Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/261

Triumphant charms! what may not you subdue,
When Fate's your slave, and thus submits to you!
She now again the new-broke thread does knit,
And for another clew her spindle fit;
And life's hid spark, which did unquenched remain,
Caught the fled light, and brought it back again.
Thus you revived, and all our joys with you
Revived, and found their resurrection too.
Some only grieved, that what was deathless thought,
They saw so near to fatal ruin brought.
Now crowds of blessings on that happy hand,
Whose skill could eager destiny withstand;
Whose learnèd power has rescued from the grave
That life, which 'twas a miracle to save;
That life, which were it thus untimely lost,
Had been the fairest spoil death e'er could boast.
May he henceforth be god of healing thought,
By whom such good to you and us was brought;
Altars and shrines to him are justly due,
Who showed himself a god by raising you.
But say, fair saint, for you alone can know,
Whither your soul in this short flight did go?
Went it to antedate that happiness,
You must at last (though late we hope) possess?
Inform us, lest we should your fate belie,
And call that death which was but ecstasy.
The Queen of Love, we're told, once let us see
That goddesses from wounds could not be free;
And you, by this unwished occasion, show
That they like mortal us can sickness know.
Pity! that Heaven should all its titles give,
And yet not let you with them ever live.
You'd lack no point that makes a deity,
If you could like it too immortal be.
And so you are; half boasts a deathless state,
Although your frailer part must yield to fate.
By every breach in that fair lodging made,
Its blest inhabitant is more displayed;