Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
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A36620
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Eleonora a panegyrical poem dedicated to the memory of the late Countess of Abingdon / written by Mr. Dryden.
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Dryden, John, 1631-1700.
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1692
(1692)
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Wing D2270; ESTC R1595
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9,547
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33
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Kings in Progress are Still in their own though from the Pallace far Thus her Friend's Heart her Country Dwelling was A sweet Retirement to a courser place Where Pomp and Ceremonies enter'd not Where Greatness was shut out and Buis'ness well forgot This is th' imperfect draught but short as far As the true height and bigness of a Star Exceeds the Measures of th' Astronomer She shines above we know but in what place How near the Throne and Heav'ns Imperial Face By our weak Opticks is but vainly ghest Distance and Altitude conceal the rest Tho all these rare Endowments of the Mind Were in a narrow space of life confin'd The Figure was with full Perfection crown'd Though not so large an Orb as truly round As when in glory through the publick place The Spoils of conquer'd Nations were to pass And but one Day for Tiumph was allow'd The Consul was constrain'd his Pomp to crowd And so the swift Procession hurry'd on That all though not distinctly might be shown So in the straiten'd bounds of life confin'd She gave but glimpses of her glorious Mind And multitudes of Vertues pass'd along Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng Ambitious to be seen and then make room For greater Multitudes that were to come Yet unemploy'd no Minute slipt away Moments were precious in so short a stay The haste of Heav'n to have her was so great That some were single Acts though each compleat But ev'ry Act stood ready to repeat Her fellow Saints with busie care will look For her blest Name in Fate 's eternal Book And pleas'd to be outdone with joy will see Numberless Vertues endless Charity But more will wonder at so short an Age To find a Blank beyond the thirti'th Page And with a pious fear begin to doubt The Piece imperfect and the rest torn out But 't was her Saviour's time and cou'd there be A Copy near th' Original 't was she As precious Gums are not for lasting fire They but perfume the Temple and expire So was she soon exhal'd and vanish'd hence A short sweet Odour of a vast expence She vanish'd we can scarcely say she dy'd For but a Now did Heav'n and Earth divide She pass'd serenely with a single breath This Moment perfect health the next was death One sigh did her eternal Bliss assure So little Penance needs when Souls are almost pure As gentle Dreams our waking Thoughts pursue Or one Dream pass'd we slide into a new So close they follow such wild Order keep We think our selves awake and are asleep So softly death succeeded life in her She did but dream of Heav'n and she was there No Pains she suffer'd nor expir'd with Noise Her Soul was whisper'd out with God's still Voice As an old Friend is beckon'd to a Feast And treated like a long familiar Guest He took her as he found but found her so As one in hourly readiness to go Ev'n on that day in all her Trim prepar'd As early notice she from Heav'n had heard And some descending Courtier from above Had giv'n her timely warning to remove Or counsell'd her to dress the nuptial Room For on that Night the Bridegroom was to come He kept his hour and found her where she lay Cloath'd all in white the Liv'ry of the Day Scarce had she sinn'd in thought or word or act Unless Omissions were to pass for fact That hardly Death a Consequence cou'd draw To make her liable to Nature's Law And that she dy'd we only have to show The mortal part of her she left below The rest so smooth so suddenly she went Look'd like Translation through the Firmament Or like the fiery Carr on the third Errand sent O happy Soul if thou canst view from high Where thou art all Intelligence all Eye If looking up to God or down to us Thou find'st that any way be pervious Survey the ruines of thy House and see Thy widow'd and thy Orphan Family Look on thy tender Pledges left behind And if thou canst a vacant Minute find From Heav'nly Joys that Interval afford To thy sad Children and thy mourning Lord. See how they grieve mistaken in their love And shed a beam of Comfort from above Give 'em as much as mortal Eyes can bear A transient view of thy full glories there That they with mod'rate sorrow may sustain And mollifie their Losses in thy Gain Or else divide the grief for such thou wert That shou'd not all Relations bear a part It were enough to break a single heart Let this suffice Nor thou great Saint refuse This humble Tribute of no vulgar Muse Who not by Cares or Wants or Age deprest Stems a wild Deluge with a dauntless brest And dares to sing thy Praises in a Clime Where Vice triumphs and Vertue is a Crime Where ev'n to draw the Picture of thy Mind Is Satyr on the most of Humane Kind Take it while yet 't is Praise before my rage Unsafely just break loose on this bad Age So bad that thou thy self had'st no defence From Vice but barely by departing hence Be what and where thou art To wish thy place Were in the best Presumption more than grace Thy Reliques such thy Works of Mercy are Have in this Poem been my holy care As Earth thy Body keeps thy Soul the Sky So shall this Verse preserve thy Memory For thou shalt make it live because it sings of thee FINIS The ducti 〈…〉 〈…〉 Of her prudent Management Of her 〈…〉 ility Of her Piety Of her various Vertues Of her Câ—â—jugal Viâ—tues Of her 〈◊〉 to her Câ—â—â—dren 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 Her prepa-redness to dye She dy'd on Whitsunday night Apostrophe to her Soul Epiphonema or close of the Poem
