AN ELEGY On the DEATH of the DUKE of CAMBRIDGE, Which happened on the 12th of December 1677. being our shortest day of the Year.
SInce Solemn Mourners the bright Day-beams shun,
And with dim Tapers do supply the Sun;
Since with their sable Curtains they exclude
The Light, and ev'ry thing with Darkness shrow'd:
The Heavens (as if they did our Grief fore-see)
Decreed that now our Longest Night should be.
And yet, alas! too short 'tis to relate
How much we loose by one untimely Fate.
To tell how long we for a Man-child pray'd,
And how long that great Blessing was delay'd;
To tell at last there was a Man-child born,
Which all our Pray'rs did into Praises turn:
And how the Infant smil'd, whilst in it's Eye,
We did it's Father's mighty Genius spy;
(A Genius, which thus propogated might
The Present Age and Future too delight.)
To tell what happy Dawning did appear
To usher-in our new ensuing YEAR:
And how a Morning STAR did Rayes display,
Which seem'd to promise a long Summers DAY:
To tell how soon this LIGHT was overcast,
And how our Joys, with the swift Shaddows past;
How all those Grateful Piles which we did burn,
Were damped with the Ashes of One Urn:
To tell, in fine, how all our Mirth did die,
And with the Royal BABE do's buried lye:
To tell this as we ought, Our NIGHT, I say,
For many Months should be without a Day:
Darkness should over-spread our Hemisphere,
(As in most Northern Climats) half the year:
So should our Britain, like sad Rachel be,
When She in Ramah wept so bitterly:
The loss the same is, which did both befal,
But that Hers single was, Ours general:
And if Her Tears could make one Current, Ours
Should flow like Rivers swell'd with many Show'rs.
So let us weep, till th Voice of Heav'n dos deign,
To bid us (as it Rachel did) Refrain,
In hopes our Children shall come back again.
Jer. 31. 15, 16, 17.
Tis from our Royal JAMES his Virtuous Root,
We pray & hope new Branches still may shoot,
To make him known hereafter by his Fruit.
Such Fruit must needs (like that of PARADISE,
Be alwayes Good and Pleasant to our Eyes.
London, Printed by T. D. for H. Brome. 1678.