Then wonder not to see this soul extend 240
  The bounds, and seek some other self, a friend: 
  As swelling seas to gentle rivers glide,
  To seek repose, and empty out the tide;
  So this full soul, in narrow limits pent,
  Unable to contain her, sought a vent
  To issue out, and in some friendly breast
  Discharge her treasures, and securely rest: 
  To unbosom all the secrets of her heart,
  Take good advice, but better to impart: 
  For ’tis the bliss of friendship’s holy state, 250
  To mix their minds, and to communicate;
  Though bodies cannot, souls can penetrate. 
  Fix’d to her choice, inviolably true,
  And wisely choosing, for she chose but few. 
  Some she must have; but in no one could find
  A tally fitted for so large a mind.

    The souls of friends, like kings in progress, are
  Still in their own, though from the palace far: 
  Thus her friend’s heart her country dwelling was
  A sweet retirement to a coarser place; 260
  Where pomp and ceremonies enter’d not,
  Where greatness was shut out, and business well forgot.

    This is the imperfect draught; but short as far
  As the true height and bigness of a star
  Exceeds the measures of the astronomer. 
  She shines above, we know; but in what place,
  How near the throne, and Heaven’s imperial face,
  By our weak optics is but vainly guess’d;
  Distance and altitude conceal the rest.

    Though all these rare endowments of the mind 270
  Were in a narrow space of life confined,
  The figure was with full perfection crown’d;
  Though not so large an orb, as truly round.

    As when in glory, through the public place,
  The spoils of conquer’d nations were to pass,
  And but one day for triumph was allow’d,
  The consul was constrain’d his pomp to crowd;
  And so the swift procession hurried on,
  That all, though not distinctly, might be shown: 
  So in the straiten’d bounds of life confined, 280
  She gave but glimpses of her glorious mind: 
  And multitudes of virtues pass’d along;
  Bach pressing foremost in the mighty throng,
  Ambitious to be seen, and then make room
  For greater multitudes that were to come.

    Yet unemploy’d no minute slipp’d away;
  Moments were precious in so short a stay. 
  The haste of heaven to have her was so great,
  That some were single acts, though each complete;
  But every act stood ready to repeat. 290

    Her fellow-saints with busy care will look
  For her bless’d name in Fate’s eternal book;
  And, pleased to be outdone, with joy will see
  Numberless virtues, endless charity: 
  But more will wonder at so short an age,
  To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page;
  And with a pious fear begin to doubt
  The piece imperfect, and the rest torn out. 
  But ’twas her Saviour’s time; and, could there be
  A copy near the Original, ’twas she. 300