a lasting Monument of aiery Fame Swist with the Name round the Creation fly And bear it kindly to the starry Sky While Heaven and Stars shall last fair Florimena shall not dye XVI To others aiery Fame shall be Blest Saint a solid Monument to thee Rais'd of the strongest and the loftiest Verse Which shall thy real Praise rehearse Built by thy weeping Poet's hands Firm as Death's Throne it self the Pile for ever stands The Throne of Death shall from thy Tomb arise Her Empire 's fixt where Florimena lyes Fam'd shall it stand when Ages shall be past My Grief alone shall here inspire My clowdy Grief shall flash out Fire No Muse shall loosely sing of you Death now since thou art seiz'd may seize the Muses too This Mausoleum shall for ever last The Muses Harmony would now appear But jarring Discord should they raise it here Let them not dare to strike their Lyre Unless the sound make all who hear expire In decent Mourning be you only seen Mourn Florimena dead fair Florimena was the Muses Queen XVII I now all Aid you bring besides refuse You Muses here your selves would want a Muse. Sorrow alone inspires my mournful Lays I sing with sorrow now fair Florimena's Praise Wither ye Laurels on the Poets Brow An Air of mourning thro' my Lines shall pass Since they can only tell that Florimena was She was indeed all we could wish her now Well may our Tears to her a Tribute fall To Florimena she deserves them all To her who when alive blest ev'ry sight To her alone who crown'd the use of light Tho' now in Death's dark gloomy night she lyes Our Tears are Off'rings due alive we offer'd up our Eyes XVIII Our Sorrow now more than our Love we find Sorrow tho always weeping is not blind Tho Love it self wants Eyes too plain we see Help'd by its Flames what our Misfortunes be Too fierce is Passion 's raging Fire In vain alas in vain we strive By Sorrow's streams to make its sparks expire Tears quench not burning Love but keep it more alive Whate'r bright Hymen's Lamps have Pow'r to do The Torch of Death with glaring light does all Disasters shew XIX Behold Queen Sorrow in a Mist appears A dusky Robe of foggy Clouds she wears Drawn by wing'd Sighs see how she slowly glides A smoaking Torch she bears extinguish'd in her Hands Pity and Love attend her Chariot's sides Still in one Posture leaning low she lies Fair is her Face but blubber'd are her Cheeks and blear'd her Eyes Her dewy Crown is set with largest Tears Above her awful Mother Silence stands And ore her Head Does a black melancholy Cov'ring spread Pourtray'd with inwrought Images of Ears The Banners of her Foe she bears Inly the troubled Goddess Sorrow moans Like Sybil's Priestesses she swells And ere she sighs that she will sigh foretels Or like the Sea by late past Storms opprest Heaves slowly up her panting Breast And heavily she groans The Matron Silence hates the Noise she made For she reigns only when her Daughter Sorrow's dead XX. Come Goddess come thy Ayres infuse A charming Eloquence Affliction bears My Helicon shall be compos'd of Tears Throw off thy sad Expressive Matron Silence now Unlock thy Tongue unlock thy Brow Like melting Canens mourning for her Love Breath out in sighs fair Florimena's Name Your Being to her Death you owe Teach me in melancholy Ayres to move And fix her charming Praise in Fame Of Florimena's Merits shall I boast The Earth shall know tho dear the Knowledge cost Know only Paradise and find it lost None of the Nine thee Goddess here I chuse Come thou inspiring Sorrow thou my Muse. XXI Sad shall the weeping World her Vertues know When she was griev'd she made all others so Such Softness her Affliction wore Thy self great Goddess could not move us more Like Influence in her Tears as in her Eyes she bore Whene'r she wept the World in floods she found And with another Deluge all the Globe lay drown'd O could my Soul frame the least Dawn of Hope That Plaints and Wailings could afford Relief The Sluces of my Eyes should ope And I would rowl in an impetuous flood of Grief Yes let me plunge behold I go Her Praise shall bear me up in Fancy's Main Now now I rise now Thoughts like Seas Insult and dash me there a Billow plays And now my Sorrow sinks me down again XXII The mighty Artist when his Skill excell'd Drawing the Greek in all his height of Woe The Form the Limbs and Posture just did show But at the Face he found the Pencil fail'd A mourning Vail ore that he wisely drew So Florimena