Page:The lives of the poets of Great Britain and Ireland to the time of Dean Swift - Volume 4.djvu/35

Dreſs’d in the charms of wit and fancy, long
The muſe has pleas’d us with her ſyren ſong;
But weak of reaſon, and deprav’d of mind,
Too oft on vile, ignoble themes we find
The wanton muſe her ſacred art debaſe,
Forgetful of her birth, and heavenly race;
Too oft her flatt’ring ſongs to ſin intice,
And in falſe colours deck deluſive vice;
Too oft ſhe condeſcends, in ſervile lays,
The undeſerving rich and great to praiſe.
Theſe beaten paths, thy loftier ſtrains refuſe
With juſt diſdain, and nobler ſubjects chuſe:
Fir’d with ſublimer thoughts, thy daring ſoul
Wings her aſpiring flight from Pole to Pole,
Obſerves the foot-ſteps of a pow’r divine,
Which in each part of nature’s ſyſtem ſhine;
Surveys the wonders of this beauteous frame,
And ſings the ſacred ſource, whence all things came.

But Oh! what numbers ſhall I find to tell,
The mighty tranſports which my boſom ſwell,
Whilſt, guided by thy tuneful voice, I ſtray
Thro’ radiant worlds, and fields of native day,
Wafted from orb, to orb, unwearied fly
Thro’ the blue regions of the yielding ſky;
See how the ſpheres in ſtated courſes roll,
And view the juſt compoſure of the whole!

Such were the ſtrains, by antient Orpheus ſung,
To ſuch, Muſæus’ heav’nly lyre was ſtrung;
Exalted truths, in learned verſe they told,
And nature’s deepeſt ſecrets did unfold.
How at th’ eternal mind’s omnific call,
Yon ſtarry arch, and this terreſtrial ball,
The briny wave, the blazing ſource of light,
And the wane empreſs of the ſilent night,
Each in it’s order roſe and took its place,
And filled with recent forms the vacant ſpace;

How