ODE Upon the Death of Mr. COWLEY.
1.
HE who would worthily adorn his Herse,
Should write in his own way, in his immortal Verse:
But who can such majestick Numbers write?
With such inimitable light?
His high and noble flights to reach
'Tis not the art of Precept that can teach.
The world's grown old since Pindar, and to breed
Another such did twenty ages need.
2.
At last another Pindar came,
Great as the first in Genius and in Fame;
But that the first in Greek, a conquering Language, sung
And the last wrote but in an Island Tongue.
Wit, thought, invention in them both do flow
As Torrents tumbling from the mountains go.
[Page 6] Though the great Roman Lyrick do maintain
That none can equal Pindar's strain;
Cowley with words as full and thoughts as high
As ever Pindar did, does flie;
Of Kings and Heros he as boldly sings,
And flies above the Clouds, yet never wets his wings.
3.
As fire aspiring, as the Sea profound,
Nothing in Nature can his fancy bound;
As swift as Lightning in its course,
And as resistless in his force.
Whilst other Poets, like Bees who range the field
To gather what the Flowers will yield,
Glean matter with much toil and pain
To bring forth Verses in an humble strain;
He sees about him round,
Possest at once of all that can be found:
To his illuminated eye
All things created open lye,
That all his thoughts so clear and so perspicuous be,
That whatsoever he describes we see;
[Page 7] Our Souls are with his passions fir'd,
And he who does but read him is inspir'd.
4.
Pindar to Thebes, where first he drew his breath,
Though for his sake his race was sav'd from death
By th' Macedonian Youth, did not more honour do
Than Cowley does his Friends and Country too.
Had Horace liv'd his wit to understand,
He ne're had England thought a rude inhospitable Land;
Rome might have blush'd, and Athens been asham'd
To hear a remote Britain nam'd,
Who for his parts does match, if not exceed,
The greatest men that they did either breed.
5.
If he had flourish'd when Augustus sway'd,
Whose peaceful Scepter the whole world obey'd,
Account of him Mecenas would have made;
And from the Country shade,
Him into th' Cabinet have tane
To divert Cesar's cares and charm his pain:
For nothing can such Balm infuse
Into a wearied mind as does a noble Muse.
6.
It is now as 'twas in former days,
When all the Streets of Rome were strow'd with Bays
To receive Petrarch, who through Arches rode,
Triumphal Arches, honour'd as a Demy-God;
Not for Towns conquer'd, or for Battels won,
But Victories which were more his own,
For Victories of Wit, and Victories of Art,
In which blind undiscerning Fortune had no part.
7.
Though Cowley nere such honours did attain,
As long as Petrarch's, Cowley's name shall reign;
'Tis but his dross that's in the Grave,
His memory Fame from Death shall save;
His Bayes shall flourish, and be ever green,
When those of Conquerors are not to be seen.
Nec tibi mors ipsa superstes erit.
Thomas Higgons.
FINIS.
London, Printed for H. Herringman, at the Blew Anchor in the Lower-walk of the New Exchange. 1667.