Stand here display'd, and to the stranger show
How it outshines the noblest seats below.

The stranger fed his gazing powers awhile,
Transported; then, with a regardless smile,
Glanc'd his eye downward through the crystal floor,
And took eternal leave of what he built before."

Now, fair Urania, leave the doleful strain; Raphael commands: assume thy joys again: In everlasting numbers sing, and say,

"Gunston has mov'd his dwelling to the realms of day; Gunston the friend lives still: and give thy groans away."

AN ELEGY

TO THE MEMORY OF

THE REV. THOMAS GOUGE,

Who died January 8, 1700.

YE virgin souls, whose sweet complaint t
Could teach Euphrates not to flow,
Could Sion's ruin so divinely paint,

Array'd in beauty and in woe;

Awake, ye virgin souls, to mourn,

And with your tuneful sorrows dress a prophet's urn.
O could my lips or flowing eyes

But imitate such charming grief,

* A divine of great reputation in his time. He held the living of St. Sepulchre's, London, during many years, but resigued it on the passing of the Act of Uniformity.

+ Psalm cxxxvii.

Lament. i. 2, 3.

I'd teach the seas, and teach the skies,
Wailings and sobs and sympathies;
Nor should the stones or rocks be deaf;

Rocks shall have eyes, and stones have ears,
While Gouge's death is mourned in melody and tears.

Heav'n was impatient of our crimes,

And sent his minister of death

To scourge the bold rebellion of the times,
And to demand our prophet's breath:

He came, commission'd, for the fates
Of awful Mead, and charming Bates:
There he essay'd the vengeance first,

Then took a dismal aim, and brought great Gouge to dust.

Great Gouge to dust! how doleful is the sound!

How vast the stroke is, and how wide the wound!
O painful stroke! distressing death!

A wound unmeasurably wide!

No vulgar mortal died

When he resign'd his breath.

The muse that mourns a nation's fall Should wait at Gouge's funeral; Should mingle majesty and groans, Such as she sings to sinking thrones, And, in deep sounding numbers, tell How Sion trembled when this pillar fell.

The reverend man let all things mourn:
Sure he was some ethereal mind,
Fated in flesh to be confin'd,

And order'd to be born.

His soul was of th' angelic frame,

The same ingredients, and the mould the same,
When the Creator makes a minister of flame;

He was all formed of heavenly things.

Mortals, believe what my Urania sings,

For she has seen him rise upon his flamy wings.
How would he mount! how would he fly!

Up through the ocean of the sky,

Toward the celestial coast!

With what amazing swiftness soar,

Till earth's dark ball was seen no more,

And all its mountains lost!

Scarce could the muse pursue him with her sight;

But, angels, you can tell,

For oft you meet his wondrous flight,

And knew the stranger well;

Say, how he past the radiant spheres,

And visited your happy seats,

And traced the well-known turnings of the golden streets,

And walk'd among the stars.

Tell how he climb'd the everlasting hills,

Surveying all the realms above,

Borne on a strong-wing'd faith, and on the fiery wheels
Of an immortal love.

"Twas there he took a glorious sight
Of the inheritance of saints in light,
And read their title in their Saviour's right.
How oft the humble scholar came,
And to your songs he rais'd his ears,

To learn th' unutterable name,
To view th' eternal base that bears

The new creation's frame.

The countenance of God he saw,

Full of mercy, full of awe,

The glories of his power, and glories of his grace.
There he beheld the wondrous springs

Of those celestial sacred things,

The peaceful gospel and the fiery law,
In that majestic face.

That face did all his gazing powers employ,

With most profound abasement and exalted joy:
The rolls of fate were half unseal'd,

He stood adoring by ;

The volumes open'd to his eye;

And sweet intelligence he held
With all his shining kindred of the sky.

Ye seraphs that surround the throne,

Tell how his name was through the palace known,
How warm his zeal was, and how like your own;
Speak it aloud, let half the nation hear,

And bold blasphemers shrink and fear; *
Impudent tongues! to blast a prophet's name;
The poison, sure, was fetch'd from hell,

Where the old blasphemers dwell,

To taint the purest dust, and blot the whitest fame!
Impudent tongues! you should be darted through,
Nail'd to your own black mouths, and lie
Useless and dead till slander die,

Till slander die with you.

"We saw him, (said th' ethereal throng,) We saw his warm devotions rise,

We heard the fervour of his cries,

And mix'd his praises with our song:

We knew the secret flights of his retiring hours:

Nightly he wak'd his inward powers;

Young Israel rose to wrestle with his God,

And with unconquer'd force scal'd the celestial towers, To reach the blessing down for those that sought his blood.

Though he was so great and good a man, he did not escape censure.

Oft we held the Thunderer's hand
Rais'd high to crush the factious foe;
As oft we saw the rolling vengeance stand,
Doubtful t' obey the dread command,
While his ascending prayer upheld the falling blow."

Draw the past scenes of thy delight,

My muse, and bring the holy man to sight,
Place him surrounded as he stood,

With pious crowds, while from his tongue

A stream of harmony ran soft along,
And every ear drank in the flowing good:

Softly it ran its silver way,

Till warm devotion rais'd the current strong;
Then fervid zeal on the sweet deluge rode,

Life, love, and glory, grace and joy,

Divinely roll'd promiscuous on the torrent flood,

And bore our raptur'd sense away, and thoughts and souls.

to God.

O might we dwell for ever there!

No more return to breathe this grosser air,
This atmosphere of sin, calamity, and care!

But heavenly scenes soon leave the sight
While we belong to clay,

Passions of terror and delight

Demand alternate sway.

Behold the man whose awful voice

Could well proclaim the fiery law,

Kindle the flames that Moses saw,

And swell the trumpet's warlike noise.

He stands the herald of the threatening skies:

Lo, on his reverend brow the frowns divinely rise,

All Sinai's thunder on his tongue and lightning in his eyes.

Round the high roof the curses flew,

Distinguishing each guilty head,

Far from th' unequal war the atheist fled,