Classic Poem

Hammond, dear Uncle, of so sweet a frame!
That but to know and love thee was the same.
In blood and years before me one degree,
Many, in vertue and true Piety.
Our Threads kind Fate twisted a-while in one;
The finer thine, though mine the longer spun.
Cambridge beheld our Youthfull Friendship's dawn;
Thither by thy Magnetick Letters drawn
I first obtain'd a room within thy breast,
And thou in mine wert the most early guest.
From thence we to the North together went:
Happy those hours! how sweet! how innocent!
But oh! the halcion-dayes we there convers'd
Presag'd a storm, by which too soon dispers'd
With equall grief, then, under different climes
We wail'd the fury of unruly Times;
Which weather'd out, at last I liv'd to see
My native soil once more, and dearer Thee.
Thee dearer? vain comparison! alas!
Thou wert the same, she far from what she was;
Her face, disfigur'd so by Civill Wars,
Cou'd scarce be known, through those dishonour'd scars.
Wars, which in such a slavish peace did cloze
As Eastern Monarch's grant to Captiv'd foes,
To servitude so miserable led
That who remain'd alive envy'd the Dead.
Then, though none more with publick grief opprest,
A private Passion labour'd in thy brest;
This complicated sickness was too fierce
For such a gentle temper to disperse,
Which sunk at last under the double weight
Of mis-priz'd love, and right controlling fate.
Some Poems, all of thee that I could save
(Except thy dear remembrance) from the grave,
I then collected with Religious care
That all who read thee might my sorrowes share.