Poems By the most deservedly Admired Mrs Katherine Philips: The matchless Orinda. To which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace Tragedies. With several other Translations out of French |
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To the memory of the Excellent Orinda.
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To the memory of the Excellent Orinda.
1.
Forgive bright Saint a Vot'ry, whoNo missive Orders has to show,
Nor does a call to inspiration owe:
Yet rudely dares intrude among
This sacred, and inspir'd throng;
Where looking round me, ev'ry one I see,
Is a sworn Priest of Phœbus, or of thee.
Forgive this forward zeal for things divine,
If I strange fire do offer at thy Shrine:
Since the pure Incense, and the Gum
We send up to the Pow'rs above,
(If with devotion giv'n, and love)
Smells sweet, and does alike accepted prove,
As if from golden Censors it did come;
Though we the pious tribute pay
In some rude vessel made of common clay.
2.
What by Pindaricks can be done,Since the great Pindar's greater Son
(By ev'ry Grace adorn'd, and ev'ry Muse inspir'd)
From th' ungrateful World, to kinder Heaven's retir'd:
He, and Orinda from us gone,
What Name like theirs shall we now call upon?
Whether her Vertue, or her Wit
We chuse for our eternal Theme,
What hand can draw the perfect Scheme?
None but her self could such high subjects fit:
We yield, with shame we yield
To Death and Her the field:
For were not Nature partial to us Men,
The World's great Order had inverted been;
Had she such Souls plac'd in all Woman-kind,
Giv'n 'um like wit, not with like goodness join'd,
Our vassal Sex to hers had homage pay'd;
Woman had rul'd the World, and weaker Man obey'd.
3.
To thee O Fame, we now commitHer, and these last remains of gen'rous wit:
I charge thee, deeply to enroll
This glorious Name in thy immortal Scroll;
Write ev'ry letter in large Text,
And then to make the lustre hold,
Let it be done with purest Gold,
To dazle this Age, and outshine the next:
Since not a Name more bright than Hers,
In this, or thy large Book appears.
And thou impartial, powerful Grave,
These Reliques (like her deathless Poems save)
Ev'n from devouring Time secure,
May they still rest from other mixture pure:
Unless some dying Monarch shall to trye
Whether Orinda, though her self could dye,
Can still give others immortality;
Think, if but laid in her miraculous Tomb,
As from the Prophets touch, new life from hers may come.
James Tyrell.
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