An ODE

Thou Youngest Virgin-Daughter of the Skies,Made in the last Promotion of the Blest;Whose Palmes, new pluckt from Paradise,In spreading Branches more sublimely rise,Rich with Immortal Green above the rest:Whether, adopted to some Neighbouring Star,Thou rol'st above us, in thy wand'ring Race,Or, in Procession fixt and regular,Mov'd with the Heavens Majestick Pace;Or, call'd to more Superiour Bliss,Thou tread'st, with Seraphims, the vast Abyss.What ever happy Region be thy place,Cease thy Celestial Song a little space;(Thou wilt have Time enough for Hymns Divine,Since Heav'ns Eternal Year is thine.)Hear then a Mortal Muse thy Praise rehearse,In no ignoble Verse;But such as thy own voice did practise here,When thy first Fruits of Poesie were giv'n;To make thy self a welcome Inmate there:While yet a young Probationer,And Candidate of Heav'n.

If by Traduction came thy Mind,Our Wonder is the less to findA Soul so charming from a Stock so good;Thy Father was transfus'd into thy Blood:So wert thou born into the tuneful strain,(An early, rich, and inexhausted Vain.)But if thy Præexisting SoulWas form'd, at first, with Myriads more,It did through all the Mighty Poets roul,Who Greek or Latine Laurels wore.And was that Sappho last, which once it was before.If so, then cease thy flight, O Heav'n-born Mind!Thou hast no Dross to purge from thy Rich Ore.Nor can thy Soul a fairer Mansion find, }Than was the Beauteous Frame she left behind: }Return, to fill or mend the Quire, of thy Celestial kind. }

May we presume to say, that at thy Birth,New joy was sprung in Heav'n, as well as here on Earth.For sure the Milder Planets did combine }On thy Auspicious Horoscope to shine, }And ev'n the most Malicious were in Trine. }Thy Brother-Angels at thy BirthStrung each his Lyre, and tun'd it high,That all the People of the SkieMight know a Poetess was born on Earth.And then if ever, Mortal EarsHad heard the Musick of the Spheres!And if no clust'ring Swarm of BeesOn thy sweet Mouth distill'd their golden Dew,'Twas that, such vulgar Miracles,Heav'n had not Leasure to renew:For all the Blest Fraternity of LoveSolemniz'd there thy Birth, and kept thy Holyday above.

O Gracious God! How far have weProphan'd thy Heav'nly Gift of Poesy?Made prostitute and profligate the Muse,Debas'd to each obscene and impious use,Whose Harmony was first ordain'd AboveFor Tongues of Angels, and for Hymns of Love?O wretched We! why were we hurry'd downThis lubrique and adult'rate age,(Nay added fat Pollutions of our own)T'increase the steaming Ordures of the Stage?What can we say t'excuse our Second Fall?Let this thy Vestal, Heav'n, attone for all!Her Arethusian Stream remains unsoil'd,Unmixt with Forreign Filth, and undefil'd,Her Wit was more than Man, her Innocence a Child!

Art she had none, yet wanted: anonFor Nature did that Want supply,So rich in Treasures of her Own,She might our boasted Stores defy:Such Noble Vigour did her Verse adorn,That it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born.Her Morals too were in her Bosome bredBy great Examples daily fed,What in the best of Books, her Fathers Life, she read.And to be read her self she need not fear,Each Test, and ev'ry Light, her Muse will bear,Though Epictetus with his Lamp were there.Ev'n Love (for Love sometimes her Muse exprest)Was but a Lambent-flame which play'd about her Brest:Light as the Vapours of a Morning Dream,So cold herself, whilst she such Warmth exprest,'Twas Cupid bathing in Diana's Stream.

Born to the Spacious Empire of the Nine,One would have thought, she should have been contentTo manage well that Mighty Government:But what can young ambitious Souls confine?To the next Realm she stretcht her Sway, }For Painture neer adjoyning lay, }A plenteous Province, and alluring Prey. }A Chamber of Dependences was fram'd,(As Conquerors will never want Pretence,When arm'd, to justifie the Offence)And the whole Fief, in right of Poetry she claim'd.The Country open lay without Defence:For Poets frequent In-rodes there had made,And perfectly could representThe Shape, the Face, with ev'ry Lineament;And all the large Demains which the Dumb-sister sway'dAll bow'd beneath her Government,Receiv'd in Triumph wheresoe're she went.Her Pencil drew, what e're her Soul design'd,And oft the happy Draught surpass'd the Image in her Mind.The Sylvan Scenes of Herds and Flocks,And fruitful Plains and barren Rocks,Of shallow Brooks that flow'd so clear,The Bottom did the Top appear;Of deeper too and ampler Flouds,Which as in Mirrors, shew'd the Woods;Of lofty Trees with Sacred Shades,And Perspectives of pleasant Glades,Where Nymphs of brightest Form appear, }And shaggy Satyrs standing neer, }Which them at once admire and fear. }The Ruines too of some Majestick Piece,Boasting the Pow'r of ancient Rome or Greece,Whose Statues, Freezes, Columns broken lie,And though deface't, the Wonder of the Eie,What Nature, Art, bold Fiction e're durst frame,Her forming Hand gave Shape unto the Name.So strange a Concourse ne're was seen before,But when the peopl'd Ark the whole Creation bore.

