as the Gods were listening to my Strains,
And thousand Loves danc'd o're the Æthereal Plains;
With my own radiant Hair my Harp I strung,
And in glad Consort all my Sisters Sung;
An universal Harmony above,
Inspir'd us all with Gaiety and Love.
A horrid Sound dash'd our immortal Mirth,
Wafted by Sighs, from the unlucky Earth.
(Who'd think celestial Forms should Sorrows know,
Or sympathize with sad Events below?
But by our great immortal Selves we do.
For when the loud unwelcome Message spread,
With dismal Accents tuneful,  dead,
All our gay Joys in hast affrighted fled.
A sullen Gloom seiz'd all the Gods around,
My feeble Hand no more the Lyre could sound:
And all the soft young Loves with drooping Wings,
Lisp't their Concern, and my neglected Strings;
Trembl'd themselves into a mournful Air,
Then Sight and Husht into a sad Despair.
There let them ever unreguarded lye,
too, do's cease its Harmony.
He with us sacred Nymphs profusely Mourns,
With us the least desire of Respite scorns;
Intire eternal Grief our Beings seize
For him who best could us and Mankind please.
Great , in whose vast capacious Mind,
Our utmost Pow'r did fit Reception find;
Which Favours he did generously dispense,
Joy'd the glad World with his amazing Sense,
And like us too diffus'd his Influence;
His Genius would such Inspiration bear,
That his Illustrious Lines did not appear
As if our Product, but our Selves were there.
Mourn ye forsaken Worlds, you'l ne're again
Be blest with so Divine, so great a Swain.
In you no more let tuneful Mirth be found,
The very Spheres shall cease their wonted Sound,
And every Orb stop its harmonious round:
All Nature hush as if intranc't she lay,
Sunk in old Chaos e'er the inlight'ning Ray
Of Heaven awak'd her in the first-born Day.
With such still Horrour let's our sorrows bear,
Lest Sighs in time, harmonious should appear.
If e'er to write again is Man's intent,
(Uncall'd on let us silently lament,)
And take his Works, for an Eternal President,