 | 1. |
 | 2. |
|
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
|
|
 | Cotton Mather's verse in English |  |
—But shall he unobserved steal away?
Or Israel not afford an hand to lay
An Evil-boding Death to heart? no Son
Of All the Prophets when Elijah's gone
Look after him?
Forbid this, Heaven! Showr
On a bereaved Clod of Earth a pow'r
To yield a spire of grass whereon may grow
The Name of COLLINS, help a verse to show
His Vertues, as that Flock acknowledged
Their Doe when to the Spicy Mountains fled.
Assist mee, thou who hast engag'd the Just
A Memory, to whom the precious dust
Of Saints Dissolv'd remains united!—
Or Israel not afford an hand to lay
An Evil-boding Death to heart? no Son
Of All the Prophets when Elijah's gone
Look after him?
64
On a bereaved Clod of Earth a pow'r
To yield a spire of grass whereon may grow
The Name of COLLINS, help a verse to show
His Vertues, as that Flock acknowledged
Their Doe when to the Spicy Mountains fled.
Assist mee, thou who hast engag'd the Just
A Memory, to whom the precious dust
Of Saints Dissolv'd remains united!—
I SIGH the Fate for which our broached eyes
Spend floods of brine; at which a dire surprise
Of a soul-chilling horrour doth invade
The Soul not stone before; at which are made
In serious minds as many wounds as were
To Caesar given. Reader, shake to hear:
Spend floods of brine; at which a dire surprise
Of a soul-chilling horrour doth invade
The Soul not stone before; at which are made
In serious minds as many wounds as were
To Caesar given. Reader, shake to hear:
The DEATH of COLLINS tis. He dead without
A Paper winding sheet to lay him out!
A Shame. O that Egyptian Odours, and
Embalmers too were not at my command!
I want them. But Hyperboles withdraw,
Be gone Licentious Poets. What I saw
On this occasion let some countrey Rymes
That call a Spade a Spade, tell after-Times.
DEPRIV'D of Charrets & of Horsmen too,
I on the wings of Contemplation flew;
Into the howling desart thus I went,
The cut-off garden where our David sent
His sheep to feed and fold, from which he drave
The Rav'nous Tigre-brood, in which he gave
His herds a Rest at noon. On Jordans Banks
I meant to sit with Thoughts on this and Thanks.
But there found I an Elect Lady, There
Grov'ling in Ashes, with dishev'led hair,
Smiting her breast, black'd with a mourning dress,
Resembling mother Sion in distress;
Or like a Rachel in a Bethl'em plight,
But with a Beauty glittering too, that might
The Features show that Judah's preaching King
Much did once in his machless Raptures sing;
I found her. There amaz'd, into a Tree
Almost transformed with passion: Sympathie
Produced this Enquiry, Who I wonder,
Seems Sorrow's Center, Sorrow's Essence yonder?
Lo, I no sooner had approached near,
Then from above this voice did thunder; Here
Pitty, the Church of Middletown bespeaks
Set in the midst of swoons and sobs and shrieks.
With Bowells full of it I hastned to
The Wet place, asking Why she grieved so;
And had this Answer.
A Paper winding sheet to lay him out!
A Shame. O that Egyptian Odours, and
Embalmers too were not at my command!
I want them. But Hyperboles withdraw,
Be gone Licentious Poets. What I saw
On this occasion let some countrey Rymes
That call a Spade a Spade, tell after-Times.
DEPRIV'D of Charrets & of Horsmen too,
I on the wings of Contemplation flew;
Into the howling desart thus I went,
The cut-off garden where our David sent
His sheep to feed and fold, from which he drave
The Rav'nous Tigre-brood, in which he gave
His herds a Rest at noon. On Jordans Banks
I meant to sit with Thoughts on this and Thanks.
But there found I an Elect Lady, There
Grov'ling in Ashes, with dishev'led hair,
Smiting her breast, black'd with a mourning dress,
Resembling mother Sion in distress;
Or like a Rachel in a Bethl'em plight,
But with a Beauty glittering too, that might
The Features show that Judah's preaching King
Much did once in his machless Raptures sing;
I found her. There amaz'd, into a Tree
Almost transformed with passion: Sympathie
65
Seems Sorrow's Center, Sorrow's Essence yonder?
Lo, I no sooner had approached near,
Then from above this voice did thunder; Here
Pitty, the Church of Middletown bespeaks
Set in the midst of swoons and sobs and shrieks.
With Bowells full of it I hastned to
The Wet place, asking Why she grieved so;
And had this Answer.
| Cotton Mather's verse in English | |