III.
I saw above an universal joy,
Perfect without alloy;
(So great as ne’er till then had been
Since the sweet Waller entered in,)
When all that sacred company
Brought the triumphant bard from ours to heaven’s great jubilee;
That was the occasion of his happiness,
And of our sorrows, surely that the cause,
Called hence heaven’s monarch’s praise to help to express,
And to receive for that his own deserved applause.
There wanted still one in the heavenly quire,
Dryden alone was their desire,
Whom for the sacred song th’ Almighty did inspire
’Twas pity to us that so long delayed
His blest translation to eternal light;
Or, otherwise may we not be afraid,
’Twas for the sins of some who durst presume to write;
Who durst in verse, in sacred poetry,
Even heaven’s own design bely,
And damn themselves with utmost industry!
For this may we not dread
The mighty prophet’s taken from our head?
And though the fate of these I fear,
I in respect must venture here.
A long and racking war was sent,
Of common sins, a common punishment;
To the unthinking crowd the only curse,
Who feel no loss but in their purse:
But ah! what loss can now be worse?
The mighty Pan has left our mournful shore;
The mighty Pan is gone, Dryden is here no more.