On the Death of a Young Gentleman

Say, for my theme, what numbers shall I chuse? Shall I to Pindar's flights aspire, And imitate his heavenly fire? Of smoother verses write, And some soft elegy indite? To Pindar's flights aspire, my muse; Unfetter'd there, unbounded may'st thou rove; There best express thy grief and love; There no scant limits know, But in free torrents flow, Free as thy tears, and boundless as thy woe.

Must then the Grave insatiate reign? Must Fate this too tyrannic sway maintain? And must the learn'd, the good, the young, Be the sad subject of a funeral song? Now Death, we find, can never spare, Since he hath snatch'd this youth away, Since he can thus our bliss annoy, And so much harmony destroy; For sure all harmony dwelt there. In that fair piece of animated clay Nature had exquisitely form'd each part, Resolv'd at last to conquer Art. She labour'd every member to refine, And made each feature seem divine: Yet did her want of strength betray, It was too fine to last, and hasten'd to decay.

Nor was his soul ill-suited with his face, Each virtue flourish'd there, and every grace; Yet more than all humility took place. His virtue, and his pleasing air Rais'd joy and wonder in the fair: These charms he learn'd with music to improve, Music the food of love. When Orpheus to the forests took his way, Touch'd his mute lyre, and wak'd the sleeping lay, The savages came crouding round, And listening oaks admir'd the tuneful sound: This youth a harder task perform'd, Whene'er he play'd each icy breast he warm'd, While o'er the strings his flying fingers rove, Each heart kept time, and every pulse beat love.

Tho' blest with all these charms, he breathless lies— Here draw a veil, my Muse—then see him rise An infant star just lighted in the skies. There David and Cecilia meet The new-born Saint, with joy they greet His coming, and his strains improve, Teach his already well-taught lyre A note yet higher, To sing the mighty source of power and love. There does he praises sing To heaven's eternal King, There tunes to melody his harp so well, That angels only can his notes excell.