To issue out, and in some friendly breast Discharge her treasures, and securely rest; To unbosom all the secrets of her heart, Take good advice, but better to impart. For 'tis the bliss of friendship's holy state, } To mix their minds, and to communicate; } Though bodies cannot, souls can penetrate: } Fixed to her choice, inviolably true, And wisely choosing, for she chose but few. Some she must have; but in no one could find A tally fitted for so large a mind. The souls of friends like kings in progress are, Still in their own, though from the palace far: Thus her friend's heart her country dwelling was, A sweet retirement to a coarser place; Where pomp and ceremonies entered not, Where greatness was shut out, and business well forgot. This is the imperfect draught; but short as far } As the true height and bigness of a star } Exceeds the measures of the astronomer. } She shines above, we know; but in what place, How near the throne, and heaven's imperial face, By our weak optics is but vainly guessed; Distance and altitude conceal the rest. Though all these rare endowments of the mind Were in a narrow space of life confined, The figure was with full perfection crowned; Though not so large an orb, as truly round. As when in glory, through the public place, The spoils of conquered nations were to pass, And but one day for triumph was allowed, The consul was constrained his pomp to crowd; And so the swift procession hurried on, That all, though not distinctly, might be shewn: So in the straitened bounds of life confined, She gave but glimpses of her glorious mind; And multitudes of virtues passed along, Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng, Ambitious to be seen, and then make room For greater multitudes that were to come. Yet unemployed no minute slipped away; Moments were precious in so short a stay. The haste of heaven to have her was so great, } That some were single acts, though each complete; } But every act stood ready to repeat. } Her fellow-saints with busy care will look For her blest name in fate's eternal book; And, pleased to be outdone, with joy will see Numberless virtues, endless charity: But more will wonder at so short an age, To find a blank beyond the thirtieth page; And with a pious fear begin to doubt The piece imperfect, and the rest torn out. But 'twas her Saviour's time;[91] and, could there be A copy near the original, 'twas she. As precious gums are not for lasting fire, They but perfume the temple, and expire; So was she soon exhaled, and vanished hence; A short sweet odour, of a vast expence. She vanished, we can scarcely say she died; For but a now did heaven and earth divide: She passed serenely with a single breath; This moment perfect health, the next was death: One sigh did her eternal bliss assure;