AN ELEGIE UPON The Death of the Reverend Mr. THOMAS SHEPARD, Late Teacher of the Church at Charlstown in New-England:
By a great Admirer of his Worth, and true Mourner for his Death.
Isai. 57. 1.
The righteous perisheth and no man layeth it to heart, and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come.
Zech. 1. 5, 6.
Your Fathers where are they? And the Prophets do they live for ever? but my words and my statutes, which I commanded my servants the Prophets, did they not take hold of your Fathers?
Heb. 13 7.
Remember them which had the rule over you, who have spoken unto you the word of God, whose Faith follow, considering the end of their conversation.
CAMBRIDGE, Printed by Samuel Green. 1677.
To the Reader.
(1)
REader! I am no Poet: but I grieve!
Behold here, what that passion can do!
That forc'd a verse, without Apollo's leave,
And whether th' Learned Sisters would or no▪
My Griefs can hardly speak: my sobbing Muse
In broken terms our sad bereavement rues.
(2)
I wonder what the learned World still ailes,
To tune and pace their sorrows and complaints
In Rhythm and Verse! He that his crosses wailes
Indeed, would vent his griefs without restraints.
To tye our grief to numbers, m [...]asures, feet,
Is not to let it loose, but fetter it.
(3)
Is this it? that a Poets softer heart
Of great impressions susceptible is?
He wisely doth perform his mourning part
In Verse, lest grief should time and measure miss.
But griefs unmeasurable would not be
Curb'd, and rein'd-in by measur'd Poetry.
(4)
Stop, stop my Pen! lest Israel's singer sweet
Should be condemn'd, who, in that Song of th' Bow,
To vent his passionate complaints thought meet,
And to bewail his great Friends overthrow.
King David in an Elegiack Knell,
Rung out his dolours, when dear Jona'than fell.
(5)
No matter what's the trifling Poets Ʋse,
Th' Imperious Law of custome we deride:
We have Diviner Warrant to produce,
The Soveraign, Sacred Poet is our guide.
He wept his Friend in verse: then let us try,
Now Shepard's faln, to write his Elegy.
AN ELEGIE Upon that Reverend, Learned, Eminently Pious, and Singularly Accomplished Divine, my ever Honoured BROTHER Mr. THOMAS SHEPARD, The late Faithful and Worthy Teacher of the Church of Christ at Charlstown in New-England.
Who finished his Course on Earth, and went to receive his Crown, December 22. 1677. In the 43d Year of his Age.
(1)
OH! that I were a Poet now in grain!
How would I invocate the Muses all
To deign their presence, lend their flowing Vein,
And help to grace dear Shepard's Funeral!
How would I paint our griefs, and succours borrow
From Art and Fancy, to limn out our sorrow!
(2)
Now could I wish (if wishing would obtain)
The sprightli'est Efforts of Poetick Rage,
To vent my Griess, make others feel my pain,
For this loss of the Glory of our Age.
Here is a subject for the loftiest Verse
That ever waited on the bravest Hearse.
[3]
And could my Pen ingeniously distill
The purest Spirits of a sparkling wit
In rare conceits, the quintessence of skill
In Elegiack Strains; none like to it:
I should think all too little to condole
The fatal loss (to us) of such a Soul▪
[4]
Could I take highest Flights of Fancy, foar
Alost; If Wits Monopoly were mine:
All would be much too low, too light, too poor,
To pay due tribute to this great Divine▪
Ah! Wit avails not, when th'Heart's like to break,
Great griefs are Tongue▪ti'ed, when the lesser speak.
[5]
Away loose rein'd Careers of Poetry,
The celebrated Sisters may be gone;
We need no Mourning Womens Elegy,
No forc'd, affected, artificial Tone▪
Great and good Shepard's Dead! Ah! this alone
Will set our eyes abroach, dissolve a stone▪
[6]
Poetick Raptures are of no esteem,
Daring Hyperboles have here no place,
Luxuriant Wits on such a copious Theme,
Would shame themselves, and blush to shew their face
Here's worth enough to overmatch the skill
Of the most stately Poet Laureat's Quill.
[7]
Exube'rant Fancies useless here I deem,
Transcendent vertue scorns feign'd Elogies:
He that gives Shepard half his due, may seem,
If Strangers hear it, to Hyperbolize.
Let him that can, tell what his vertues were,
And say, this Star mov'd in no common Sphere.
[8]
Here need no Spices, Odours, curious Arts,
No skill of Egypt, to embalm the Name
Of such a Worthy: let men speak their hearts,
They'l say, He merits an Immortal Fame.
When Shepard is forgot, all must conclude,
Th [...] is prodigious ingratitude.
[9]
But live he shall in many a gratefull Breast,
VVhere he hath rear'd himself a Monument,
A Monument more stately than the best,
On which Immensest Treasures have been spent.
