ODE. MR. COWLEY'S BOOK PRESENTING ITSELF TO THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF OXFORD. HAIL, Learning's Pantheon! Hail, the sacred ark Where all the world of science does embark! [stood, Which ever shall withstand, and hast so long withInsatiate Time's devouring flood. Hail, tree of knowledge! thy leaves fruit! which well Dost in the midst of paradise arise, Oxford! the Muses' paradise, From which may never sword the bless'd expel! Hail, Wit's illustrious Galaxy! Where thousand lights into one brightness spread; Hail, living University of the dead! Unconfus'd Babel of all tongues! which e'er Majestick monument and pyramid ! Where still the shades of parted souls abide The beatifick Bodley of the Deity!.... Will you into your sacred throng admit You, general-council of the priests of Fame, Will you Your noble prisoners proudly wear; A chain which will more pleasant seem to me Will ye to bind me with those mighty names submit, Whatever happy book is chained here, As when a seat in heaven Is to an unmalicious sinner given, } Who, casting round his wondering eye, Does none but patriarchs and apostles there espy; Martyrs who did their lives bestow, And saints, who martyrs liv'd below; With trembling and amazement he begins To recollect his frailties past and sins; He doubts almost his station there; His soul says to itself, "How came I here ?" When I myself with conscious wonder see } With hardship they, and pain, Did to this happiness attain: No labour I, nor merits, can pretend; I think predestination only was my friend. Ah, And business, which the Muses hate, And settled upon me, his child, somewhat to live. 'T had happier béen for him, as well as me; We books, I mean, You books, will prove to be For, though some errors will get in, Like tinctures of original sin; Yet sure we from our fathers' wit Draw all the strength and spirit of it, Leaving the grosser parts for conversation, As the best blood of man's employ'd in generation. ODE. SITTING AND DRINKING IN THE CHAIR MADE OUT OF THE RELICKS OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE'S SHIP. CHEER up, my mates, the wind does fairly blow, Clap on more sail, and never spare; Farewell all lands, for now we are In the wide sea of drink, and merrily we go. Bless me, 't is hot! another bowl of wine, And we shall cut the burning Line : Hey, boys! she scuds away, and by my head I know What dull men are those that tarry at home, And gain such experience, and spy too With gold there the vessel we 'll store, And never, and never be poor, No, never be poor any more. } What do I mean? What thoughts do me misguide? As well upon a staff may witches ride Their fancy'd journeys in the air, As I sail round the ocean in this chair! 'Tis true; but yet this chair which here you see, For all tis quite now, and gravity, Has wander'd and has travell❜d more Than ever beast, or fish, or bird, or ever tree, before: The pious wanderer's fleet, sav'd from the flame A squadron of immortal nymphs became : Than those have done or seen, Ev'n since they Goddesses and this a Star has been), As a reward for all her labour past, Is made the seat of rest at last. Let the case now quite alter'd be, And, as thou went'st abroad the world to see, The world will do 't; for curiosity Does, no less than devotion, pilgrims.make; |