knowledge that you are become my patron: so your nicer sense cannot be accountable in the least; for you had no hand in it, and you may plead

Quæ non fecimus ipsi

Vix ea nostra voco.

Nay, you were not guilty of so much as of the knowledge of this my wicked intentions; wicked, I mean, if it should offend you and my other friends, who need not blush for me, since I have already such a terror upon my conscience for this aggression, as is, I think, a punishment in some measure equal to any crime; and all that I can urge in my defence is, that it was pure respect to the dear memory of this great man, to whom I had the honour to be known, that provoked, or, let me rather say, obliged me to expose myself on this occasion. I never attempted any thing in this measure for the public before; and I doubt not that I shall do yet severer penance for it, in the censures of our awful wits, which I already fear ; but your judgment is still more dreadful than all, by

Worthy Sir,
Your most obliged

obedient and humble servant,
ALEXANDER OLDYS.

AN

ODE ON THE DEATH

OF

MR. DRYDEN.

I.

ON a soft bank of camomel I sate,
O'ershaded by two mournful yews;
(Doubtless it was the will of fate
Ì this retreat should chuse.)
Where on delicious poetry I fed,
Amazing thoughts chilled all my blood,
And almost stopt the vital flood,
As Dryden's sacred verse I read.
Whilst killing raptures seized my head,
I shook, as if I had foreknown

What all-commanding fate had done;
What for our sovereign Dryden had designed,
Till sleep o'erwhelmed my brain, as sorrow had

mind;

To think that all the great, even he, must die,
And here, in fame alone, have immortality.
When in my dream the fatal muse,
With hair dishevell'd, and in tears,
Melpomene appears;

my

Upon my throbbing heart her hand she laid, Her hand as cold as death, and thus she said,"Least of my care, be calmed! No more just heaven accuse!

II.

"Eternal fate has said,-He must remove;
The bards triumphant wait for him above.
To everlasting day and blest abodes
(The seats of poets and of gods)
He's gone, to fill the throne

Which none could fill but he alone;
The glorious throne for him prepared;
Of glorious acts the glorious, just reward.
See, see, as he ascends on high,

The sacred bards attending in the sky!
So low do they descend

To meet their now immortal friend!
Immortal there above, and here below,

As long as men shall wit and English know,
The unequalled Dryden must be so,

Immortal in his verse, in verse unequalled too."

She said, then disappear'd; when I

Could plainly see all that was done on high.

III.

I saw above an universal joy,

Perfect without alloy;

(So great as ne'er till then had been

Since the sweet Waller entered in,)

When all that sacred company

Brought the triumphant bard from ours to heaven's great jubilee ;

That was the occasion of his happiness,

And of our sorrows, surely that the cause, Called hence heaven's monarch's praise to help to

express,

And to receive for that his own deserved applause. There wanted still one in the heavenly quire, Dryden alone was their desire,

Whom for the sacred song th' Almighty did inspire.

'Twas pity to us that so long delayed
His blest translation to eternal light;
Or, otherwise may we not be afraid,

'Twas for the sins of some who durst presume to write;

Who durst in verse, in sacred poetry,
Even heaven's own design bely,

And damn themselves with utmost industry!

For this may we not dread

The mighty prophet's taken from our head?
And though the fate of these I fear,

I in respect must venture here.

A long and racking war was sent,

Of common sins, a common punishment;
To the unthinking crowd the only curse,
Who feel no loss but in their purse:
But ah! what loss can now be worse?

The mighty Pan has left our mournful shore;
The mighty Pan is gone, Dryden is here no more.

IV.

When to the blest bright region he was come,
The vulgar angels gazed, and made him room:
Each laureat monarch welcomes him on high.
And to embrace him altogether fly:

Then strait the happy guest is shown
To his bright and lofty throne,

Inferior there to none.

A crown beset with little suns, whose rays
Shoot forth in foliages resembling bays,

Now on his head they place:
Then round him all the sacred band
Loudly congratulating stand:

When after silence made,

Thus the sweetest Waller said:

"Well hast thou merited, triumphant bard!
For, once I knew thee militant below,
When I myself was so;

Dangerous thy post, the combat fierce and hard,
Ignorance and rebellion still thy foe;

But for those little pains see now the great reward Mack-Flecknoe and Achitophel

Can now no more disturb thy peace,

Thy labours past, thy endless joys increase;
The more thou hast endured, the more thou dost

excel;

And for the laurels snatched from thee below, Thou wear'st an everlasting 'crown upon thy hallowed brow."

V.

The bard, who next the new-born saint addrest,
Was Milton, for his wonderous poem blest;
Who strangely found, in his Lost Paradise, rest.
"Great bard," said he, "'twas verse alone
Did for my hideous crime atone,
Defending once the worst rebellion.
A double share of bliss belongs to thee,
For thy rich verse and thy firm loyalty;
Some of my harsh and uncouth points do owe
To thee a tuneful cadence still below.

Thine was indeed the state of innocence,

Mine of offence,

With studied treason and self-interest stained,
Till Paradise Lost wrought Paradise Regained."
He said when thus our English Abraham,
(In heaven the second of that name,

Cowley, as glorious there as sacred here in fame,)
Welcome, Aleides, to this happy place!

66

Our wish, and our long expectation here,

Makes thee to us more dear;