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Some fhe does to Egyptian bondage draw,

Bids us make bricks, yet sends us to look out for straw:
Some the condemns for life to try

To dig the leaden mines of deep philofophy:
Me she has to the Mufe's gallies tied,
In vain I ftrive to crofs this fpacious main,
In vain I tug and pull the oar,

And, when I almoft reach the fhore,

Straight the Muse turns the helm, and I launch out again:
And yet, to feed my pride,

Whene'er I mourn, ftops my complaining breath,
With promise of a mad reverfion after death.

XII.

Then, Sir, accept this worthless verse,
The tribute of an humble Muse,

'Tis all the portion of my niggard stars ;

Nature the hidden spark did at my birth infufe,

And kindled first with indolence and ease;

And, fince too oft' debauch'd by praise,

'Tis now grown an incurable difease:
In vain to quench this foolish fire I try
In wisdom and philosophy;

In vain all wholesome herbs I fow,
Where nought but weeds will grow.

Whate'er I plant (like corn on barren earth)
By an equivocal birth

Seeds, and runs up to poetry.

ODE

D

E,

TO THE ATHENIAN SOCIETY.

Moor-Park, Feb. 14, 1691.

I.

S when the deluge first began to fall,

That mighty ebb never to flow again

(When this huge body's moisture was fo great,
It quite o'ercame the vital heat);

That mountain, which was highest first of all,
Appear'd above the univerfal main,

To blefs the primitive failor's weary fight!
And 'twas perhaps Parnaffus, if in height
It be as great as 'tis in fame,

And nigh to Heaven as is its name:
So, after th' inundation of a war,

When Learning's little houfhold did embark

With her world's fruitful fyftem in her facred ark,

At the firft ebb of noife and fears,

Philofophy's exalted head appears;

And the Dove-Mufe will now no longer stay,

But plumes her filver wings, and flies away;

And now a laurel wreath she brings from far,
To crown the happy conqueror,

To fhew the flood begins to cease,

And brings the dear reward of victory and peace.

II. The

II.

The eager Mufe took wing upon the waves' decline,
When war her cloudy afpect juft withdrew,
When the bright fun of peace began to fhine,
And for a while in heavenly contemplation fat
On the high top of peaceful Ararat ;

And pluck'd a laurel branch (for laurel was the first that

grew,

The first of plants after the thunder, ftorm, and rain); And thence, with joyful nimble wing,

Flew dutifully back again,

And made an humble chaplet for the King *.

And the Dove-Mufe is fled once more

(Glad of the victory, yet frighten'd at the war); And now difcovers from afar

A peaceful and a flourishing shore :

No fooner did fhe land

On the delightful ftrand,

Then ftraight fhe fees the country all around,

Where fatal Neptune rul'd erewhile,

Scatter'd with flowery vales, with fruitful gardens crown'd, And many a pleasant wood!

As if the univerfal Nile

Had rather water'd it than drown'd:

It seems fome floating piece of paradise,

Preferv'd by wonder from the flood,

Long wandering through the deep, as we are told
Fam'd Delos did of old,

**The Ode I writ to the King in Ireland. SWIFT

This cannot now be recovered.

And

And the tranfported Mufe imagin'd it
To be a fitter birth-place for the God of wit,
Or the much-talk'd oracular grove;
When with amazing joy she hears
An unknown mufick all around

Charming her greedy ears

With many a heavenly fong

Of nature and of art, of deep philofophy and love,
Whilft angels tune the voice, and God infpires the tongue,
In vain the catches at the empty found,
In vain pursues the mufick with her longing eye,
And courts the wanton echoes as they fly.

III.

Pardon, ye great unknown, and far-exalted men,
The wild excurfions of a youthful pen* ;
Forgive a young, and (almost) Virgin-Mufe,,
Whom blind and eager curiofity

(Yet curiofity, they fay,

Is in her fex a crime needs no excufe)

Has forc'd to grope her uncouth way

After a mighty light that leads her wandering eye.-
No wonder then she quits the narrow path of sense
For a dear ramble through impertinence ;
Impertinence the fcurvy of mankind.
And all we fools, who are the greater part of it,
Though we be of two different factions still,
Both the good-natur'd and the ill,

Yet wherefoe'er you look, you'll always find
We join, like flies and wafps, in buzzing about wit.

* See Dr. Swift's very remarkable Letter to the Athe nian Society, in the Supplement to his Works.

In me, who am of the firft fect of these,

All merit, that transcends the humble rules
Of my own dazzled scanty sense,
Begets a kinder folly and impertinence
Of admiration and of praise.

And our good brethren of the furly sect

Muft e'en all herd us with their kindred fools:

For though, poffefs'd of present vogue, they 've made Railing a rule of wit, and obloquy a trade; Yet the fame want of brains produces each effect. And you, whom Pluto's helm does wifely fhroud From us the blind and thoughtless croud, Like the fam'd hero in his mother's cloud, Who both our follies and impertinences fee, Do laugh perhaps at theirs, and pity mine and me. VI.

But cenfure 's to be understood

Th' authentic mark of the elect,

The public ftamp Heaven fets on all that's great and good,
Our shallow fearch and judgement to direct.
The war methinks has made

Our wit and learning narrow as our trade;
Inftead of boldly failing far, to buy
A ftock of wisdom and philosophy,
We fondly stay at home, in fear

Of every cenfuring privateer;

Forcing a wretched trade by beating down the fale,
And felling bafely by retail.

The wits, I mean the atheifts of the age,

Who fain would rule the pulpit as they do the stage;

Wondrous