Page:Essays - Abraham Cowley (1886).djvu/86

 How in the moon such chance of shapes is found The moon, the changing world's eternal bound. What shakes the solid earth, what strong disease Dares trouble the firm centre's ancient ease; What makes the sea retreat, and what advance: Varieties too regular for chance. What drives the chariot on of winter's light, And stops the lazy waggon of the night. But if my dull and frozen blood deny To send forth spirits that raise a soul so high; In the next place, let woods and rivers be My quiet, though unglorious, destiny. In life's cool vale let my low scene be laid; Cover me, gods, with Tempe's thickest shade Happy the man, I grant, thrice happy he Who can through gross effects their causes see: Whose courage from the deeps of knowledge springs. Nor vainly fears inevitable things; But does his walk of virtue calmly go, Through all th' alarms of death and hell below. Happy! but next such conquerors, happy they, Whose humble life lies not in fortune's way.