University of Virginia Library

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ELEGIE Upon the Death of Leiutenent Colonel WILLIAM CLELAND.

Who died at Dunkel, 21 of August, 1689.

What? Cleland dead! would he had never been,
Or buri'd in some Cloister, past unseen;
Then we'd liv'd ignorants, ne're come to know
To what a pitch in vertue man might grow
It had been an easie Faith, that death had been
Our due, and but the just reward of sin:
But now my doubting Fancy doth surmize;
Death might have made attempt on Paradice,
In spite of Innocence, and can't forbear,
Even with Religion, thus to interfeir.
I'm grown (great Cleland) cross to thy design,
I'm grown half Atheist, through this fall of thine
Inclin'd almost with passion to dispence,
To curse hard Fate, and quarel Providence.
Was't but t'amaze the World, kind Heaven, he came
And past like lightning, vanisht like a flame?
Was it for only this, thou sent him here,
To make all other wonders disappear?

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Or was't to make poor sillie mortals know,
What worth thou couldst on mortal flesh bestow?
Or but to make th' ungrateful earth repine,
That Heaven envy'd it any thing Divine?

What ever brought him here, or took him hence
It was no mean, or common influence,
Of Heavens best mettal, that inform'd his soul,
And made all vertue, but a blubr'd scrol
Of his great mind: So that a doubt it is
If he were Vertues soul, or she were his.
I cannot solve the doubt; but this I find,
He being gone, she could not stay behind.
For if she was his soul, he being gone,
She hath no Organ, now to work upon.
If he were hers, he being soar'd above,
She's but a carcase dead, and cannot move.
He's gone, no mortal pensil e're shall limn
A lively draught, or of his worth, or him.
Wit finds it self for that great Task unfit:
For Cleland was an Universe of Wit.
Dumb Rhetorick hath lost her Tongue & sense,
Is quite benumb'd, for he was Eloquence,
And Sense in the pure abstract. Reason she
By weeping her sad loss, hath lost her Eye:
Retaining only store of tears, to keep
A Consort with the mourning World, & weep.
The Muses sory wights, have quit their mountain.
And drown'd their harps in their forsaken fountain.
They were his Converts, he had made them follow
His Heav'nly lays, & quit the devil Apollo.

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Had given them Zion for Parnassus Hill,
Taught them in Davids streams to dip their quills
Learning hath lost her Son and hopful Heir,
And damps the Christal skys, with sighs & care
Her hopes with him, are now for ever gone,
To trace the Laberinths, of her secret stone.
Even Mars himself, through loss of him is said
T'have broke his sword, & curst his fighting trade

But those are losses of a second rate,
Poor Triffles scarcely worth a grave regrait:
There comes a Ladie, in a mourning guise;
Whose bloody gaping wounds, & weeping eyes
Crave all our tears, and all our sighs as due,
To her, and wills us even forget him too:
Religion! Heaven befriend thee, thou hast lost:
Scarce thy remaining stock, will clear thy cost
Long hast thou been a stranger, to these Lands
Banish'd and torn by sacriligious hands;
And but in hope once more to raise thine head:
When by a fatal blow, thy patron's dead.
He was thy son, but such a hopefull Child,
As gave the Mother, (fatally beguil'd)
Just hopes of conquest, O're the powers of Hell,
And all that durst, against her Laws rebell.
Thy first Grand Enemie, the Dragons Beast;
Was by his matchless Courage, cou'd, and chas'd
The Whore, its rider, found it plain, that she,
Had ne're Encounterd such an Enemie:
And that beneath the Sun, was not one Name,
Was justly more Romes terrour, and her shame.
Could foil with Reason, and the force of words,
Her Reason; and her Treason, with sharp Swords,

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This Justifies the Figure, where I said,
That he was verrues Soul, and she now dead.
Mark but how that black vermins poisonous gall.
Alongst this Worlds, consuming Corps doth crawl;
Me thinks I see, how Romes massmumbling Moles:
Like frighted Rats, peep from their Dens & hols;
Fearfull, least Fame perhaps may have belyed,
Their credulous hops, in telling Cleland's dead:
Or least he may, altho he now be gone,
Anticipat the Resurrection:
And make them once more doubt, which doth affoord
Most fright, his Reasons conquest, or his Sword.