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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419890" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To The Pious Memory Of The Accomplished Young Lady Mrs. Anne Killigrew</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,<br> Made in the last promotion of the Blest;<br>Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise,<br>In spreading branches more sublimely rise,<br>Rich with immortal green above the rest:<br>Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star,<br>Thou roll'st above us, in thy wand'ring race,<br> Or, in procession fix'd and regular,<br> Mov'd with the Heavens' majestic pace:<br> Or, call'd to more superior bliss,<br>Thou tread'st, with seraphims, the vast abyss.<br>What ever happy region is thy place,<br>Cease thy celestial song a little space;<br>(Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,<br> Since Heav'n's eternal year is thine.)<br>Hear then a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse,<br>In no ignoble verse;<br>But such as thy own voice did practise here,<br>When thy first fruits of poesy were giv'n;<br>To make thyself a welcome inmate there:<br>While yet a young probationer,<br>And Candidate of Heav'n.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> If by traduction came thy mind,<br> Our wonder is the less to find<br>A soul so charming from a stock so good;<br>Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood:<br>So wert thou born into the tuneful strain,<br>(An early, rich, and inexhausted vein.)<br> But if thy preexisting soul<br> Was form'd, at first, with myriads more,<br>It did through all the mighty poets roll,<br> Who Greek or Latin laurels wore,<br>And was that Sappho last, which once it was before.<br> If so, then cease thy flight, O Heav'n-born mind!<br>Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore:<br> Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find,<br> Than was the beauteous frame she left behind:<br>Return, to fill or mend the choir, of thy celestial kind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">May we presume to say, that at thy birth,<br>New joy was sprung in Heav'n as well as here on earth.<br>For sure the milder planets did combine<br>On thy auspicious horoscope to shine,<br>And ev'n the most malicious were in trine.<br>Thy brother-angels at thy birth<br>Strung each his lyre, and tun'd it high,<br>That all the people of the sky<br>Might know a poetess was born on earth;<br>And then if ever, mortal ears<br>Had heard the music of the spheres!<br>And if no clust'ring swarm of bees<br> On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew,<br>'Twas that, such vulgar miracles,<br>Heav'n had not leisure to renew:<br> For all the blest fraternity of love<br>Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy Holyday above.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O Gracious God! How far have we<br>Profan'd thy Heav'nly gift of poesy?<br>Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,<br>Debas'd to each obscene and impious use,<br>Whose harmony was first ordain'd above<br>For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love?<br>O wretched we! why were we hurried down<br> This lubrique and adult'rate age,<br> (Nay added fat pollutions of our own)<br> T'increase the steaming ordures of the stage?<br> What can we say t'excuse our Second Fall?<br> Let this thy vestal, Heav'n, atone for all!<br> Her Arethusian stream remains unsoil'd,<br> Unmix'd with foreign filth, and undefil'd,<br>Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Art she had none, yet wanted none:<br> For Nature did that want supply,<br> So rich in treasures of her own,<br> She might our boasted stores defy:<br>Such noble vigour did her verse adorn,<br>That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born.<br>Her morals too were in her bosom bred<br> By great examples daily fed,<br>What in the best of Books, her Father's Life, she read.<br> And to be read her self she need not fear,<br> Each test, and ev'ry light, her Muse will bear,<br> Though Epictetus with his lamp were there.<br> Ev'n love (for love sometimes her Muse express'd)<br>Was but a lambent-flame which play'd about her breast:<br> Light as the vapours of a morning dream,<br>So cold herself, whilst she such warmth express'd,<br> 'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Born to the spacious empire of the Nine,<br>One would have thought, she should have been content<br>To manage well that mighty government;<br>But what can young ambitious souls confine?<br> To the next realm she stretch'd her sway,<br> For painture near adjoining lay,<br>A plenteous province, and alluring prey.<br>A chamber of dependences was fram'd,<br>(As conquerors will never want pretence,<br> When arm'd, to justify th'offence)<br>And the whole fief, in right of poetry she claim'd.