Classic Poem

ODE I.

Where reverend bards of old have sate
And sung the pleasant interludes of Fate,
Thou takest the hereditary shade
Which Nature's homely art had made,
And thence thou giv'st thy Muse her swing, and she
Advances to the galaxy;
There with the sparkling Cowley she above
Does hand in hand in graceful measures move.
We grovelling mortals gaze below,
And long in vain to know
Her wondrous paths, her wondrous flight:
In vain, alas! we grope,
In vain we use our earthly telescope,
We're blinded by an intermedial night.
Thine eagle-Muse can only face
The fiery coursers in their race,
While with unequal paces we do try
To bear her train aloft, and keep her company.


II.

The loud harmonious Mantuan
Once charm'd the world; and here's the Uscan swan
In his declining years does chime,
And challenges the last remains of Time.
Ages run on, and soon give o'er,
They have their graves as well as we;
Time swallows all that's past and more,
Yet time is swallow'd in eternity:
This is the only profits poets see.
There thy triumphant Muse shall ride in state
And lead in chains devouring Fate;
Claudian's bright Ph[oe]nix she shall bring
Thee an immortal offering;
Nor shall my humble tributary Muse
Her homage and attendance too refuse;
She thrusts herself among the crowd,
And joining in th' applause she strives to clap aloud


III.

Tell me no more that Nature is severe,
Thou great philosopher!
Lo! she has laid her vast exchequer here.
Tell me no more that she has sent
So much already, she is spent;
Here is a vast America behind
Which none but the great Silurist could find.
Nature her last edition was the best,
As big, as rich as all the rest:
So will we here admit
Another world of wit.
No rude or savage fancy here shall stay
The travelling reader in his way,
But every coast is clear: go where he will,
Virtue's the road Thalia leads him still.
Long may she live, and wreath thy sacred head
For this her happy resurrection from the dead.