Inscribed to the Earl of Roscommon, on his intended

Voyage to Ireland.

O may th' auspicious queen of love,

So may th

And the twin stars the feed of Jove,

And he who rules the raging wind,
To thee, O facred ship, be kind;
And gentle breezes fill thy fails,
Supplying foft Etesian gales :

As thou, to whom the Muse commends
The best of poets and of friends,

Doft thy committed pledge restore,
And land him fafely on the shore;
And fave the better part of me,

From perishing with him at sea,
Sure he, who first the passage try'd,
In harden'd oak his heart did hide,
And ribs of iron arm'd his fide;
Or his at least, in hollow wood

Who tempted first the briny flood:
Nor fear'd the winds contending roar,
Nor billows beating on the shore;
Nor Hyades portending rain;
Nor all the tyrants of the main.
What form of death could him affright,
Who unconcern'd, with stedfast fight,
Could view the furges mounting steep,
And monfters rolling in the deep!
Could thro the ranks of ruin go,
With ftorms above, and rocks below!
In vain did Nature's wife command
Divide the waters from the land,
If daring ships and men prophane
Invade th' inviolable main;
Th' eternal fences over-leap,
And pass at will the boundless deep.

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No toil, no hardship can reftrain
Ambitious man inur'd to pain;

The more confin'd, the more he tries,

And at forbidden quarry flies.

Thus bold Prometheus did aspire,

And stole from Heav'n the feeds of fire:

A train of ills, a ghastly crew,
The robber's blazing track pursue;
Fierce famine with her meagre face,
And fevers of the fiery race,
In swarms th' offending wretch furround,
All brooding on the blasted ground:
And limping death, lash'd on by fate,
Comes up to shorten half our date.
This made not Dedalus beware,
With borrow'd wings to fail in air :
To hell Alcides forc'd his way,
Plung'd thro the lake, and snatch'd the prey.
Nay scarce the Gods, or heavenly climes,
Are fafe from our audacious crimes;
We reach at Jove's imperial crown.
And pull th' unwilling thunder down.