“Eternal fate has said,--He must remove; The bards triumphant wait for him above. To everlasting day and blest abodes (The seats of poets and of gods) He’s gone, to fill the throne Which none could fill but he alone; The glorious throne for him prepared; Of glorious acts the glorious, just reward. See, see, as he ascends on high, The sacred bards attending in the sky! So low do they descend To meet their now immortal friend! Immortal there above, and here below, As long as men shall wit and English know, The unequalled Dryden must be so, Immortal in his verse, in verse unequalled too.”-- She said,--then disappear’d; when I Could plainly see all that was done on high. III. I saw above an universal joy, Perfect without alloy; (So great as ne’er till then had been Since the sweet Waller entered in,) When all that sacred company Brought the triumphant bard from ours to heaven’s great jubilee; That was the occasion of his happiness, And of our sorrows, surely that the cause, Called hence heaven’s monarch’s praise to help to express, And to receive for that his own deserved applause. There wanted still one in the heavenly quire, Dryden alone was their desire, Whom for the sacred song th’ Almighty did inspire ’Twas pity to us that so long delayed His blest translation to eternal light; Or, otherwise may we not be afraid, ’Twas for the sins of some who durst presume to write; Who durst in verse, in sacred poetry, Even heaven’s own design bely, And damn themselves with utmost industry! For this may we not dread The mighty prophet’s taken from our head? And though the fate of these I fear, I in respect must venture here. A long and racking war was sent, Of common sins, a common punishment; To the unthinking crowd the only curse, Who feel no loss but in their purse: But ah! what loss can now be worse? The mighty Pan has left our mournful shore; The mighty Pan is gone, Dryden is here no more. IV.