Yet Heav'n stood Witness to Thy piercing sight,
Below was Darkness, but Above was Light:
Thy Soul was Brightness all; nor would it stay
In nether Night, and such a want of Day.
But wing'd aloft from sordid Earth retires
To upper Glory, and its kindred-Fires:
Like an unhooded _Hawk_, who, loose to Prey,
With open Eyes pursues th' Ethereal Way.
There, Happy Soul, assume thy destin'd Place,
And in yon Sphere begin thy glorious Race:
Or, if amongst the Laurel'd Heads there be
A Mansion in the Skies reserv'd for Thee,
There Ruler of thy Orb aloft appear,
And rowl with _Homer_ in the brightest Sphere;
To whom _Calliope_ has joyn'd thy Name,
And recompens'd thy Fortunes with his Fame.

[_Waller_.]

Tho' She (forgive our freedom) sometimes Flows
In Lines too Rugged, and akin to Prose.
Verse with a lively smoothness should be Wrote,
When room is granted to the Speech and Thought.
Like some fair Planet, the Majestick Song
Should gently move, and sparkle as it rowls along.
Like _Waller's_ Muse, who tho' inchain'd by Rhime,
Taught wondring Poets to keep even Chime.
His Praise inflames my breast, and should be shown
In Numbers sweet and _Courtly_ as his Own.
Who no unmanly _Turns_ of Thought pursues,