Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/20

8 How is the Muse luxuriant grown! Whene'er she takes this flight, She soars clear out of sight. These are the paradises of her own: Thy Pegasus, like an unruly horse, Though ne'er so gently led, To the lov'd pasture where he us'd to feed, Runs violent o'er his usual course. Wake from thy wanton dreams, Come from thy dear-lov'd streams, The crooked paths of wandering Thames; Fain the fair nymph would stay, Oft she looks back in vain, Oft 'gainst her fountain does complain, And softly steals in many windings down, As loth to see the hated court and town, And murmurs as she glides away.

X.

In this new happy scene Are nobler subjects for your learned pen; Here we expect from you More than your predecessor Adam knew; Whatever moves our wonder, or our sport, Whatever serves for innocent emblems of the court; How that which we a kernel see, (Whose well-compacted forms escape the light, Unpierc'd by the blunt rays of sight) Shall ere long grow into a tree; Whence takes it its increase, and whence its birth, Or from the sun, or from the air, or from the earth, Where all the fruitful atoms lie; How some go downward to the root, Some more ambitiously upward fly, And form the leaves, the branches, and the fruit. You