(seq. 43)

37

And in divinity to us absorbed;

Why didst thou fly in haste & silent steal,

From this vast whirlpool of distracted dust?

Was life a task & sence a sordid bliss,

Was times broads sea too small to spread thy sail,

Or fluid air too gross for souls like thine

To breathe, & yet preserve thy health intire,

Could no intreaties urge those hard resolves

Of thine, or no persuasions move thy heart,

Or melt thy pity when ten thousand mourn'd,

And tears distilld from ev'ry eye, in which

Was read, what faultring language could not paint,

But all intent on what the Gods design'd,

Didst urge thy flight & instant rise aloft,

Astonishd at thyself, yet dauntless rise,

And worlds in consternation struck to view,

The new winged angel soar on pinions fair,

And hail the everlasting gates of Heav'n,

Where angels throng like radiant Suns,