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And met his wishes with as prompt a zeal
As an archangel his Creator's will.

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Cos. Mature for heav'n, the fatal mandate came, With it a chariot of etherial flame,

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In which Elijah-like, she pass'd the spheres,
Brought joy to heav'n, but left the world in tears.
STREPH. Methinks I see her on the plains of light
All glorious, all incomparably bright!..
While the immortal minds around her gaze
On the excessive splendour of her rays,
And scarce believe a human soul could be
Endow'd with such stupendous majesty.

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Cos. Who can lament too much? O! who can

mourn

Enough o'er beautiful Celestia's urn?

So great a loss as this deserves excess
Of sorrow; all's too little that is less.
But to supply the universal woe,

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Tears from all eyes, without cessation, flow ;
All that have pow'r to weep, or voice to groan,
With throbbing breasts Celestia's fate bemoan;
While marble rocks the common griefs partake, 164
And echo back those cries they cannot make.

STREPH. Weep then, (once fruitful) Vales! and spring with yew,

Ye thirsty barren Mountains! weep with dew;
Let ev'ry flow'r on this extended plain

Not droop, but shrink into its womb again,
Ne'er to receive anew its yearly birth;
Let ev'ry thing that's grateful leave the earth;

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Let mournful cypress, with each noxious weed,
And baneful venoms in their place succeed.
Yepurling quer❜lous brooks! o'ercharg'd with grief,
Haste swiftly to the sea for more relief;
Then tiding back, each to his sacred head,
Tell your astonish'd springs Celestia's dead!
Cos. Well have you sung, in an exalted strain,
The fairest nymph e'er grac'd the British plain.
Who knows but some officious angel may
Your grateful numbers to her ears convey,
That she may smile upon us from above,
And bless our mournful plains with peace and love?
STREPH. But see! our flocks do to their folds repair,
For night, with sable clouds, obscures the air; 185
Cold damps descend from the unwholesome sky,
And safety bids us to our cottage fly.

Tho' with each morn our sorrows will return,
Eachev'n, like nightingales, we'll sing and mourn,
Till death conveys us to the peaceful urn.

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THE EARL OF A

WITH THE COUNTESS OF S

TRIUMPHANT beauty never looks so gay
As on the morning of a nuptial day;
Love then within a larger circle moves,
New graces adds, and ev'ry charm improves.
While Hymen does his sacred rites prepare,
The busy nymphs attend the trembling fair,
Whose veins are swell'd with an unusual heat,
And eager pulses with strange motions beat;
Alternate passions various thoughts impart,
And painful joys distend her throbbing heart;
Her fears are great, and her desires are strong;
'The minutes fly too fast-yet stay too long:
Now she is ready-the next moment not;
All things are done-then something is forgot:
She fears yet wishes the strange work were done;
Delays yet is impatient to be gone.

Disorders thus from ev'ry thought arise;

What Love persuades I know not what denies.
Achates' choice does his firm judgment prove,

And shews at once he can be wise, and love,
Because it from no spurious passion came,
But was the product of a noble flame;

Bold without rudeness, without blazing, bright,
Pure as fix'd stars, and uncorrupt as light,

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By just degrees it to perfection grew,
An early ripeness, and a lasting too..

So the bright sun ascending to his noon

Moves not too slowly, nor is there too soon.
But tho' Achates was unkindly driv'n

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From his own land, he's banish'd into heav'n; 30
For sure the raptures of Cosmelia's love
Are next, if only next, to those above.
Thus pow'r divine does with his foes engage,
Rewards his virtues, and defeats their rage;
For first it did to fair Cosmelia give
All that a human creature could receive;
Whate'er can raise our wonder or delight,
Transport the soul, or gratify the sight,
Then, in the full perfection of her charms,
Lodg'd the bright virgin in Achates' arms.
What angels are is in Cosmelia seen,
Their awful glories, and their godlike mien ;
For in her aspect all the graces meet,
All that is noble, beautiful, or sweet;
There ev'ry charm in lofty triumph sits,
Scorns poor defect, and to no fault submits;
There symmetry, complexion, air, unite,
Sublimely noble, and amazing bright. ·
So, newly finish'd, by the hand divine,
Before her fall, did the first woman shine :
But Eve in one great point she does excel;
Cosmelia never err'd at all; she fell:
From her temptation, in despair, withdrew,

Nor more assaults whom it could ne'er subdue.

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Virtue confirm'd, and regularly brought
To full maturity by serious thought,
Her actions with a watchful eye surveys,
Each passion guides, and every moment sways:
Not the least failure in her conduct lies,
So gaily modest, and so freely wise.

Her judgment sure, impartial, and refin'd,
With wit that's clear and penetrating join'd,
O'er all the efforts of her mind presides,
And to the noblest end her labours guides:
She knows the best, and does the best pursue,
And treads the maze of life without a clue;
That the weak only and the wav'ring lack,
When they're mistaken, to conduct 'em back:
She does, amidst ten thousand ways, prefer
The right, as if not capable to err.

Her fancy, strong, vivacious and sublime,
Seldom betrays her converse to a crime,
And tho' it moves with a luxuriant heat,
'Tis ne'er precipitous, but always great;
For each expression, ev'ry teeming thought,
Is to the scanning of her judgment brought,
Which wisely separates the finest gold,
And casts the image in a beauteous mould.
No trifling words debase her eloquence,
But all's pathetic, all is sterling sense,
Refin'd from drossy chat and idle noise,
With which the female conversation cloys :
So well she knows, what's understood by few,
To time her thoughts, and to express 'em too,

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