must thy Painter do For could I run your num'rous Vertues ore Tell if your Hero's Griefs or your lov'd Charms were more It were impossible to paint your Beauty too XXIII Beyond that Greek's this Hero's Grief appears He lost the best of Wives and Hope of glorious Heirs Lovely as Glory's self the Nymph he view'd Bright as his Arms Not Glory's self with greater Toils was woo'd His Tears he paid this Fair the other only had his Blood Ah! who successfully can paint So dread a Warriour and so sweet a Saint Terrour and Beauty in this Pair combin'd Well mortal Artists here may make a stand When Heav'n it self can scarce renew its hand Strong Mars and brighter Venus justly join'd In quest of this and this alone we rove If he had triumph'd more in War or she in Love XXIV When fam'd for wond'rous Conquests wond'rous Charms No Pride this conq'ring killing Beauty knew But mildly like her Lord she look'd on those she did subdue Grown by her Trophies great enough to yield To him victorious still in every Field Her self the dearest Prize surrender'd to his Arms. If any Pride this brightest Fair could move She felt it only in her Warriour's Love Proud of submitting to this Conq'rour more Than of all Captives she had made before Her Iudgment not her Scorn all else denies His Sword alone she found was pointed as her Eyes XXV Strange Pow'r of charming his Submission gains He conquers thus and triumphs through his Chains And yet alone he doubts of Conquest here This mildest Foe knew how to raise his Fear Against this Chief whole show'rs of Darts did move Many were lodg'd within his manly Breast But far far deeper deadlier than the rest He felt the thrilling Dart of strong victorious Love That did his Senses and his Thoughts controul Those pierc'd his Body only that his Soul But now no Balm can cure his wounded Heart For cruel trayt'rous Love with Death has chang'd his Dart. XXVI Great is the force of Paint yet it denies The skilful Touches of the Artist's Thought No Imag'ry from Colours can be brought To shew enough the Griefs of his or Beauties of her Eyes Orpheus 't is said by Notes could draw Forests and Rocks and Herds along In spight of Nature's settled Law To hear all ravish'd his
bend Low wond'rous low confus'd they fall And in thick Night descend Down round a spacious gloomy Grove beneath Close set with aged Cypress Trees Which each with shiv'ring Horror sees With flutt'ring Wings their Iourney past Disorderly they light at last Amaz'd they view the dismal Grove Unlike the Scenes they view'd above Ah! far unlike the Bowr's of Love With trembling Eyes they look within And down agast they totter all Depriv'd of Voice depriv'd of Breath They find these Mansions are the Courts of Death No Ray of their bright God can here Amidst this solid Gloom appear Their melancholy Thoughts to chear As interposing Bodies cloud his radiant Light So is their Lustre here eclips'd by Death's oreshadowing Night VI. Above their head they view the Forrest bare Ill-boding Birds instead of Leaves they see Sit croaking on their tops and cov'ring every Tree The horrid Groans of Ghosts invade The shatt'ring Branches and molest the shade Murmurs and Sighs make all the Breezes there The Musick which the Goddess Death delights alone to hear Thro' all the Vale no blooming Plant appears The deadly Soil nought but rank Poysons bears And ev'n those unripen'd lye Scatter'd beneath the Trees and dye Here hoary Winter reigns thro' all the Year Spread ore with Tombs and Graves the spacious Field Does a vast Crop of Death and dire Destruction yield So dread a Burthen does it bear Such weighty Monuments of Pomp are there The Vale resounds thro'out with Moans And streams of Blood opprest with Bones Instead of softer Murmurs make complaint in Groans VII Within the awful Grove a Temple stands Long built by Fate 's unalterable Hands Round is its shape four Iron Gates appear To let in all for all must enter here Not in one posture do they ever stand But as the dreadful Goddess please They open or they shut with ease Whene'r she lifts her sacred Wand Or only beckons with a bloody Hand Old Age and Pains are Porters to the Doors And Goddess Death they make the whole Creation yours The Gates with putrid Rust are overspread And all besmear'd with Blood of Lovers dead The more the rusty Iron crumbles down The Gates are still the stronger grown Their Wickets of themselves clap to and open fast And flakes