INSCRIBED TO THE EARL OF ROSCOMMON, ON HIS INTENDED VOYAGE TO IRELAND.
may the aufpicious Queen of Love, 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 Mufe commends
The beft of poets and of friends,
Doft thy committed pledge restore,
And land him fafely on the fhore;
And fave the better part of me,
From perishing with him at fea,
Sure he, who firft the paffage 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 fhore;
Nor Hyades portending rain;
Nor all the tyrants of the main.
What form of death could him affright,
Who unconcern'd, with ftedfaft fight,
Could view the furges mounting steep,
And monsters rolling in the deep!
Could through 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 fhips and men prophane
Invade the inviolable main;
The eternal fences over-leap,
And pafs 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 afpire,
And ftole from heaven the feeds of fire:
A train of ills, a ghaftly crew,
The robber's blazing track pursue;
Fierce Famine with her meagre face,
And Fevers of the fiery race,
In fwarms the offending wretch furround,
All brooding on the blafted ground:
And limping Death, lash'd on by fate;
Comes up to fhorten 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 through 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 the unwilling thunder down.
BEHOLD yon mountain's hoary height,
Made higher with new mounts of snow;
Again behold the winter's weight
Opprefs the labouring woods below :
And ftreams, with icy fetters bound,
Benumb'd and crampt to folid ground.
With well-heap'd logs diffolve the cold,
And feed the genial hearth with fires;
Produce the wine, that makes us bold,
And sprightly wit and love infpires:
For what hereafter fhall betide,
God, if 'tis worth his care, provide.
Let him alone, with what he made,
To tofs and turn the world below;
At his command the ftorms invade;
The winds by his commiffion blow;
Till with a nod he bids 'em cease,
And then the calm returns, and all is
To-morrow and her works defy,
Lay hold upon the present hour, And fnatch the pleasures paffing by,
To put them out of fortune's power: Nor love, nor love's delights difdain ; Whate'er thou get'ft to-day, is gain.
Secure thofe golden early joys,
That youth unfour'd with sorrow bears,
Ere withering time the taste destroys,
With fickness and unweildy years.
For active sports, for pleasing reft,
This is the time to be poffeft;
The beft is but in season best.
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