Poems by Mrs. Anne Killigrew.

These Three following ODES being found among Mrs Killi∣grews Papers, I was willing to Print though none of hers.

Cloris Charmes Dissolved by EUDORA.

I.

NOt that thy Fair Hand Should lead me from my deep Dispaire, Or thy Love, Cloris, End my Care, And back my Steps command: But if hereafter thou Retire, To quench with Tears, thy Wandring Fire, This Clue I'll leave behinde, By which thou maist untwine The Saddest Way, To shun the Day, That ever Grief did find.

II.

First take thy Hapless Way Along the Rocky Northern Shore, Infamous for the Matchless Store Of Wracks within that Bay. None o're the Cursed Beach e're crost, Unless the Robb'd, the Wrack'd, or Lost Where on the Strand lye spread, The Sculls of many Dead. Their mingl'd Bones, Among the Stones, Thy Wretched Feet must tread.

III.

The Tiees along the Coast, Stretch forth to Heaven their blasted Arms, As if they plaind the North-winds harms, And-Youthful Verdure lost. There stands a Grove of Fatal Ewe, Where Sun nere pierc't, nor Wind ere blew. In it a Brooke doth fleet, The Noise must guide thy Feet,

For there's no Light, But all is Night, And Darkness that you meet.

IV.

Follow th'Infernal Wave, Until it spread into a Floud, Poysoning the Creatures of the Wood, There twice a day a Slave, I know not for what Impious Thing, Bears thence the Liquor of that Spring. It adds to the sad Place, To hear how at each Pace, He curses God, Himself, his Load, For such his Forlorn Case.

V.

Next make no Noyse, nor talk, Until th'art past a Narrow Glade, Where Light does only break the Shade; 'Tis a Murderers Walk. Observing this thou need'st not fear, He sleeps the Day or Wakes elsewhere.

Though there's no Clock or Chime, The Hour he did his Crime, His Soul awakes, His Conscience quakes And warns him that's the Time.

VI.

Thy Steps must next advance, Where Horrour, Sin, and Spectars dwell, Where the Woods Shade seems turn'd Hell, Witches here Nightly Dance, And Sprights joyn with them when they call, The Murderer dares not view the Ball. For Snakes and Toads conspire, To make them up a Quire. And for their Light, And Torches bright, The Fiends dance all on fire.

VII.

Press on till thou descrie Among the Trees sad, gastly, wan, Thinne as the Shadow of a Man, One that does ever crie,

She is not; and she ne're will be, Despair and Death come swallow me, Leave him; and keep thy way, No more thou now canst stray Thy Feet do stand, In Sorrows Land, It's Kingdomes every way.

VIII.

Here Gloomy Light will shew Reard like a Castle to the Skie, A Horrid Cliffe there standing nigh Shading a Creek below. In which Recess there lies a Cave, Dreadful as Hell, still as the Grave. Sea-Monsters there abide, The coming of the Tide, No Noise is near, To make them fear, God-sleep might there reside.

IX.

But when the Boysterous Seas, With Roaring Waves resumes this Cell, You'd swear the Thunders there did dwell. So lowd he makes his Plea; So Tempests bellow under ground, And Ecchos multiply the Sound! This is the place I chose, Changeable like my Woes, Now calmly Sad, Then Raging Mad, As move my Bitter Throwes.

X.

Such Dread besets this Part, That all the Horrour thou hast past, Are but Degrees to This at last. The sight must break thy Heart: Here Bats and Owles that hate the Light Fly and enjoy Eternal Night. Scales of Serpents, Fish-bones, Th'Adders Eye, and Toad-stones, Are all the Light, Hath blest my Sight, Since first began my Groans.

XI.

When thus I lost the Sense, Of all the heathful World calls Bliss, And held it Joy, those Joys to miss, When Beauty was Offence: Celestial Strains did read the Aire, Shaking these Mansions of Despaire; A Form Divine and bright, Stroke Day through all that Night As when Heav'ns Queen In Hell was seen, With wonder and affright!

XII.

The Monsters fled for fear, The Terrors of the Cursed Wood Dismantl'd were, and where they stood, No longer did appear. The Gentle Pow'r, which wrought this thing, Eudora was, who thus did sing. Dissolv'd is Cloris spell, From whence thy Evils fell, Send her this Clue, 'Tis there most due ••••d thy Phantastick Hell.

Upon a Little Lady Under the Discipline of an Excellent Person.

I.

HOw comes the Day orecast? the Flaming Sun Darkn'd at Noon, as if his Course were run? He never rose more proud, more glad, more gay, Ne're courted Daphne with a brighter Ray! And now in Clouds he wraps his Head, As if not Daphne, but himself were dead! And all the little Winged Troop Forbear to sing, and sit and droop; The Flowers do languish on their Beds, And fading hang their Mourning Heads; The little Cupids discontented, shew, In Grief and Rage one breaks his Bow, An other tares his Cheeks and Haire, A third fits blubring in Despaire,

Confessing though, in Love, he be, A Powerful, Dreadful Deitie, A Child, in Wrath, can do as much as he! Whence is this Evil hurl'd, On all the sweetness of the World? Among those Things with Beauty shine, (Both Humane natures, and Divine) There was not so much sorrow spi'd, No, not that Day the sweet Adonis died!

