Poems, and translations by the author of the Satyrs upon the Jesuits.

THE PARTING.

TOO happy had I been indeed, if Fate Had made it lasting, as she made it great; But 'twas the Plot of unkind Destiny, To lift me to, then snatch me from my Joy: She rais'd my Hopes, and brought them just in view, And then in spight the pleasing Scene withdrew. So He of old the promis'd Land survey'd, Which he might only see, but never tread: So Heav'n was by that damned Caitiff seen, He saw't, but with a mighty Gulf between, He saw't to be more wretched, and despair agen:

Not Souls of dying Sinners, when they go, Assur'd of endless Miseries below, Their Bodies more unwillingly desert, Than I from you, and all my Joys did part. As some young Merchant, whom his Sire unkind Resigns to every faithless Wave, and Wind; If the kind Mistriss of his Vows appear, And come to bless his Voyage with a Prayer, Such Sighs he vents as may the Gale increase, Such Floods of Tears as may the Billows raise: And when at length the launching Vessel flies, And severs first his Lips, and then his Eyes; Long he looks back to see what he adores, And, while he may, views the beloved Shores. Such just concerns I at your Parting had, With such sad Eyes your turning Face survey'd: Reviewing, they pursu'd you out of sight, Then sought to trace you by left Tracks of Light:

And when they could not Looks to you convey, Tow'rds the lov'd Place they took delight to stray, And aim'd uncertain Glances still that way.