LYRIC POEMS. An ELEGY on Mr. THOMAS GOUGE, To Mr. ARTHUR SHALLET, Merchant. Worthy Sir, a THE subjectof the following Elegy was high in your esteem, and enjoyed a a large share of your affections. Scarce doth his memory need the assistance of r, the muse to make it perpetual ; but when she can at once pay her bonoursto the venerable dead, and by this address acknowledge the favours she has receiv- ed from the living, it is a double pleasure to, Sir, Your obliged humble servant, I. WATTS. To The Memory of the Rev. Mr. THOMAS GOUGE, Who died January 81h, 1699 -700. I. YE virginsouls,whose sweet complaint Could teach. Euphrates not to flow *, Could Sion's ruin so divinely paint, Arrayed in beauty and in woe: Awake, ye virgin -souls, to mourn, And with your tunefulsorrrows dress a prophet's urn. O could my lips or flowing eyes But imitate such charming grief, I'd teach the seas, and teach the skies Wailing, and sobs, and sympathies; Nor should the stones or rocks be deaf ; Hocks shall have eyes, and stones have ears While Gouge's death is mourn'd in melody and tears. S 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, andcharming Bates; Therehe essay'd thevengeance first, Then took a dismal aim, and brought great Gouge to dust. S Great Gouge to dust! how doleful is the sound ! How vast the stroke is ! and how wide the. wound ! Ohpainful stroke! distressing death! A wound unmeasurably wide No vulgar mortal dy'd 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 asshe sings to sinking thrones, And in deep sounding numbers tell, How Sion trembled, when this pillar fell Sion grows weak, and England poor, Nature herself with all her store, Can furnish such a pomp for death no more. 4 The reverend man letall things mourn; Sure he was some æthereal mind, Fated in flesh to be confin'd, And order'd to be born. * Ps. cxxxvii. Lament. i. 2, S. His soul was of th' angelicframe, The same ingredients, and the mould the same, When the Creator makes a minister of flame: He was all form'd of heav'nly things, Mortals, believe what my Urania sings, For she has seen him rise upon his flamy wings. 6 How would' he mount, how would he fly then' the ocean of the sky, Tow'rd the celestial coast . With what amazing swiftness soar, Till earth'sdarkballwas seen nomore And all its mountains lost ! Scarce couldthemuse pursuehim with her sight : But angels, you can tell, For oft you met his wond'rons flight, And knew the stranger well; Say, how he past the radiant spheres And visited yourhappy seats, And trac'dthe well -known turnings of the golden streets, And walk'd among the stars. 6 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 songshe 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 ofhis power, and glories of his grace : There he beheld the wondrous springs Of those celestial sacred things, The peacefu gospel and the fiery law, In that ma esticface. (employ That face did all his gazing pow'rs With most profound abasement and exalted joy. - - rJ2
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