Could you but into th'Hearts of thousands peep▪
There would you read his Name engraven deep.
[10]
Oh! that my head were VVaters, and mine Eyes▪
A flowing Spring of Tears, still issuing forth
In streams of bitterness, to solemnize
The Obits of this Man of matchless worth!
Next to the Tears our sins do need and crave▪
I would bestow my Tears on Shepards Grave.
(11)
Not that he needs our Tears: for he hath dropt
His measure full; not one Tear more shall fall
Into God's Bottle from his eyes; Death stopt
That water-course, his sorrows ending all▪
He Fears, he Cares, he Sighs, he Weeps no more:
Hee's past all storms, Arriv'd at th'wished Shoar.
[12]
Dear Shepard could we reach so high a strain
Of pure Seraphick l [...]ve, as to devest
Our selves, and love, of self-r [...]sp [...]cts, thy gain
Would joy us, though it cross our interest.
Then would we silence all complaints with this,
Our Dearest Friend is doubtless g [...]ne to Bliss.
(13)
Ah! but the Lesson's hard, thus to deny
Our own dear selves, to part with such a Loan
Of Heaven (in time of such pecessity)
And love thy comforts better than our own.
Then let us moan our loss, adjourn our glee,
Till we come thither to rejoice with thee.
[14]
As when some formidable Comets blaze,
As when Portentous Prodigies appear,
Poor Mortals with amazement stand and gaze,
With hearts aff [...]ighted, and with trembling fear:
So are we all amazed at this blow,
Sadly portending some approaching woe.
[15]
We shall not summon bold Astrologers,
To tell us what the Stars say in the case,
(Those Cousin-Germans to black Conjurers)
We have a sacred Oracle that says,
When th'Righteous perish, men of mercy go,
It is a sure presage of coming wo.
[16]
He was (ah woful word! to say he was)
Our wrestling Israel, second unto none,
The man that stood i'th g [...]p, to keep the pass,
To stop the Troops of Judgements [...]ushing on.
This Man the honour had to hold the hand
Of an incensed God against our Land.
[17]
When such a Pillar's faln (Oh such an one!)
When such a glorious, shining Light's put▪out,
When Chariot and Horsemen thus are gone;
Well may we fear some Downfal, Darkness, Rout.
When such a Bank's broke down, there's fad occasion
To wail, and dread some grievous Inundation.
[18]
What! must we with our God, and Glory part?
Lord! Is thy Treaty with New-England come
Thus to an end? And is War in thy Heart?
That this Ambass [...]dour is called home.
So Earthly Gods (Kings) when they War intend,
Call home their Ministers, and Treaties end.
[19]
Oh for the Raptures, Transports, Inspirations
Of Israel's Singers, when his Jon'athan's Fall
So tun'd his mourning Harp! what Lamentations
Then would I make for Shepards Funerall
How truly can I say, as well as He?
My Dearest Brother I'am distress'd for thee.
[20]
How Lovely, Worthy, Peerless, in my view?
How Precious, Pleasan [...] hast thou been to me?
How Learn [...], Prud [...]nt, Pious, Grave, and True?
And what a [...]ful Friend? who like to thee?
Mine Eye's desire is vanish'd: who can tell
Where lives my dearest Shepard's Parallel?
[21]
'Tis strange to think: but we may well believe,
That not a few of different Perswasions
From this great Worthy, do now truly grieve
I'th Mourning croud, and joyn their Lamentations.
Such Powers Magnetick had He to draw to Him
The very Hearts, and Souls, of all that knew Him▪
[22]
Art, Nature, Grace, in Him were all combin'd
To shew the World a matchless Paragon:
In whom of Radiant Virtues no less shin'd,
Than a whole Constellation: but hee's gone!
Hee's gone alas! Down in the Dust must ly
As much of this rare Person as could dy.
[23]
If to have solid Judgement, Pregnant Parts,
A piercing Wit, and comprehensive Brain;
If to have gone the Round of all the Arts,
Immunity from Deaths Arrest would gain,
Shepard would have been Death-proof, and secure
From that All conquering Hand, J'm very sure.
[24]
If Holy Life, and Deeds of Charity,
If Grace illustrious, and Virtue tri'ed,
If modest Carriage, rare Humility,
Could have brib'd Death, good Shepard had not di'ed.
Oh! but inexorable Death attacks
The best Men, and promiscu'ous havock makes.
[25]
Come tell me, Criticks, have you ever known
Such Zeal, so temper'd well with moderation?
Such Prudence, and such Inno'cence met in one?
Such Parts, so little Pride and Ostentation?
Let Momus carp, and Envy do her worst,
And swell with Spleen and Rancour till she burst.
[26]
To be descended well, doth that commend?
Can Sons their Fathers Glory call their own?
