heav'n gave him all at once; then

snatch'd away,

E're Mortals all his Beauties cou'd survey, Just like the Flow'r that buds and withers in a day.

MENALCAS.

The Mother Lovely, tho' with Grief opprest, Reclin'd his dying Head upon her Breast. The mournful Family stood all around; One Groan was heard, one Universal Sound:" All were in Floods of Tears and endless Sorrow drown'd.

So dire a Sadness sate on ev'ry Look,
Ev'n Death repented he had giv'n the
Stroke.

ON THE DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN.

HF who cou'd view the Book of Destiny,
And read whatever there was writ of thee,
O Charming Youth, in the first op'ning Page,
So many Graces in so green an Age,
Such Wit, such Modesty, such strength of
Mind,

A Soul at once so manly and so kind, Wou'd wonder, when he turned the Volume o're,

And after some few Leaves shou'd find no more.

Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space,

A step of Life that promised such a Race. 10 We must not, dare not think, that Heav'n began

A Child, and cou'd not finish him a Man:
Reflecting what a mighty Store was laid
Of rich Materials, and a Model made :
The Cost already furnished; so bestow'd,
As more was never to one Soul allow'd:
Yet after this profusion spent in vain,
Nothing but mould'ring Ashes to remain,
I guess not, lest I split upon the Shelf,
Yet, durst I guess, Heav'n kept it for him
self;

And giving us the use, did soon recal,
E're we cou'd spare, the mighty Principal.

Thus then he disappear'd, was rarify'd, For 'tis improper Speech to say he dy❜d: He was exhal'd: His great Creator drew His Spirit, as the Sun the Morning Dew. 'Tis Sin produces Death; and he had none. But the Taint Adam left on ev'ry Son.

He added not, he was so pure, so good, 'Twas but th' Original forfeit of his Blood; And that so little, that the River ran 31 More clear than the corrupted Fount began. Nothing remained of the first muddy Clay, The length of Course had wash'd it in the way:

So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold The Gravel bottom, and that bottom Gold.

As such we lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd, Gave all the Tribute Mortals could afford. Perhaps we gave so much, the Pow'rs above Grew angry at our superstitious Love : 40 For when we more than Human Homage pay, The charming Cause is justly snatched away. Thus was the Crime not his, but ours

alone;

And yet we murmur that he went so soon, Though Miraclesareshort and rarely shown.

Hear then, yee mournful Parents, and divide

That Love in many which in one was ty'd.
That individual Blessing is no more,
But multiply'd in your remaining store.
The Flame's dispersed, but does not all
expire:

50 The Sparkles blaze, though not the Globe of Fire.

Love him by Parts in all your num❜rous 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.

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