II.

Ambitious both to know the Ill, and to partake, The little Weeping Gods I thus bespake. Ye Noblest Pow'rs and Gentlest that Above, Govern us Men, but govern still with Love, Vouchsafe to tell, what can that Sorrow be, Disorders Heaven, and wounds a Deitie. My Prayer not spoken out, One of the Winged Rout, With Indignation great, Sprung from his Airie-Seat, And mounting to a Higher Cloud, With Thunder, or a Voice as loud

Cried, Mortal there, there seek the Grief o'th'Gods, Where thou findst Plagues, and their revengeful Rods! And in the Instant that the Thing was meant, He bent his Bow, his Arrow plac't, and to the mark it sent! I follow'd with my watchful Eye, To the Place where the Shaft did flie, But O unheard-of Prodigy. It was retorted back again, And he that sent it, felt the pain, Alas! I think the little God was therewith slain! But wanton Darts ne're pierce where Honours found, And those that shoot them, do their own Breasts wound.

III.

The Place from which the Arrow did return, Swifter then sent, and with the speed did burn, Was a Proud Pile which Marble Columnes bare, Tarrast beneath, and open to the Aire, On either side, Cords of wove Gold did tie A purfl'd Curtain, hanging from on high, To clear the Prospect of the stately Bower, And boast the Owners Dignity and Power! This shew'd the Scene from whence Loves grief arose, And Heaven and Nature both did discompose,

A little Nymph whose Limbs divinely bright, Lay like a Body of Collected Light, But not to Love and Courtship so disclos'd, But to the Rigour of a Dame oppos'd, Who instant on the Faire with Words and Blows, Now chastens Error, and now Virtue shews.

IV.

But O thou no less Blind, Than Wild and Savage Mind, Who Discipline dar'st name, Thy Outrage and thy shame, And hop'st a Radiant Crown to get All Stars and Glory to thy Head made fit, Know that this Curse alone shall Serpent-like incircle it! May'st thou henceforth, be ever seen to stand, Grasping a Scourge of Vipers in thy Hand, Thy Hand, that Furie like — But see! By Apollos Sacred Tree, By his ever Tuneful Lyre, And his bright Image the Eternal Fire, Eudoras she has done this Deed And made the World thus in its Darling bleed!

I know the Cruel Dame, Too well instructed by my Flame! But see her shape! But see her Face! In her Temple such is Diana's Grace! Behold her Lute upon the Pavement lies, When Beautie's wrong'd, no wonder Musick dies!

V.

What blood of Centaurs did thy Bosom warme, And boyle the Balsome there up to a Storme? Nay Balsome flow'd not with so soft a Floud, As thy Thoughts Evenly Virtuous, Mildly Good! How could thy Skilful and Harmonious Hand, That Rage of Seas, and People could command, And calme Diseases with the Charming strings, Such Discords make in the whole Name of Things?

But now I see the Root of thy Rash Pride, Because thou didst Excel the World beside, And it in Beauty and in Fame out-shine, Thou would'st compare thy self to things Divine! And 'bove thy Standard what thou there didst see, Thou didst Condemn, because 'twas unlike thee, And punisht in the Lady as unfit, What Bloomings were of a Diviner Wit.

Divine she is, or else Divine must be, A Borne or else a Growing Deitie!

VI.

While thus I did exclaime, And wildly rage and blame, Behold the Sylvan-Quire Did all at one conspire, With shrill and cheerful Throats, T'assume their chirping Notes; The Heav'ns refulgent Eye Dance't in the clear'd-up Skie, And so triumphant shon, As seven-days Beams he had on! The little Loves burn'd with Nobler Fire, Each chang'd his wanton Bow, and took a Lyre, Singing chast Aires unto the tuneful strings, And time'd soft Musick with their downy Wings. I turn'd the little Nym ph to view, She singing and did smiling shew; Eudora led a heav'nly strain, Her Angels Voice did eccho it again!

I then decreed no Sacriledge was wrought, But neerer Heav'n this Piece of Heaven was brought. She also brighter seem'd, than she had been, Vertue darts forth a Light'ning 'bove the Skin. Eudora also shew'd as heretofore, When her soft Graces I did first adore. I saw, what one did Nobly Will, The other sweetly did fulfil; Their Actions all harmoniously did sute, And she had only tun'd the Lady like her Lute.

On the Soft and Gentle Motions of Eudora.

DIvine Thalia strike th'Harmonious Lute, But with a Stroke so Gentle as may suite The silent gliding of the Howers, Or vet the calmer growth of Flowers; Th'ascending or the falling Dew, Which none can see, though all find true. For thus alone, Can be shewn, How downie, how smooth, Eudora doth Move, How Silken her Actions appear, The Aire of her Face, Of a gentler Grace Then those that do stroke the Eare. Her Address so sweet, So Modestly Meet,

That 'tis not the Lowd though Tuneable String, Can shewforth so soft, so Noyseless a Thing! O This to express from thy Hand must fall, Then Musicks self, something more Musical.

FINIS.