of clotted Gore they throw Off with their aged Rust below Thus by their own decay they do for ever last VIII Death's Servants all in black appear The Liv'ry of their Queen they wear And mournful black the Walls of those Apartments bear Here pitchy Tapers cast their Shades And a thick Wreath of Smoak in Clouds ore all the Temple spreads The Goddess self behind her gloomy Shrine Does her grim Head upon her Arm recline Behold two Images before her stand The greatest mortal Beauty here Upon her left does pale appear The greatest mortal Warriour on the other hand Above her Head Diseases bear Her bloody Crown all flaming in the Air. Dark is her Shrine her Crown alone Glares with a glim'ring Dread and lights her sultry Throne IX No precious Stones within this Crown are worn But fixt at top a Scull it bore Oreflowing with black putrid Gore And dire discolour'd sulph'rous Flame does all its Parts adorn Diseases hov'ring ore her Throne Infected by each other tumble down Fast does the one upon the other drop And by their Fall the tott'ring Crown they prop. Faint to their Goddess each arrives Her pale wan Lips they flutter ore Her blasting Breath does all their Pains restore And thus ev'n Death it self revives X. Behold the Images are nearer plac't And now the Goddess sets them close at last See Florimena ore the Head May of the lovely female fair be read In Characters of black that Name is understood See ore the other's Head a Name Renown'd ore all the Coasts of Fame Behold 't is character'd in Blood 'T is glorious CUTTS her Noble Lord Who ev'n in gloomy shades of Death shall ever be ador'd XI Heavens How the awful Goddess stares Behold her fiery Eyes see how their Lightning glares See what a storm of sulphrous Breath she pours Reluctant Fires and rowling Smoak From her wide Iaws in flashes broke See see towards the Fair she moves Blasts all her happy Days her tender Hours Blasts with the noysome Breath which from her came The purest light of Passion 's sacred Flame And blasts her Hero's fondest Loves XII Behold her Scepter dread with Iron rust Whose pond'rous Load none else can bear No longer lies beneath her Throne Death's Scepter buried deep in Dust Aloft with pain she lifts and shakes in Air. Inrag'd she pounds on Carcasses and Bones Distorted Looks in Flashes fly Her very Scepter trembles and her Crown Sway'd by the Weight seems tott'ring down And now the frowning Goddess swells and groans As if her self ev'n Death her self would dye The lovely loving Images she parts Heaves up her Scepter now relents And strait the threaten'd stroak repents But soon again her Rage does glow She leaps and bounds and strikes the Blow The very Image of the Hero starts Loud on her own dread Name Death proudly calls Heavens Now the stroak is giv'n and Florimena falls XIII This must be all but visionary Dream Which thus my Thoughts thro' Indigestion frame This killing Object cannot be A Death which makes me almost dye to see This wild Chimaera but in fancy lyes 'T is then but fancy too that Florimena dyes Fancy Alas Too well I know Whate'r against my Soul may flow My willing Mind would never fancy so Not all the Rage of cruel War The mighty Hero's Soul could move Now mark his Thoughts behold they jar 'T is worse than Death not Life he loses but he loses Love XIV And now another Scene appears Death's Temple opens and within The dreadful bloody Altar's seen To which the lovely Corps her Priestess bears Off rings of Skulls and Bones she brings The sacred Load into the Flame she flings And the great Conquest of her Monarch sings The eager Flames the Prey destroy The ghastly Priestess grins a Smile Pleas'd with the Ruin of the charming Pile And the Fire crackles with excess of Ioy. The sacred Altar where the Priestess stood Still blushes for her Crime while she grows drunk with Blood XV. The Monster Death is blind we know She had not else us'd Florimena so See see the beauteous Charmer lyes And in the Flames expires A Sacrifice to Death she 's made While yet no living Off'ring to great Love she paid To Love who mourns his now extinguish'd Fires Hark thro' the Courts of Death a dismal sound In hollow voice does from all sides rebound Hark Florimena is the Name Swiftly the Noise in Ecchoes flyes The Ecchoes fainter the lov'd Noise proclaim And ev'n the very Name of Florimena dyes Rise Muses rise your flight prepare Quit the black Mansions of this Realm of Night Prepare make haste prepare your flight And cut the upper Air. Now Florimena does your Labours claim I 'll raise
