Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/345

Rh To hecatomb the year; Without thy aid, in vain the poles, In vain the zodiac system rolls, In vain the lunar sphere. Come, fairest princess of the throng, Bring sweet philosophy along, In metaphysick dreams; While raptur'd bards no more behold A vernal age of purer gold, In Heliconian streams. Drive Thraldom with malignant hand, To curse some other destin’d land, By Folly led astray: Ierne bear on azure wing; Energick let her soar, and sing Thy universal sway. So, when Amphion bade the lyre To more majestick sound aspire, Behold the madding throng, In wonder and oblivion drown'd, To sculpture turn'd by magick sound, And petrifying song.

day, whate'er the Fates decree, Shall still be kept with joy by me: This day then let us not be told, That you are sick, and I grown old; Nor