Iter boreale With large additions of several other poems: being an exact collection of all hitherto extant. Never before published together. The author R. Wild |
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IN MEMORY Of Mris E. T.
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IN MEMORY Of Mris E. T.
Who dyed April 7. 1659.
It was the Spring, and Flowers were in contest,Whose smels should first reach Heav'n, and please it best;
Then did Eliza's sweetness so surpass
All Rival Virgins, that she sent for was.
'Twas April when she dy'd; no Month so fit
For Heav'n to be a mourner in, as it.
'Twas Easter too; that time did Death devise
Best for this Lamb to be a Sacrifice.
It was the Spring; The way 'twixt Heav'n & Earth
Was sweetned for her passage, by the Birth
Of early Flowers, which burst their Mothers womb,
Resolv'd to live and die upon her Tomb.
It was the Spring; Between the Earth and Sky,
To please her Soul as it was passing by,
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Was on the Wing, to chaunt her to her Rest:
Not a Pen-feathered Lark, who ne'r try'd Wing,
Nor Throat; but ventur'd then to fly, and sing:
Following the Saint towards Heav'n, whose entrance there
Dampt them, and chang'd their Notes. Then pensive Air
Dissolv'd to tears, which spoil'd the feather'd Train
And sunk them to their nests with grief again.
Mean time, me thought, I saw at Heav'ns fair Gate
The glorious Vigins meet, and kiss their Mate.
They stood a while her Beauty to admire
Then led her to her place in their own Quire:
Which seem'd to be defective, untill she
Added her Sweetness to their Harmony.
As Meddals scatter'd when some Prince goes by,
So lay the Stars that night about the Sky.
The Milky Way too, (since she past it o're)
Methinks looks whiter than it was before.
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