<br> The country open lay without defence:<br>For poets frequent inroads there had made,<br> And perfectly could represent<br>The shape, the face, with ev'ry lineament:<br>And all the large domains which the Dumb-sister sway'd,<br>All bow'd beneath her government,<br>Receiv'd in triumph wheresoe'er she went,<br>Her pencil drew, what e'er her soul design'd,<br>And oft the happy draught surpass'd the image in her mind.<br>The sylvan scenes of herds and flocks,<br>And fruitful plains and barren rocks,<br>Of shallow brooks that flow'd so clear,<br>The bottom did the top appear;<br>Of deeper too and ampler floods,<br>Which as in mirrors, show'd the woods;<br>Of lofty trees, with sacred shades,<br>And perspectives of pleasant glades,<br>Where nymphs of brightest form appear,<br>And shaggy satyrs standing near,<br>Which them at once admire and fear.<br>The ruins too of some majestic piece,<br>Boasting the pow'r of ancient Rome or Greece,<br>Whose statues, friezes, columns broken lie,<br>And tho' defac'd, the wonder of the eye,<br>What Nature, art, bold fiction e'er durst frame,<br>Her forming hand gave feature to the name.<br>So strange a concourse ne'er was seen before,<br>But when the peopl'd Ark the whole creation bore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The scene then chang'd, with bold erected look<br>Our martial king the sight with reverence strook:<br>For not content t'express his outward part,<br>Her hand call'd out the image of his heart,<br>His warlike mind, his soul devoid of fear,<br>His high-designing thoughts, were figur'd there,<br>As when, by magic, ghosts are made appear.<br>Our phoenix queen was portray'd too so bright,<br>Beauty alone could beauty take so right:<br>Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace,<br>Were all observ'd, as well as heav'nly face.<br>With such a peerless majesty she stands,<br>As in that day she took the crown from sacred hands:<br>Before a train of heroines was seen,<br>In beauty foremost, as in rank, the queen!<br>Thus nothing to her genius was deny'd,<br>But like a ball of fire the further thrown,<br> Still with a greater blaze she shone,<br>And her bright soul broke out on ev'ry side.<br>What next she had design'd, Heaven only knows,<br>To such immod'rate growth her conquest rose,<br>That fate alone its progress could oppose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now all those charms, that blooming grace,<br>The well-proportion'd shape, and beauteous face,<br>Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes;<br>In earth the much lamented virgin lies!<br>Not wit, not piety could fate prevent;<br>Nor was the cruel destiny content<br>To finish all the murder at a blow,<br>To sweep at once her life, and beauty too;<br>But, like a harden'd felon, took a pride<br> To work more mischievously slow,<br> And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd.<br>O double sacrilege on things divine,<br>To rob the relique, and deface the shrine!<br> But thus Orinda died:<br>Heav'n, by the same disease, did both translate,<br>As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Meantime her warlike brother on the seas<br>His waving streamers to the winds displays,<br>And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays.<br>Ah, generous youth, that wish forbear,<br>The winds too soon will waft thee here!<br>Slack all thy sails, and fear to come,<br>Alas, thou know'st not, thou art wreck'd at home!<br>No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face,<br>Thou hast already had her last embrace.<br>But look aloft, and if thou ken'st from far,<br>Among the Pleiad's, a new-kindl'd star,<br>If any sparkles, than the rest, more bright,<br>'Tis she that shines in that propitious light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When in mid-air, the golden trump shall sound,<br>To raise the nations under ground;<br>When in the valley of Jehosophat,<br>The Judging God shall close the book of fate;<br>And there the last Assizes keep,<br>For those who wake, and those who sleep;<br>When rattling bones together fly,<br>From the four corners of the sky,<br>When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread,<br>Those cloth'd with flesh, and life inspires the dead;<br>The sacred poets first shall hear the sound,<br>And foremost from the tomb shall bound:<br>For they are cover'd with the lightest ground,<br>And straight, with in-born vigour, on the wing,<br>Like mounting larks, to the new morning sing.<br>There thou, sweet saint, before the choir shall go,<br>As harbinger of Heav'n, the way to show,<br>The way which thou so well hast learn'd below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Dryden">John Dryden</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419890" data-title="To The Pious Memory Of The Accomplished Young Lady Mrs. Anne Killigrew de John Dryden" data-description="Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,
 Made in the last promotion of the Blest;
Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise,
In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
Rich with immortal green above the rest:
Whether, adopted to some neighbouring..."></div>
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