On the Death of his Friend's much-lov'd Child

Thou mournful Muse, bewail the lovely Boy, The Parents Hope, and near Relations Joy; In Notes that suit my Sorrow, guide my Quill, And tear the Cypress from the sacred Hill.

Aurelius, lovely Boy! how soon thou'rt fled, To silent Mansions of the peaceful Dead! So nipping Frosts the tender Buds decay, And make the finest Flow'rs to fade away: So Death's sharp Scythe all humane Things destroys, Mars our chief Hopes, and spoils our greatest Joys: The Youth but came, and saw, and pass'd away, Snatch'd in the Morning of the flow'ry Day.

Mourn all ye Loves beneath the sacred Shade, Aurelius in his Bloom of Youth is dead.

His lisping Tongue a future Wit declar'd, And ev'ry Accent was with Pleasure heard: His Actions gave a Presage to the Sense Of pious Love, with graceful Negligence: No Affectation in his Humour pass'd, He seem'd a Child with manly Virtues grac'd: Yet him, nor Grace, nor Wit, nor Beauty save, Too soon he leaves us for the darksome Grave.

Mourn, all ye Youths, the fair Aurelius lies In Death's cold Arms a mournful Sacrifice.

Mean were our Joys, too worthless, and too vile, That would his Truth and Innocence beguile: Tir'd with the Sight, his Spirit left the Earth, For those immortal Realms that gave him Birth; Whilst all his Friends lament his Absence here, And spend in ev'ry Thought of him a Tear; Their Mem'ries paint his Image still in View, And the dear Shade their Care and Griefs renew: The Halcyons so, in briny Grief, complain To the deaf Billows and relentless Main; With new-made Wings their feather'd Breasts they beat, And OEnus' Death in mournful Notes repeat. Clymene so; and so her Daughters, mourn The generous Youth from Phoebus' Chariot born. So Philomel bewail'd sad Itis' Fate, And mournful Accents still her Woes relate.

So mourn the Youth, adorn'd with Wit and Grace, Who breathless lies in chilly Death's Embrace.

But Mourning's vain: No Tears will Death controul, Or stop one Moment the departing Soul: What Mortal dares with Providence contend; He rul'd the Birth, and will command the End? Can we a Life, to Death-struck Plants, supply, Or save the meanest Flow'r that's doom'd to dye? Our Skill's too weak to ward off potent Death, No Physick's Aid can call the flying Breath: Our lengthen'd Years are measur'd by a Span, And fleeting Shuttles shew the State of Man: We're poor and helpless at our infant Breath, And Old-Age-Childhood terminates in Death: Whilst Death at once can set the Spirit free, To find a State that shall forever be.

No longer mourn, Aurelius happy reigns, Himself a Cherub in th' etherial Plains.

No more, my Friends, let Sorrow thus arise, Nor pierce with your Complaints the distant Skies: Let holy David mitigate your Grief, David, will sure, at once afford Relief; Whilst his dear Child in deadly Sickness lay, That Heav'n might spare the Boy he'd sigh and pray; But when the Will of Heav'n at once he found, And his Soul fled thro' Death's capacious Wound, He dry'd his Eyes, bedew'd with briny Tears, Left off his Sorrows, and dispell'd his Fears; Then quiet rests: I shall to him, said he, Return in Peace; he cannot come to me.

No longer mourn, ye Friends no longer mourn, All heav'nly Forms must sure to Heav'n return.