University of Virginia Library

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33

An ODE.

To the Reverend Mr. Isaac Watts, V. D. M.

I.

The Muse, dear Watts, that copies thine
With fond Ambition, but unequal Skill,
And would have all his Works divine,
If Pow'r were suited to my Will;
Rob'd of the dearest Bliss below,
Is plung'd in Melancholy now,
And ty'd to mournful Strains,
With heavy Heart, and moulted Wings,
In lowly, artless Numbers sings,
The Cause of all his Pains.

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A Brother just, and generous, and young;
A Friend like Gunston, whom of Old you sung
In Lines immortal, as the Love renown'd,
That both your Souls in sacred Union bound;
With painful Sighs has spent his Stock of Breath,
And fal'n a blooming Sacrifice to Death.

II.

Could I with half your Fire declare,
What Charms in virtuous Friendship are;
Describe its Transports which we feel,
And paint the Pangs of Separation well:
In ev'ry Verse, in ev'ry Line,
By Art and Nature form'd t'endure,
The Passions should illustrious shine
With all commanding Pow'r.
To ev'ry Reader I'd impart
A lively Transcript of my Heart:

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And all should freely own,
That as our Love was paralell'd by none,
And now my Grief excessive is,
And boundless as a vast Abyss:
So ne'er a Bard with brighter Imag'ry,
And better Skill, describ'd his Sense than I.
But, ah! my tender Muse in vain
Aspires at such a Height,
Consummate Poets free from Pain
Can do a Subject right.
You only, Watts, and such as you, can make
A Reader pleas'd, and all your Sentiments partake.

III.

The Top of my indulg'd Ambition now,
'Till stronger for advent'rous Flight I grow,
Is to relate in humble Strain
My ancient Love, and present Pain.

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But Grief hath laid my Mind so low,
That all Essays to represent
The Purpose of my Muse are vain,
In such a dull Complaint.
Since he, my Brother, from my Sight
By Death was rudely torn,
My weary Soul knew no Delight,
Unless 'tis good to mourn.
Reflection on my Pleasures gone
Creates a greater Grief;
And when I think how I am left alone,
My Mind admits of no Relief.
The best Refreshment now I find,
Is when clad o'er in Sorrow's Livery,
Or pain'd with mutual Sympathy,
I see some wretched Friend.
Grief in Communion moderates Distress,
And makes the Soul content appear;

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37

As harsher Sounds in Consort mixt do less
Offend the tuneful Ear.

IV.

But, ah! my Friend, 'tis small Respite
That Tears and Sympathy can give;
Nor can my Books yield true Delight,
Or philosophic Cordials make me live;
No more can Company divert
The Troubles of my mournful Heart.
All these I've try'd, but still I find
My Sorrow 's like a growing Tide:
In vain I wou'd my Torture hide,
While his dear Idea haunts my tender Mind.
Why are the greatest Blessings giv'n in vain,
Which must be left with greater Pain?
Tell me, ye Pow'rs, why one was sent
To Earth so glorious, and so short while lent?

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Or thought ye it too much for human State,
To have a Blessing lasting as 'twas great?
Yes; he for Earth was too refin'd a Saint,
And therefore Heav'n betimes did him transplant:
E'er his brave Soul was stain'd with Rage,
Lust, Envy and Hypocrisy,
The darling Crimes of this degenerate Age,
It was remov'd to Joys divine,
Amongst the bless'd Society;
Who in consummate Glory shine,
And to th' Eternal King
Celestial Hymns and grateful Praises sing.

V.

Reason assist me while I strive
My Brother to survive;
And no more suffer Tears to flow,
But blessed be, because he's so.

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Why shou'd I thus intensely mourn
For him who can't return?
Why send Complaints where no Redress is found?
Or quarrel with th' Almighty's Will,
Who has the sov'reign Pow'r and Skill
To heal as well as wound?
As thou, Great Ruler, know'st what's fit,
Make me, like patient Watts, submit:
No longer at thy Dispensations pine,
But pleased say, Thy sov'reign Will is mine.