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Whom thunder's dismal noise,
Could not, whilst they lived, awake,
When dead to arise ;
And open tombs, and open eyes,
Back to their ancient home;
Some from metals upwards fly,
Meet, salute, and join their hands;
Haste to their colours all.
To mountains they for shelter pray,
fused than they.
Stop, stop, my Muse! allay thy vigorous heat,
Kindled at a hint so great ;
Which does to rage begin, [course; And this steep hill would gallop up with violent 'Tis an unruly and a hard-mouth'd horse,
Fierce and unbroken yet,
Now prances stately, and anon flies o'er the place; Disdains the servile law of
settled Conscious and proud of his own natural force.
'Twill no unskilful touch endure, But flings writer and reader too, that sits not sure.
Go, the rich chariot instantly prepare;
The Queen, my Muse, will take the air: Unruly Fancy with strong Judgment trace;
Put in nimble-footed Wit,
Smooth-paced Eloquence join with it;
Harness all the winged race.
The coachman Art be set ;
Make a long row of goodly pride,
[ful Lies, And innocent Loves, and pleasant Truths, and use
In all their gaudy liveries. Mount, glorious Queen! thy travelling throne,
And bid it to put on; For long, though cheerful, is the way, And life, alas ! allows but one ill winter's day,
Where never foot of man, or hoof of beast,
The passage press’d; Where never fish did fly, And with short silver wings cut the low liquid sky;
Where bird with painted oars did ne'er Row through the trackless ocean of the air;
Where never yet did pry The busy morning's curious eye; The wheels of thy bold coach pass quick and free,
And all's an open road to thee!
Whatever God did say, Is all thy plain and smooth uninterrupted way! Nay, even beyond his works thy voyages are
known, Thou 'hast thousand worlds too of thine own. Thou speak'st, great Queen! in the same style as He; · And a new world leaps forth when thou say'st,
“ Let it be."
Thou fathom’st the deep gulf of ages past,
with ease The years which thou dost please ; Like shipwreck'd treasures, by rude tempests cast
Long since into the sea,
Where Fates among the stars do grow;
peep, And there, with piercing eye, Through the firm shell and the thick white, dost
spy Years to come a-forming lie, Close in their sacred secundine asleep,
Till, hatch'd by the sun's vital heat,
They life and motion get,
And sure we may
Thou stopp’st this current, and dost make
The fruit which does so quickly waste,
Men scarce can see it, much less taste,
This shining piece of ice,
With the sun's ray,
Till it a lasting mirror be!
Nay, thy immortal rhyme
TO MR. HOBBES.
Vasr bodies of philosophy
I oft have seen and read;
But all are bodies dead,
But in thy books and thee!
This I dare boldly tell,
As firm the parts upon their centre rest,
Long did the mighty Stagyrite retain
So did this noble empire waste,
Sunk by degrees from glories past, And in the school-men's hands it perish'd quite at Then nought but words it grew,
[last: And those all barbarous too: It perish'd, and it vanish'd there, The life and soul, breathed out, became but
empty air !
The fields, which answer’dwell the ancients' plough,
And boast of past fertility,
Unless new lands we plant.
Old rubbish we remove;
And with fond divining wands