Classic Poem

So when the great Elixar (which a Chast
And even Heat hath ripened) doth at last
Stand ready for the Birth, th' Alembick's Womb
Not able to discharge, becomes its Tomb;
So that that studied Stone is still Arts Cross,
Not known by it's Vertue so much as his Loss,
And we may think some envious Fates Combine
In that one Ounce to rob us of a Mine;
And can our Grief be less, whiles here we do
Lose not the Stone, but the Alembick too?
When Death Converts that hatching Heat to Cold,
And makes that Dust, which should make all else Gold.
If Souls from Souls be kindled as some sing,
That to be born and Light'ned is one Thing;
And that our life is but a tender Ray
Snatch'd by the Infant from the Mothers Day;
And if the Soul thus kindled must have been
The framer of the Body, the Souls Inn:
Our Loss is doubled then, for that young flame
Flowing from hers, must have been for the same.
As to have cast such Glories, shew'n such seeds,
Spread forth such matchless Vertues, done such deeds,
Moulded such beautious Limbs, that we might see
The Mother in each Grace, and think that she
Was but Reflected, whiles her Shape did pass
As the snatch'd likeness doth into the Glass,
Which now in vain we look for, for our Streams
Of Light are but the Dawning of her Beams;
'Twas not her lot to lay up Deeds, and then
Twist them into one Vertue, as some Men
Do hoord up smaller gains, and when they grow
Up to a Sum, into one Purchase throw;
Her Mind came furnish'd in, did charg'd appear,
As Trees in the Creation, Vertues were
Meer Natures unto her; Nor did she know
Those Signs of our defects, to bud and grow;
Goodness her Soul, not Action, was; and She
Found it the same to do well and to be;
So perfect that her speculation might
Have made her self the bound of her own sight;
And her Mind thus her Mind contemplating
In brief at once have been the Eye and thing.
Her Body was so pure that Nature might
Have broke it into Forms: That Buriall rite
Was here unfit, for it could not be said
Earth unto Earth, Dust unto Dust was laid;
All being so simple that the quickest sight
Did judge her Limbs but so much fashion'd Light;
Her Eyes so beamy, you'ld have said the Sun
Lodg'd in those Orbs when that the day was done;
Her Mouth that Treasure hid, that Pearls wer blots
And darkness, if Compar'd, no Gems but Spots.
Her Lips did like the Cherub's flames appear,
Set to keep off the bold for Coming there.
Her bosome such that you would guess twas this
Way that departed Souls pass'd to their Bliss.
Her Body thus perspicuous, and her Mind
So undefil'd, so Beautious, so Refin'd,
We may Conclude the Lilly in the Glass
An Emblem, though a faint one, of her was.
What Others now count qualities and Parts
She thought but Complements, and meer By-Arts.
Yet did perform them with as perfect Grace
As they who do Arts among Vertues place.
She dancing in a cross perplexed thread
Could make such Labyrinths, that the guiding Thread
Would be it self at loss, and yet you'ld swear
A Star mov'd not so Even in its Sphere;
No looser flames but Raptures came from thence,
Her Steps stirr'd Meditations up, and Sense
Resign'd delights to Reason, which were wrought
Not to Enchant the Eye, but catch the Thought.
Had she but pleas'd to tune her Breath, the Winds
Would have been hush'd and listned, and those Minds
Whose Passions are their Blasts, would have been still,
As when the Halcyon sits: So that her skill
Gave Credit unto Fables, whiles we see,
Passions like Wilder Beasts thus tamed be.
Her very looks were tune, we might descry.
Consort, and Judge of Musick by the Eye:
So that in Others that which we call Fair,
In her was Composition and good Air.
When this I tell, will you not hence surmise
Death hath got leave to enter Paradise?
But why do I name death? for as a Star
Which erewhile darted out a Light from far,
Shines not when neer the Brighter Sun; She thus
Is not extinct, but does lie hid to us.