Our Shepard justly might to this pretend,
(His Blessed Father was of high Renown,
Both England: speak him great, admire his Name)
But his own pers[onal worth's a better claim.
[27]
Great was the Father, once a glorious Light
Among us, Famous to an high Degree:
Great was this Son: indeed (to do him right)
As Great and Good (to say no more) as He.
A double portion of his Fathers Spirit
Did this (his Eldest) Son, through Grace, inherit.
[28]
His Look commanded Reverence and Awe,
Though Mild and Amiable, not Austere:
Well Humour▪d was He (as I ever saw▪)
And rul'd by Love and Wisdome, more than Fear▪
The Muses, and the Graces too, conspir'd
To set forth this Rare Piece, to be admir'd.
[29]
He govern'd well the Tongue (that busie thing,
Unruly, Lawless and Pragmatical)
Gravely Reserv'd, in Speech not lavishing,
Neither too sparing, nor too liberal.
His Words were few, well season'd, wisely weigh'd▪
And in his Tongue the Law of kindness sway'd.
[30]
Learned he was beyond the common Size▪
Befriended much by Nature in his Wit,
And Temper, (Sweet, Sedate, Ingenious, Wise)
And (which crown'd all) he was Heav'ens Favourite▪
On whom the God of all Grace did command,
And [...]how' [...] down Blessings with a lib'eral hand.
[31]
Wise He, not wily, was; Grave, not Morose;
Not stiffe, but steady; Seri'ous, but not Sowre;
Concern'd for all, as if he had no Foes;
(Strange if he had!) and would not wast an Hour.
Thoughtful and Active for the common good:
And yet his own place wisely understood.
[32]
Nothing could make him stray from Duty; Death
Was not so frightful to him, as Omission
Of Ministerial work; he fear'd no breath
Infecti'ous, i'th' discharge of his Commission.
Rather than run from's work, he chose to dy,
Boldly to run on Death, than duty fly.
[33]
(Cruel Disease! that didst (like High-way-men)
Assault the honest Trav'eller in his way,
And rob dear Shepard of his life (Ah!) then,
When he was on the Road, where Duty lay.
Forbear, bold Pen! 'twas God that took him thus,
To give him great Reward, and punish us.)
[34]
Zealous in God's cause, but meek in his own;
Modest of Nature, bold as any Lion,
Where Consc▪ience was concern'd: and there were none
More constant Mourners for afflicted Sion:
So gene'ral was his care for th▪Chu [...]ches all,
His Spirit seemed Apostolical.
[35]
Large was his Heart, to spend without regret,
Rejoycing to do good: not like those Moles
That root i'th' Earth, or roam abroad, to get
All for themselves (those sorry, narrow Souls!)
But He, like th'Sun (i'th' Center, as some say)
Diffus'd his Rayes of Goodness every way.
[36]
He breath'd Love, and pursu'd Peace in his day,
As if his Soul were made of Harmony:
Scarce ever more of Goodness crouded lay
In such a piece of frail Mortality.
Sure Father Wilsons genuine Son was he,
New-England's Paul had such a Timothy.
[37]
No Slave to th'Worlds grand Idols; but he flew
At Fairer Quarries, without stooping down
To Sublunary prey: his great Soul knew
Ambition none, but of the Heave'nly Crown.
Now he hath won it, and shall wear't with Honour,
Adoring Grace, and God in Christ, the Donour.
[38]
A Friend to Truth, a constant Foe to Errour,
Pow'erful i'th' Pulpit, and sweet in converse,
To weak ones gentle, to th'Profane a Terrour.
Who can his vertues, and good works rehearse?
The Scripture Bishops-Character read o're,
Say this was Shepards: what need I say more?
[39]
I say no more: let them that can declare
His rich and rare endowments, paint this Sun,
With all its [...]azling Rayes: But I despair,
Hopeless by any hand to see it done.
They that can Shepards goodness well display,
Must be as good as he: But who are they?
[40]
See where our Sister Charlstown sits and Means!
Poor Widowed Chaarlstown! all in Dust, in Tears!
Mark how she wrings her hands! hear how she gro [...]!
See how she weeps! what sorrow like to hers!
Charlstown, that might for joy compare of late
With all about her, now looks desolate.
[41]
As you have seen some Pale, Wan, Ghastly look,
When grisly Death, that will not be said nay,
Hath seiz'd all for it self, Possession took,
And turn'd the Soul out of its house of Clay:
So Visag'd is poor Charlstown at this day;
Shepard, her very Soul, is torn away.
[42]
Cambridge groans under this so heavy cross,
And Sympathizes with her Sister dear;
Re [...]ews her Griefs af [...]esh for her old loss
Of her own Shepard, sad drops many a Tear.
Cambridge and Charlstown now joint Mourners are,
And this tremendous loss between them share.
[...]