Euterpe: The Lyrick Muse, On the Death of John Dryden, Esq; An ODE. Sarah Fyge Egerton Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T125148 Egerton, Sarah Fyge, 1668-1723. Poems on Several Occasions, Together with a Pastoral. By Mrs. S. F. [poems only] London printed, and are to be sold by J. Nutt, near Stationers-Hall 1703 pp. 98-103. [20],117,[3],15,[1]p.; 8⁰.

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Euterpe : The Lyrick Muse , On the Death of John Dryden , Esq ; An ODE . I. I soft Euterpe , sweetest of the Nine , The most Inspiring , and the most Divine , By my own Lyre rais'd to extatick Joy Full of kind Influence expecting sate , When tuneful Dryden would my Aid implore , Who with gay Transports did my Gifts employ , And meanest Thoughts above my Notes did soar But strait a dismal , and unwelcome Sound , Fill'd all th' Æthereal Courts around , Great Dryden is no more . But like the common things in mortal State , Lost in th' impartial Gulf of an inevitable Fate , At the dread News Grief all my Lustre veil'd , I broke my harmonious Harp and Lute , Threw by my softning ever-charming Flute , Not the least glympse of Joy appears , No radiant Nymphs about my Pallace wait , Nor drink I any Nectar but my Tears . II . I with profoundest Cause , and Sorrow mourn , Over my Dryden's sacred Urn : He was my greatest Glory , only boast , Through him I let ungrateful Mankind know , What mighty Wonders I could do , But now , like him , to the inferior World I'm lost . I taught Him all the softer Airs of Love , And Anthems so divine ; he'll find the same above . With an auspicious Pride I did dispense My mighty Favours , when He did implore , From my pregnant unexhausted Store , Of tuneful Fancies , and harmonious Sense . When I with gentle Fire have warm'd the Breast , The Soul with pleasing Raptures bles't , The sacred Flame in ev'ry part does shine . The Product , like the Source , is all divine , Poetry's not th' effect of Art , or Wine , or Love , Tho' They sometimes the Gift improve , Nor is the warmth that Poets Breasts inspire , Vinum Doemonum , but Celestial Fire . A God-like Ray enlightning from above ; As decent Measures , regular Motions be Through all the tuneful Universe , And speak in all a glorious Harmony , Ev'n so the mystick Numbers of melodious Verse , Are of th' intellectual World the sacred Symmetry . III . Dryden I chose of all the tuneful Throng , His Soul with Ardour fill'd fit for immortal Song ; Learn'd him all Lyrick Arts of Poetry , Such as might with Celestial Notes agree ; Which his Industry did improve , In Celebrations , Elegies and Love , And ev'ry Theme which his commanding Pen would try With strength of Judgment , and profoundest Sense , With sparkling Wit , gay Fancy , Eloquence , His Verse did all abound : In him alone was found The much desir'd , aim'd at Excellence . In ev'ry Line magnificent or sweet , Like OVID soft , or else like VIRGIL great . Orpheus magnetick Harp less Pow'r cou'd boast , All Rage , unless in Love when e'er he sung was lost . Above 'em all he rais'd his matchless Lays , Glory of Britain , and Wits Empire too , Which tho' the Subjects are but Few , Did justly wreath him with deserved Bays : The verdant Diadem which Laureats Crown , Ne'er look'd so fresh as when he put it on , Then like his Lines with Godlike-lustre shone . IV . With a Superior and victorious Grace The sacred Place , He did almost unenvy'd assume , I , pleas'd to see the Branches spread O're his triumphant Head , From th' Helicon Spring Did Water bring , Sprinkled them oft that they might ever bloom . But , oh ! they cou'd not stand the Rage , Of an ill-natur'd and Lethargick Age , Who spight of Wit wou'd stupidly be Wise , All noble Raptures , Extasies despise , And only Plodders after Sense will Prize . They from his meritorious Brow Th' exalted Laurel tear , Which none but he could justly wear , And He must suffer Abdication too . V. With Him they did suppress all lofty flights of Poetry . All melting Airs , and rapt'ring Harmony , But this Revenge , let Mankind take from me . If any dare on Dryden's Death to Write , Not to express their Grief , but shew their Wit , I the ambitious Purpose will Reverse , Deny my Aid , And so shall each inspiring Maid . Resolving ungrateful Man that could contemn Such noble Excellence in Him . Shall never more the Blessing know , We'll ne'r again our Influence bestow . Tho' 'tis pretended to adorn his Herse . ( Unless the generous Montague implore , Then in him shall all our Glories shine as heretofore . ) But to express our own immortal Love , We'll Solemnize Great Dryden's Obsequies above , Our Grief such Emphasis shall bear , As no Corporeal Organs can declare , And one Eternal Sigh spread thro' the Extended Air .