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 forever? 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 forced 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 ails,
To tune and pace their sorrows and complaints
In Rhythm and Verse! He that his crosses wails
Indeed, would vent his griefs without restraints.
To tie 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 measured Poetry.
(4)
Stop, stop my Pen! lest
Israel's
singer sweet
Should be condemned, 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
Jonah'than
fell.
(5)
No matter what's the trifling Poets Use,
Th' Imperious Law of custom we deride:
We have Diviner Warrant to produce,
The Sovereign, Sacred Poet is our guide.
He wept his Friend in verse: then let us try,
Now
Shepherd's
fallen, 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)
O
H! 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
Shepherd's
Funeral!
How would I paint our griefs, and succors borrow
From Art and Fancy, to limn out our sorrow!
(2)
Now could I wish (if wishing would obtain)
The sprightli'est Efforts of Poetic 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 forced, affected, artificial Tone▪
Great and good
Shepherd
's Dead! Ah! this alone
Will set our eyes abroach, dissolve a stone▪
[6]
Poetic Raptures are of no esteem,
Daring
Hyperboles
have here no place,
Luxuriant Wits on such a copious Theme,
Would shame themselves, and blush to show 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 virtue scorns feigned Elogies:
He that gives
Shepherd
half his due, may seem,
If Strangers hear it, to Hyperbolize.
Let him that can, tell what his virtues were,
And say, this Star moved 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
Shepherd
is forgot, all must conclude,
Th
••
is prodigious ingratitude.
[9]
But live he shall in many a grateful Breast,
Where he hath reared 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 Waters, 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
stopped
That water-course, his sorrows ending all▪
He Fears, he Cares, he Sighs, he Weeps no more:
He's past all storms, Arriv'd at th'wished Shoar.
[12]
Dear
Shepherd
could we reach so high a strain
Of pure Seraphic 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 woe.
[16]
He was (ah woeful word! to say he was)
Our wrestling
Israel,
second unto none,
The man that stood in the g
•
p, to keep the pass,
To stop the Troops of Judgments
•
ushing on.
This Man the honor had to hold the hand
Of an incensed God against our Land.
[17]
When such a Pillar's fallen (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 God's (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 tuned his mourning Harp! what Lamentations
Then would I make for
Shepards
Funeral
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
••••
full Friend? who like to thee?
Mine Eye's desire is vanished: who can tell
Where lives my dearest
Shepherd's
Parallel?
[21]
'It is 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 crowd, and join 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 combined
To show the World a matchless
Paragon:
In whom of Radiant Virtues no less shined,
Than a whole Constellation: but he's gone!
He's gone alas! Down in the Dust must lie
As much of this rare Person as could dy.
[23]
If to have solid Judgment, Pregnant Parts,
A piercing Wit, and comprehensive Brain;
If to have gone the
Round
of all the Arts,
Immunity from Deaths Arrest would gain,
Shepherd
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 bribed Death, good
Shepherd
had not di'ed.
Oh! but inexorable Death attacks
The best Men, and promiscu'ous havoc makes.
[25]
Come tell me, Critics, have you ever known
Such Zeal, so tempered 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
Shepherd
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 ruled by Love and Wisdom, more than Fear▪
The Muses, and the Graces too, conspired
To set forth this Rare Piece, to be admired.
[29]
He governed well the Tongue (that busy thing,
Unruly, Lawless and Pragmatical)
Gravely Reserv'd, in Speech not lavishing,
Neither too sparing, nor too liberal.
His Words were few, well seasoned, wisely weighed▪
And in his Tongue the Law of kindness swayed.
[30]
Learned he was beyond the common Size▪
Befriended much by Nature in his Wit,
And Temper, (Sweet, Sedate, Ingenious, Wise)
And (which crowned all) he was Heav'ens Favorite▪
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 stiff, but steady; Seri'ous, but not Sour;
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 feared no breath
Infecti'ous, in the' 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
Highway-men
)
Assault the honest Trav'eller in his way,
And rob dear
Shepherd
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 concerned: and there were none
More constant Mourners for afflicted Zion:
So gene'ral was his care for th▪Chu
•
ches all,
His Spirit seemed Apostolical.
[35]
Large was his Heart, to spend without regret,
Rejoicing to do good: not like those
Moles
That root in the' Earth, or roam abroad, to get
All for themselves (those sorry, narrow Souls!)
But He, like th'Sun (in the' Center, as some say)
Diffus'd his Rayes of Goodness every way.
[36]
He breathed Love, and pursued Peace in his day,
As if his Soul were made of Harmony:
Scarce ever more of Goodness crowded 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 wearit with Honor,
Adoring Grace, and God in Christ, the Donour.
[38]
A Friend to Truth, a constant Foe to Error,
Pow'erful in the'
Pulpit,
and sweet in converse,
To weak ones gentle, to th'Profane a Terror.
Who can his virtues, and good works rehearse?
The Scripture Bishops-Character read over,
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 seized all for itself, Possession took,
And turned the Soul out of its house of Clay:
So Visag'd is poor
Charlstown
at this day;
Shepherd,
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
Shepherd,
sad drops many a Tear.
Cambridge
and
Charlstown
now joint Mourners are,
And this tremendous loss between them share.