to either of the Former nor to the Latter in Iudgment As to the present Poem if his Lordship shall please to accept and patronize that too I shall here likewise have my Ends accomplish'd for 't is design'd intire his Lordship's as was the late bright Subject who has giv'n the sad Occasion But if it miss the wish'd Success there are but six Days lost for I can produce unquestion'd Witness that within the Limits of that time I wrote it nor did I sit up labouriously at it like those who made the Mourning for her Ladyship's Relations tho I must own 't was finished without any great Intermission which gives me some Hopes that it máy all be of a piece I must take leave to say too so large a Field such copious Merits gave me that it flow'd from me easie free and unconstrain'd as from her Ladyship's Acquaintance did their Tears Thence 't is that the mourning Muse grown fond of her own Melody has sung so long an Ode However long as it is Mr. Congreve belov'd for his Candour as much as for his Wit admir'd was pleas'd not only to approve but greatly to commend it in having read it thrice The Stile is Pindarical or at least that which is vulgarly call'd so 't is of the same Libertine sort tho' not such as Mr. Cowley was so successful in but indeed it deserves not to be thought even an Imitation of Pindar for in all his Odes there was a constant Measure certainly observ'd and tho' the Number of every Verse was not answer'd by the immediately succeeding Line yet infallibly 't was answer'd with an harmonious Disposition in some other in the Stanza it was the artful Measure that his Genius kept which made him appear so much at liberty and his Muse tho' fetter'd with such Grace danc'd to the Musick of her own Chains she seem'd to have her freedom Thus soaring so irregularly high on that account indeed I may be said to have out flown even Pindar 'T is no easie Task for the Muse constantly to beat her aiery Wings in Fancy's middle Region and yet to seem to the Beholders still to rise Her Flight is to be perform'd like that of Daedalus she 's to be born up but by a constant Motion and not only to shun the Ocean the Abyss of Thought but even the Heats of a too scorching Sun tho' Phoebus is the God inspires her But mine yet artless and making but her second Iourney thro' the Air like Icarus perhaps might miss her way her Wings like his being only wax'd Unskilful as she is she flyes undaunted for she esteems it better to have dar'd to rise than not at all attempt it She chose therefore that Style whose rapid Current might bear her up the best besides this mournful Theam in my opinion requir'd such Numbers most Numbers resembling the late bright Subject which has caus'd them where awful Lustre shone at once and tender Beauty warm'd Pastoral may seem to some to have been most proper here that is indeed the common Mode of writing and had the Subject here been common I should have chosen it too but 't is a Path so worn already that no Genius less than that of the admirable Author of Pastora can without servilely following others Tracks with any pleasure tread and if he deviates from it he may err besides Pastoral only begs our Pity but Pindarick forces I shall now offer only this in respect of the present and the former Poem To abuse the Poet doubtless you may be apt to reflect upon his Muses now I confess in both I have been very familiar with them nor quitted them till the very end should I go about to excuse my self I could urge that Mr. Cowley says calling frequently on the Aid of the Muses is a Liberty Pindarick can hardly live without but if you are angry that I have made use of all of them at once I 'll only answer 'T is better to have them all than like you when you pretend to write to have none When the Muses Statues were to be made they were at first design'd but Three but the Artist making Nine intending that the three most beautiful should be chosen found all too charming for any one to be deny'd and sure the Muses should themselves be favour'd rather than their Statues But this Gentlemen I suppose won't take with you who I dare be bold to promise will never raise a Statue to a Muse. THE VICTORY OF DEATH I. COME all ye Muses mourning come The beauteous matchless Florimena dead The best the loveliest Muse is fled Hurl down your Lyres their Voice must be As