The morning did her cheerful light diffuse: 
  But see how suddenly she changed her face,
  And brought on clouds and rain, the day’s disgrace! 
  Just such, Amyntas, was thy promised race: 
  What charms adorn’d thy youth, where nature smiled,
  And more than man was given us in a child! 
  His infancy was ripe:  a soul sublime
  In years so tender that prevented time: 
  Heaven gave him all at once; then snatch’d away,
  Ere mortals all his beauties could survey:  40
  Just like the flower that buds and withers in a day.

  MENALCAS.

    The mother, lovely, though with grief oppress’d,
  Reclined his dying head upon her breast. 
  The mournful family stood all around;
      One groan was heard, one universal sound: 
  All were in floods of tears and endless sorrow drown’d. 
  So dire a sadness sat on every look,
  Even Death repented he had given the stroke. 
  He grieved his fatal work had been ordain’d
  But promised length of life to those who yet remain’d. 50
  The mother’s and her eldest daughter’s grace,
  It seems, had bribed him to prolong their space. 
  The father bore it with undaunted soul,
  Like one who durst his destiny control: 
  Yet with becoming grief he bore his part,
  Resign’d his son, but not resign’d his heart: 
  Patient as Job; and may he live to see,
  Like him, a new increasing family!

  DAMON.

    Such is my wish, and such my prophecy. 
  For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains; 60
  Long may she exercise her fruitful pains! 
  But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race
  More lasting, and endued with equal grace! 
  Equal she may, but further none can go: 
  For he was all that was exact below.

  MENALCAS.

    Damon! behold yon breaking purple cloud;
  Hear’st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud? 
  There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play
  About their godlike mate, and sing him on his way! 
  He cleaves the liquid air, behold he flies, 70
  And every moment gains upon the skies! 
  The new-come guest admires the ethereal state,
  The sapphire portal, and the golden gate;
  And now admitted in the shining throng,
  He shows the passport which he brought along: 
  His passport is his innocence and grace,
  Well known to all the natives of the place. 
  Now sing, ye joyful angels, and admire
  Your brother’s voice that conies to mend your quire
  Sing you,—­while endless tears our eyes bestow:  80
  For like Amyntas none is left below.

* * * * *

VI.

ON THE DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN.