Page:The works of Anne Bradstreet in prose and verse.djvu/497

 A FiiJieral Elogy 7Cpon the Author. 411

Some doe for anguifh weep, for anger I

That Ignorance fliould live, and Art fhould die.

Black, fatal, difmal, inaufpicious day,

Unbleft for ever by SoVs precious Ray,

Be it the firft of Miferies to all;

Or laft of Life, defam'd for Funeral.

When this day yearly comes, let every one, [254]

Caft in their urne, the black and difmal ftone.

Succeeding years as they their circuit goe.

Leap o're this day, as a fad time of woe.

Farewell my Mufe, lince thou haft left th}^ fhrine,

I am unblefh in one, but bleft in nine.

Fair Thefpian Ladyes, light your torches all,

Attend your glory to its Funeral,

To court her afhes with a learned tear,

A briny facrifice, let not a fmile appear.

Grave Matron, whofo feeks to blazon thee.

Needs not make ufe of witts falfe Heraldry;

Whofo fhould give thee all thy worth would fwell

So high, as 'twould turn the world infidel.

Had he great Mare's Mufe, or Tullys tongue.

Or raping numbers like the Thracian Song,

In crowning of her merits he would be

fumptuoufly poor, low in Hyperbole.

To write is ealie; but to write on thee.

Truth would be thought to forfeit modefly.

He'l feem a Poet that ftiall fpeak but true;

Hyperbole's in others, are thy due.

�� �