Subscrâ—ving mine to this Poem I may live by the Goddess and transmit my Name to Posterity by the memory of Hers. 'T is no flatâ—ery to assure Your Lordship that she is remember'd in the preâ—ent Age by all who have had the Honour of her Conversation and Acquaintance And that I have never been in any Company since the news of her death was first brought me where they have not extoll'd her Virtues and even spoken the same things of her in Prose which I have done in Verse I therefore think my self oblig'd to thank Your Lordship for the Commission which You have given me How I have acquitted my self of it must be left to the Opinion of the World in spight of any Protestation which I can enter against the present Age as Incompetent or Corrupt Judges For my Comfort they are but Englishmen and as such if they Think Ill of me to Day they are inconstant enough to Think Well of me to Morrow And after all I have not much to thank my Fortune that I was born amongst them The Good of both Sexes are so few in England that they stand like Exceptions against General Rules And though one of them has deserv'd a greater Commendation than I cou'd give her they have taken care that I shou'd not tire my Pen with frequent exercise on the like Subjects that Praises like Taxes shou'd be appropriated and left almost as Individual as the Person They say my Talent is Satyre if it be so 't is a Fruitful Age and there is an extraordinary Crop to gather But a single hand is insufficient for such a Harvest They have sown the Dragons Teeth themselves and 't is but just they shou'd reap each other in Lampoons You my Lord who have the Character of Honour though 't is not my Happiness to know You may stand aside with the small Remainders of the English Nobility truly such and unhurt your selves your Selves mad Combat If I have pleas'd You and some few others I have obtain'd my end You see I have disabled my self like an Elected Speaker of the House yet like him I have undertaken the Charge and find the Burden sufficiently recompenc'd by the Honour Be pleas'd to accept of these my Vnworthy Labours this Paper Monument and let her Pious Memory which I am sure is Sacred to You not only plead the Pardon of my many Faults but gain me Your Protection which is ambitiously sought by MY LORD Your Lordship 's Most Obedient Servant John Dryden Eleonora A PANEGYRICAL POEM Dedicated to the MEMORY OF THE Late Countess of ABINGDON AS when some Great and Gracious Monarch dies Soft whispers first and mournful Murmurs rise Among the sad Attendants then the sound Soon gathers voice and spreads the news around Through Town and Country till the dreadful blast Is blown to distant Colonies at last Who then perhaps were off'ring Vows in vain For his long life and for his happy Reign So slowly by degrees unwilling Fame Did Matchless Eleonora's fate proclaim Till publick as the loss the news became The Nation felt it in th' extremest parts With eyes o'reflowing and with bleeding hearts But most the Poor whom daily she supply'd Beginning to be such but when she dy'd For while she liv'd they slept in peace by night Secure of bread as of returning light And with such firm dependance on the Day That need grew pamper'd and forgot to pray So sure the Dole so ready at their call They stood prepar'd to see the Manna fall Such Multitudes she fed she cloath'd she nurst That she her self might fear her wanting first Of her Five Talents other five she made Heav'n that had largely giv'n was largely pay'd And in few lives in wondrous few we find A Fortune better fitted to the Mind Nor did her Alms from Ostentation fall Or proud desire of Praise the Soul gave all Unbrib'd it gave or if a bribe appear No less than Heav'n to heap huge treasures there Want pass'd for Merit at her open door Heav'n saw he safely might increase his Poor And trust their Sustenance with her so well As not to be at charge of Miracle None cou'd be needy whom she saw or knew All in the Compass of her Sphear she drew He who cou'd touch her Garment was as sure As the first Christians of th' Apostles cure The distant heard by Fame her pious deeds And laid her up for their extremest needs A future Cordial for a fainting Mind For what was ne're refus'd all hop'd to find Each in his turn The Rich might freely come As to a Friend but to the Poor 't was Home As to some Holy House th' Afflicted came The Hunger-starv'd the Naked and the Lame Want and Diseases fled before her Name For zeal like hers her Servants were too slow She was the first where need requir'd to go Her self the Foundress and Attendant too Sure she had Guests sometimes to entertain Guests in disguise of her Great Master's Train Her Lord himself might come for ought we know Since in a Servant's form he liv'd below Beneath her Roof he might be pleas'd to stay Or some benighted Angel in his way Might case his Wings and seeing Heav'n appear In its best work of Mercy think it there Where all the deeds of Charity and Love Were in as constant Method as above All carry'd on all of a piece with theirs As free her Alms as diligent her cares As loud her Praises and as warm her Pray'rs Yet was she not profuse but fear'd to wast And wisely manag'd that the stock might last That all might be supply'd and she not grieve When Crouds appear'd she had not to relieve Which to prevent she still increas'd her store Laid up and spar'd that she might give the more So Pharaoh or some Greater King than he Provided for the sev'nth Necessity Taught from above his Magazines to frame That Famine was prevented e're it came Thus Heav'n though All-sufficient shows a thrift In his Oeconomy and bounds his gift Creating for our Day one single Light And his Reflection too supplies the Night Perhaps a thousand other Worlds that lye Remote from us and latent in the Sky Are lighten'd by his Beams and kindly nurst Of which our Earthly Dunghil is the worst Now as all Vertues keep the middle line Yet somewhat more to one extreme incline Such was her Soul abhorring Avarice Bounteous but almost bounteous to a Vice Had she giv'n more it had Profusion been And turn'd th' excess of Goodness into Sin These Vertues rais'd her Fabrick to the Sky For that which is next Heav'n is Charity But as high Turrets for their Ay'ry steep Require Foundations in proportion deep And lofty Cedars as far upward shoot As to the neather Heav'ns they drive the root So low did her secure Foundation lye She was not Humble but Humility Scarcely she knew that she was great or fair Or wise beyond what other Women are Or which is better knew