silent and as dead as she Hurl them ah hurl them to the ground Let Cypress Boughs alone be worn Cypress must your Heads adorn Pull off your Wreaths of Lawrel now The Lawrel withers on the Muses Brow From your pale Temples be they rudely torn Throw down your Lyres on them her Crown Let ev'ry weeping Muse throw down Stifling the Musick of the Lyre Let them be strow'd ore Florimena's Tomb And as the dying Tunes expire Let no melodious Harmony be found But at their Fall let breaking Strings in Murmurs only sound II. Your gladsome Notes late tun'd to Ioys I must not here awake My Grief all Melody destroys And my own Discord must my Musick make Let ev'ry Muse as chast appear As the fair Saint for whom they now come here Not on Parnassus airy Heads In dancing measures shall ye move Or flow'ry Lawns or fragrant Meads In any spreading Bow'r or Grove Or where your wanton Fancy leads You shall not loosely now have leave to rove But silent hear of Death the fatal Death of Love III. No more your Musick I require Your Voice is useless useless is your Lyre I want no Ayres to fan a raging Fire My Soul a hov'ring Cloud appears Within it gloomy Seeds it bears The strugling Flashes of my Thought Through their own Gloom to Light are brought My Sighs are Winds my Show'rs are Tears My jars of Grief burst out in dismal Moans And thunder loudly in distorted Groans My op'ning Mind displays the awful Scene See see the beauteous Heav'n dead Florimena lies within IV. Behold ye Daughters sprung from Iove Which us'd in former Flights to move Swift as his Lightnings from above To the Elyzian Shades repair Their noiseless Pinions cut the Air In mourning Clouds see they come slowly down Those Wings which oft so swift have flown Dampt with their Tears are heavy grown Flagging they gently beat the Sky And rather seem to fall than fly Behold they bend to Albion's Shore The Clouds in Showrs shed all their store And Albion's chalky Cliffs are shadow'd ore As when the Sun through darken'd Skies is gone Fleeting ore Hills Shades are seen passing on So here ore us we see the Shadows run Since Florimena's clouded ore Fair Florimena Britain 's Sun V. Low as my Thought can place the Scene Their darksome Course the Muses
delightful Song The charming Poet softly plays They leap and dance and time his Lays No Rocks so hard but he could move And soften with his Ayres of Love This Sense had Herds but Florimena's Charms Had rais'd them with more fierce Alarms Far greater would their Transports be And only seeing Fair they would have follow'd thee XXVII As happy Martyrs Visions shew The Ioys of Heav'n which none till Death must view So I inlighten'd by thy Beauty's Flame See all the Extasies that Thought can frame Like the great immov'd Painter I conceive Such ravishing Idea's here My Pencil would my Soul deceive No fixt Proportion would the Painting bear But I at once should ramble ev'ry where O Sorrow here thy Curtain place Draw a black Veil ore this too beauteous Face To thee alas unhappily I run Alas the Veil is drawn and Death the willing Task has done XXVIII Like Lightning shining was her Beauty view'd From a fair Sky produc'd without a Cloud A while the glitt'ring Blessing strikes our Eyes From Heav'n its purest Flashes came A heav'nly yet destroying Flame Which only robs us of our Sight and dies The short liv'd Comfort shews our Fears And strait again it disappears Thro' darkest Gloom it brings us Light Its Life conducts us to our Death And guides us to black Shades beneath The momentary View it chears It only now makes all the Globe seem bright To pass like fleeting Thought away and leave more solid Night The World lies clad in Darkness when 't is gone Storms and fierce Show'rs descend and strait rolls the loud Thunder on XXIX Nor was it Beauty in this Nymph alone Which made her conqu'ring Warriour's Soul her own Tho wond'rous Magick in soft Glances lies Had it been true that Lovers and that Love were blind This bright victorious Fair had triumph'd in his Mind Not all his Love from Looks the Hero drew She had a Tongue as charming as her Eyes At once a Venus and Minerva too Let meaner Beauties only boast Their tuneful Voices Pow'r to move They find that when they charm the most Those Swains whose Fires before did glow A little ravish'd own a Love Their Breath can to that Height the Burnings blow But Florimena's Ayres much more could do They rais'd the Fire and kept it flaming too XXX