His warlike mind, his soul devoid of fear, His high-designing thoughts were figured there, As when, by magic, ghosts are made appear. Our phoenix queen was portray'd too so bright, Beauty alone could beauty take so right; Her dress, her shape, her matchless grace, Were all observed, as well as heavenly face. With such a peerless majesty she stands, As in that day she took the crown from sacred hands: Before a train of heroines was seen, In beauty foremost, as in rank, the queen. Thus nothing to her genius was denied, But like a ball of fire the further thrown, Still with a greater blaze she shone, And her bright soul broke out on every side. What next she had design'd Heaven only knows: To such immoderate growth her conquest rose, That fate alone its progress could oppose. VIII. Now all those charms, that blooming grace, The well-proportion'd shape, and beauteous face, Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes; In earth the much lamented virgin lies. Not wit, nor piety could Fate prevent; Nor was the cruel destiny content To finish all the murder at a blow, To sweep at once her life, and beauty too; But, like a harden'd felon, took a pride To work more mischievously slow, And plunder'd first, and then destroy'd. Oh, double sacrilege on things divine, To rob the relic, and deface the shrine! But thus Orinda[35] died: Heaven, by the same disease, did both translate: As equal were their souls, so equal was their fate. IX. Meantime her warlike brother on the seas His waving streamers to the wind displays, And vows for his return, with vain devotion, pays. Ah, generous youth! that wish forbear, The winds too soon will waft thee here: Slack all thy sails, and fear to come, Alas, thou know'st not thou art wreck'd at home! No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face, Thou hast already had her last embrace. But look aloft, and if thou ken'st from far Among the Pleiads a new-kindled star, If any sparkles than the rest more bright, 'Tis she that shines in that propitious light. X. When in mid-air the golden trump shall sound, To raise the nations under ground: When in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, The judging God shall close the book of fate: And there the last assizes keep, For those who wake, and those who sleep; When rattling bones together fly, From the four corners of the sky; When sinews o'er the skeletons are spread, Those clothed with flesh, and life inspires the dead; The sacred poets first shall hear the sound, And foremost from the tomb shall bound, For they are cover'd with the lightest ground; And straight, with inborn vigour, on the wing, Like mounting larks, to the new morning sing. There thou, sweet saint, before the quire shalt go, As harbinger of heaven, the way to show, The way which thou so well hast learn'd below.