POSTHUMOUS

PIECE S

IN VERSE.

X 2

ODE to the Athenian Society.

Moor-Park, Feb. 14, 1691.

AS when the deluge first began to fall,

That mighty ebb never to flow again

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

That mountain, which was highest firft of all,
Appear'd above the universal main,

To bless 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 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 fhe brings from far, To crown the happy conqueror,

To fhew the flood begins to ceafe,

And brings the dear reward of victory and

peace.

X 3

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 shine, And for a while in heav'nly 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 frighted at the war),
And now difcovers from afar

A peaceful and a flourishing shore:

No fooner did fhe land

On the delightful strand,

Than straight she fees the country all around,
Where fatal Neptune rul'd erewhile,

Scatter'd with flow'ry vales, with fruitful gardens crown'd,

And many a pleasant wood!

* The Ode I writ to the king in Ireland.

As if the univerfal Nile

Had rather water'd it than drown'd: It seems fome floating piece of paradife, Preferv'd by wonder from the flood,

Long wand'ring through the deep, as we are told

Fam'd Delos did of old,

And the transported muse 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 the 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 she 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 mcn,
The wild excurfions of a youthful pen;

Forgive a young and (almost) virgin-muse,
Whom blind and eager curiofity

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