IV.
Hail bright Urania! Erato hail!
Melpomene, Polymnia, Euterpe, hail!
And all ye blessed powers that inspire
The Heaven-born Soul with intellectual fire;
Pardon my humble and unhallow'd Muse,
If she too great a veneration use,
And prostrate at your best lov'd Darling's feet
Your holy Fane with sacred honour greet:
Her more than Pythian Oracles are so divine,
You sure not onely virtually are
Within the glorious Shrine,
But you your very selves must needs be there.
The Delian Prophet did at first ordain,
That even the mighty Nine should reign,
In distant Empires of different Clime;
And if in her triumphant Throne,
She rules those learned Regions alone,
The fam'd Pyerides are out-done by her omnipotent Rhime.
In proper Cells her large capacious Brain
The images of all things does contain,
As bright almost as were th'Ideas laid,
In the last model e'er the World was made.
And though her vast conceptions are so strong,
The powerfull eloquence of her charming tongue
Does, clear as the resistless beams of day,
To our enlightned Souls the noble thoughts convey
Well chosen, well appointed, every word
Does its full force and natural grace afford;
And though in her rich treasury,
Confus'd like Elements great Numbers lie,
When they their mixture and proportion take,
What beauteous forms of every kind they make!
Such was the Language God himself infus'd,
And such the style our great Forefather us'd,
From one large stock the various sounds he fram'd,
And every Species of the vast Creation nam'd.
While most of our dull Sex have trod
In beaten paths of one continued Road,
Her skilfull and well manag'd Muse
Does all the art and strength of different paces use:
For though sometimes with slackned force,
She wisely stops her fleetest course,
That slow but strong Majestick pace
Shews her the swiftest steed of all the chosen Race.
V.
Well has she sung the learned Daphnis praise,
And crown'd his Temple with immortal Bays;
And all that reade him must indeed confess,
Th'effects of such a cause could not be less.
For ne'er was (at the first bold heat begun)
So hard and swift a Race of glory run,
But yet her sweeter Muse did for him more,
Than he himself or all Apollo's sons before;
For shou'd th' insatiate lust of time
Root out the memory of his sacred Rhime,
The polish'd armour in that single Page
Wou'd all the tyranny and rage
Of Fire and Sword defie,
For Daphnis can't but with Astræa die.
And who can dark oblivion fear,
That is co-eval with her mighty Works and Her?
Ah learned Chymist, 'tis she onely can
By her almighty arm,
Within the pretious salt collect,
The true essential form,
And can against the power of death protect
Not onely Herbs and Trees, but raise the buried Man.
VI.
Wretched [OE]none's inauspicious fate,
That she was born so soon, or her blest Muse so late!
Cou'd the poor Virgin have like her complain'd,
She soon her perjur'd Lover had regain'd,
In spight of all the fair Seducers tears,
In spight of all her Vows and Prayers;
Such tender accents through his Soul had ran,
As wou'd have pierc'd the hardest heart of Man.
At every Line the fugitive had swore
By all the Gods, by all the Powers divine,
My dear [OE]none, I'll be ever thine,
And ne'er behold the flattering Grecian more.
How does it please the learned Roman's Ghost
(The sweetest that th' Elysian Field can boast)
To see his noble thoughts so well exprest,
So tenderly in a rough Language drest;
Had she there liv'd, and he her Genius known,
So soft, so charming, and so like his own,
One of his Works had unattempted been,
And Ovid ne'er in mournfull Verse been seen;
Then the great Cæsar to the Scythian plain,
From Rome's gay Court had banish'd him in vain,
Her plenteous Muse had all his wants supplied,
And he had flourish'd in exalted pride:
No barbarous Getans had deprav'd his tongue,
For he had onely list'ned to her Song,
Not as an exile, but proscrib'd by choice,
Pleas'd with her Form, and ravish'd with her voice.
His last and dearest part of Life,
Free from noise and glorious strife,
He there had spent within her softer Armes,
And soon forgot the Royal Julia's charmes.
VII.
Long may she scourge this mad rebellious Age, }
And stem the torrent of Fanatick rage, }
That once had almost overwhelm'd the Stage. }
O'er all the Land the dire contagion spread,
And e'en Apollo's Sons apostate fled:
But while that spurious race imploy'd their parts }
In studying strategems and subtile arts, }
To alienate their Prince's Subjects hearts, }
Her Loyal Muse still tun'd her loudest strings,
To sing the praises of the best of Kings.
And, O ye sacred and immortal Gods,
From the blest Mansions of your bright abodes,
To the first Chaos let us all be hurld,
E'er such vile wretches should reform the World,
That in all villany so far excell, }
If they in sulphurous flames must onely dwell, }
The Cursed Caitiffs hardly merit Hell. }
Were not those vile Achitophels so lov'd,
(The blind, the senseless and deluded Crowd)
Did they but half his Royal Vertues know,
But half the blessings which to him they owe,
His long forbearance to provoking times,
And God-like mercy to the worst of crimes:
Those murmuring Shimei's, even they alone, }
Cou'd they bestow a greater than his own, }
Wou'd from a Cottage raise him to a Throne. }
VIII.