This Nymph's each Cesture had some Grace that charm'd She could not look or speak or move But she commanded awful Love And the Beholders of all Sense disarm'd Her Glances still so bright they flew Or struck admiring Lovers blind Or all their Senses to their Eyes confin'd That they could only view Or if the sung Oh Heav'ns what Man can bear The very Thought of so divine an Ayre Methinks young Love with hov'ring Spirits flies Around her charming Lips and basks about her Eyes No God from the sweet Spheres such Transports drew So soft so melting soft her Voice and yet so piercing too XXXI Each Note excessive Transport brings And still she charms the more the more she sings Hark how pleas'd Eccho does the Tunes restore The Eccho soft returns the Ayres And seems to listen and has Fears Lest any other Eccho hears Her coy Narcissus here the Maid had mov'd Returning Florimena's Song The charming Youth she would have drawn along Not the reflection of a Face but Voice he would have lov'd Till Death shut in her Charms her Charms ah now no more In every part Musick the lovely Florimena wore In every part of her soft Frame and she was Harmony all ore XXXII The Sweets of Hybla from her Breath did flow And her fair lovely Cheeks did with fresh Beauty glow Devouring Death luxurious now I see Strange That no Art not its own Charms can save Beauty almost immortal from the Grave He blasts the blooming Fruit and he destroys the Tree Where'er the Glories of her Face were shown Beauty in hers could not be surer seen than Wonder in our own So lovely fair if such a thing there be As Beauty's self 't was Florimena and 't was only she XXXIII But now that Sun of Beauty and of Love Shines in an other Radiant Sphere above Tho'nought could clowd her clear Meridian Light When the short space was ended which she run And the bright Task of radiant Day was done She set all heavenly fair in Death's eternal Night Night and thick Darkness ore the Globe we find While smaller Beauties by her absence here Like Stars with fainter Light appear Which can't orecome those Clouds which she has left behind Such were the Beauties Florimena wore The Stars themselves were not in Number more Scarce the Nymph's other Merits can I trace Transported so With the aërial Images I grow Of all the blushing Glories in her beauteous Face My Pencil fond does of that Stroak appear And who ah who would stir that could dwell ever here XXXV Too lovely Face to be exprest in Paint Thou the most charming Shrine of the most charming Saint Seraphick Beauty reign'd thro' out the whole In all such wondrous Sweetness was display'd Divine in Body more divine in Soul The one on purpose for the other made Now may we mourn since Florimena's dead The second but more fair Astraea fled The first by Strise and impious Wars was driven But this when all her Pray'rs were heard And Peace to flourish ore the Globe prepar'd Flew pleas'd and calmly up to her own native Heaven XXXVI She fled indeed a blest Astraea there But left alas no Florimena here All that we good divine and lovely call Name but that Word it comprehends them all Her Darts could every Gazer hit One shooting Glance alone could move With lambent Fires of inoffensive Love She had the Flames of Beauty and the Warmth of Wit Swift as her Looks could her bright Notions rise Her Fancy and her Thought were clear and charming as her Eyes XXXVII Her Frame all Sweets which Love desires could boast In her possession the blest Hero knew The force of Beauty and of Passion too She was most lovely and she lov'd the most The transport of her mortal Charms If such the smallest Charm of hers could be Had been too vast a Prize for any other's Arms But on her Lord Ambrosial Show'rs did fall She prov'd by all her Actions Love could see He had and he deserv'd them all He only lovely to her Eyes did seem Fondly and dear she lov'd as fondly was belov'd by him XXXVIII Soft were the Flames their glowing Bosoms bore Such bright such pleasing Likeness in them lay Such equal Influence too they wore As those fair Beams which in her Eyes did play Him did this Nymph to all Mankind prefer Her Hero's Passion did she prize As dear as her own charming Eyes Those Myrtles which her Love made grow He valu'd high as his own Lawrel-Bough And of all Womankind he burnt alone for her Her in whose soft Embrace such Bliss was given He prest a Goddess and he thought himself in Heaven XXXIX As her bright Form