Whose priest I am, whose holy fillets wear,
Would you your poet’s first petition hear;
Give me the way of wand’ring stars to know:
The depths of heav’n above, and earth below.
Teach me the various labours of the moon,
And whence proceed th’ eclipses of the sun.
Why flowing tides prevail upon the main,
And in what dark recess they sink again.
What shakes the solid earth, what cause delays
The summer nights, and shortens winter days—