The Scene then chang'd, with bold Erected LookOur Martial King the Eye with Reverence strook:For not content t'express his Outward Part,Her hand call'd out the Image of his Heart,His Warlike Mind, his Soul devoid of Fear, }His High-designing Thoughts, were figur'd there, }As when, by Magick, Ghosts are made appear. }Our Phenix Queen was portrai'd too so bright,Beauty alone could Beauty take so right:Her Dress, her Shape, her matchless Grace,Were all observ'd, as well as heav'nly Face.With such a Peerless Majesty she stands,As in that Day she took from Sacred handsThe Crown; 'mong num'rous Heroins was seen,More yet in Beauty, than in Rank, the Queen!Thus nothing to her Genius was deny'd,But like a Ball of Fire the further thrown,Still with a greater Blaze she shone,And her bright Soul broke out on ev'ry side.What next she had design'd, Heaven only knows,To such Immod'rate Growth her Conquest rose,That Fate alone their Progress could oppose.

Now all those Charmes, that blooming Grace,The well-proportion'd Shape, and beauteous Face,Shall never more be seen by Mortal Eyes;In Earth the much lamented Virgin lies!Not Wit, nor Piety could Fate prevent;Nor was the cruel Destiny contentTo finish all the Murder at a Blow,To sweep at once her Life, and Beauty too;But, like a hardn'd Fellon, took a prideTo work more Mischievously slow.And plunder'd first, and then destroy'O double Sacriledge on things Divine,To rob the Relique, and deface the Shrine!But thus Orinda dy'd:Heav'n, by the same Disease, did both translate,As equal were their Souls, so equal was their Fate.

Mean time her Warlike Brother on the SeasHis waving Streamers to the Winds displays,And vows for his Return, with vain Devotion, pays.Ah, Generous Youth, that Wish forbear,The Winds too soon will waft thee here!Slack all thy Sailes, and fear to come,Alas, thou know'st not, Thou art wreck'd at home!No more shalt thou behold thy Sisters Face,Thou hast already had her last Embrace.But look aloft, and if thou ken'st from far,Among the Pleiad's a New-kindl'd Star,If any sparkles, than the rest, more bright,'Tis she that shines in that propitious Light.

When in mid-Aire, the Golden Trump shall sound,To raise the Nations under ground;When in the Valley of Jehosaphat,The Judging God shall close the Book of Fate;And there the last Assizes keep,For those who Wake, and those who sleep;When ratling Bones together flyFrom the four Corners of the Skie,When Sinews o're the Skeletons are spread,Those cloath'd with Flesh, and Life inspires the Dead;The Sacred Poets first shall hear the Sound, }And formost from the Tomb shall bound: }For they are cover'd with the lightest Ground }And streight, with in-born Vigour, on the Wing,Like mounting Larkes, to the New Morning sing.There Thou, Sweet Saint, before the Quire shalt go,As Harbinger of Heav'n, the Way to show,The Way which thou so well hast learn'd below.

The EpitaphEngraved on her TOMB.

Annæ Killigrew,Doctoris KILLIGREW Filiæ,Quæ in ipso Ætatis flore Obiit.

Heu jacet, fato victa,Quæ stabat ubique victrixForma, ingenio, religione;Plura collegerat in se Unâ,Quàm vel sparsa mireris in omnibus!Talem quis pingat, nisi penicillo quod tractavit?Aut quis canat, nisi Poëta sui similis?Cum tanta sciret, hoc Unum ignoravit,Quanta, nempe, esset;Aut si norit.Mirare Modestiam,Tantis incorruptam dotibus.Laudes meruisse satis illi fuit,Has ne vel audiret, laudatores omnes fugerat,Contenta paterno Lare,Dum & sibi Aula patebat adulatrix.Mundum sapere an potuit,Quæ ab infantia Christum sapuerat?Non modo semper Virgo,Sed & virginum Exemplar.Gentis suæ Decus,Ævi Splendor,Sexus Miraculum.Nullâ Vertute inferior cuiquam,Cuilibet superior multâ.Optimi Deliciæ patris,Etiam numerosâ optimâque prole fortunatissimi:Priorem tamen invidit nemo,(Seu frater, seu soror)Quin potius coluere omnes, omnibus suavem & officiosam,Amorisque commune Vinculum & Centrum.Vix ista credes. Hanc si nescieris;Credet majora qui scierit.

Abi Viator, & Plange:Si eam plangi oporteat,Cui, tam piè morienti,Vel Coelites plauserint.

The Bird to whom the spacious Aire was given,As in a smooth and trackless Path to go,A Walk which does no Limits knowPervious alone to Her and Heaven:Should she her Airy Race forget,On Earth affect to walk and sit;Should she so high a Priviledge neglect,As still on Earth, to walk and sit, affect,What could she of Wrong complain,Who thus her Birdly Kind doth stain,If all her Feathers moulted were,And naked she were left and bare,The Jest and Scorn of Earth and Aire?

As you are Young, if you'l be also Wise,Danger with Honour court, Quarrels despise;Believe you then are truly Brave and Bold,To Beauty when no Slave, and less to Gold;When Vertue you dare own, not think it odd,Or ungenteel to say, I fear a God.

These Three following ODES being found among Mrs KilligrewsPapers, I was willing to Print though none of hers.