Inscribed to the Earl of Roscommon, on his intended voyage to Ireland.
So may th' auspicious Queen of Love,
And the Twin Stars, the seed of Jove,
And he who rules the raging wind,
To thee, O sacred Ship, be kind,
And gentle breezes fill thy sails,
Supplying soft Etesian gales,
As thou, to whom the Muse commends
The best of poets and of friends,
Dost thy committed pledge restore,
And land him safely on the shore,
And save 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 side;
Or his at least, in hollow wood
Who tempted first the briny flood:
Nor fear'd the wind's 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 sight,
Could view the surges mounting steep,
And monsters rolling in the deep!
Could through the ranks of ruin go,
With storms above, and rocks below!
In vain did Nature's wise command
Divide the waters from the land,
If daring ships, and men profane,
Invade th' inviolable main;
Th' eternal fences over-leap,
And pass at will the boundless deep.
No toil, no hardship can restrain
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 seeds 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 surround,
All brooding on the blasted ground;
And limping Death, lash'd on by Fate,
up to shorten half our date.
This made not Dedalus beware,
With borrow'd wings, to sail in air:
To hell Alcides forc'd his way,
Plung'd through the lake, and snatch'd the prey,
Nay, scarce the gods, or heav'nly climes,
Are safe from our audacious crimes;
We reach at Jove's imperial crown,
And pull th' unwilling thunder down.
EHOLD yon' mountain's hoary height Made higher with new mounts of snow; Again behold the winter's weight
Oppress the lab'ring woods below; And streams, with icy fetters bound, Benumb'd and crampt to solid ground.
With well heap'd logs dissolve the cold,
And feed the genial hearth with fires;
Produce the wine that makes us bold,
And sprightly wit and love inspires ›
For what hereafter shall betide,
God, if 'tis worth his care, provide.
Let him alone, with what he made,
To toss and turn the world below; At his command the storms invade ; The winds by his commission blow; Till with a nod he bids 'em cease, And then the calm returns, and all is peace.
To-morrow and her works defy;
Lay hold upon the present hour, And snatch the pleasures passing by,
To put them out of Fortune's pow'r:
Nor love, nor love's delights disdain;
Whate'er thou get'st to-day is gain.
Secure those golden early joys
That youth, unsour'd with sorrow,
Ere with'ring Time the taste destroys,
With sickness and unwieldy years.
For active sports, for pleasing rest,
This is the time to be possess'd;
The best is but in season best.
Th' appointed hour of promis'd bliss,
The pleasing whisper in the dark,
The half unwilling willing kiss,
The laugh that guides thee to the mark, When the kind nymph would coyness feign, And hides but to be found again;
These, these are joys the gods for youth ordain.
|