 | Carolina |  |
My Lord,
I shall not vainly mourn his doom,
Since he dropt fully ripe into his Tomb:
Yet loaded more with Glory than with Days,
Hence with my Cypress then, and reach me Bayes.
My Muse, like to its Subject, should be bright,
And, like to Roman Mourners, clad in White.
When first his Death was told, her Tears she shed;
And, like moist Lillies, droopt her dewy head.
Pearls thus at midnight fall from Luna's eyes,
But are again dry'd up at Sol's uprise.
Since he dropt fully ripe into his Tomb:
Yet loaded more with Glory than with Days,
Hence with my Cypress then, and reach me Bayes.
My Muse, like to its Subject, should be bright,
And, like to Roman Mourners, clad in White.
When first his Death was told, her Tears she shed;
And, like moist Lillies, droopt her dewy head.
Pearls thus at midnight fall from Luna's eyes,
But are again dry'd up at Sol's uprise.
Hail then Restorer of our Joys! shine bright,
And with thy Cynthia joyn in sheets of Light.
Increase your noble Stock: Thus Persians say
The Queen of Night joyns with the King of Day;
And, curtain'd in Eclipses, there they get
That shining Brood that in the Skies are set.
And with thy Cynthia joyn in sheets of Light.
Increase your noble Stock: Thus Persians say
The Queen of Night joyns with the King of Day;
And, curtain'd in Eclipses, there they get
That shining Brood that in the Skies are set.
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