Classic Poem

Say, what uncommon cares disturb my rest,
And kindle raptures foreign to my breast?
From earth's low confines lift my mind on high,
To trace new worlds revolving in the sky?
Yes — I'm impatient of this orb of clay,
And boldly dare to mediate my way,
Where Fontinelle first saw the planets roll,
And all the God tumultuous shakes my soul.

'Tis He! He comes! and thro' the sun-bright skies
Drives foaming Pegasus, and thus he cries:
" Cease, cease, dear youth, too studiously employ'd,
And wing with me the unresisting void;
'Tis thine with me round other worlds to soar,
And visit kingdoms never known before;
While I succinctly shew each various race,
The manners and the genius of the place. "
I (tho' my mind with lively horror fraught,
Thinks on Bellerophon, and shudders at the thought)
Mount quick the winged steed; he springs, he flies,
Shoots thro' the yielding air, and cleaves the liquid skies!
— First, swift Cyllenius, circling round the sun,
We reach, when thus my friendly guide begun:
" Mark well the genius of this fiery place,
The wild amusements of the brainsick race,
Whose minds the beams of Titan, too intense,
Affect with frenzy, and distract the sense.
A monarch here gives subject princes law,
A mighty monarch, with a crown of straw.
There sits a lover, sad in pensive air,
And like the dismal image of despair,
With charcoal paints his Chloe heav'nly fair.
In sadly-soothing strain rude notes he sings,
And strikes harsh numbers from the jarring strings.
Lo! an astrologer, with filth besmear'd,
Rough and neglected, with a length of beard,
Pores round his cell for undiscover'd stars,
And decks the wall with triangles and squares.
Lo! — But the radiant car of Phaebus nigh
Glows with red ardour, and inflames the sky —
Oh! waft me, hide me in some cool retreat;
I faint, I sicken with the fervent heat. "

Thence to that milder orb we wing our way,
Where Venus governs with an easy sway
Soft breathes the air; fair Flora paints the ground,
And laughing Ceres deals her gifts around.
This blissful Tempe no rough blasts molest,
Of blust'ring Boreas, or the baleful East;
But gentle Zephyrs o'er the woodlands stray,
Court the tall trees, and round the branches play,
Ætherial gales dispensing as they flow,
To fan those passions which they teach to glow.
Here the gay youth in measur'd steps advance,
While sprightly music animates the dance;
There the sweet melody of sound admire,
Sigh with the song, or languish to the lyre:
Fair nymphs and amorous youths, a lovely band,
Blend in the dance, light-bounding hand in hand.
From ev'ry grove the buxom Zephyrs bring
The rich ambrosia of eternal spring.
Care dwells not here, their pleasures to destroy,
But Laughter, Jest, and universal joy:
All, all is love; for Venus reigns confest
The sole sultana of each captive breast:
Cold Cynthia here wou'd Cupid's victim prove,
Or the chaste daughter of imperial Jove,
And Cato's virtue be the slave of love.

But now thro' destin'd fields of air we fly,
And leave those mansions, not without a sigh:
Thence the dire coast we reach, the dreary plains,
Where Mars, grim god, and bloody discord reigns.
The host in arms embattled sternly stands,
The sword, the dart, the dagger, in their hands
Here no fair nymphs to silver sounds advance,
But buskin'd heroes form the Pyrrhic dance.
And brazen trumpets, terrible from far,
With martial music fire the soul to war.
Here the lone bride bewails her absent lord,
The sterile nuptials, the deserted board,
Sighs the long nights, and, frantic with despair,
Beats her bare breast, and rends her flowing hair:
In vain she sighs, in vain dissolves in tears —
In sleep, perhaps, the warrior lord appears,
A fleeting form that glides before her sight,
A momentary vision of the night
Meanwhile, regardless of her anxious pray'r,
The hardy husband sternly stalks to war;
Our ears the clang of ringing armour rends,
And the immortal battle never ends.

Hence thro' the boundless void we nimbly move,
And reach the wide-extended plains of Jove
Here the stern tyrant sways an iron rod;
A thousand vassals tremble at his nod.
How short the period of a tyrant's date!
The pois'nous phial speeds the work of fate:
Scarce is the proud, imperious tyrant dead,
But, lo! a second lords it in his stead.
Here peace, as common merchandize, is sold,
Heav'n's first best blessing for pernicious gold:
War soon succeeds, the sturdy squadrons stand
Wide o'er the fields a formidable band;
With num'rous fleets they croud the groaning main,
And triumph for the victories they feign:
Again in strict alliances unite,
Till discord raise again the phantom of a fight;
Again they sail; again the troops prepare
Their falchions for the mockery of war
The son inhuman seeks his father's life,
The slave his master's, and her lord's the wife
With vengeance thus their kindling bosoms fire,
Since Jove usurp'd the sceptre of his sire
Thence poisons, perjuries, and bribes betray;
Nor other passions do their souls obey
Than thirst of gold, and avarice of sway.

At length we land, vast fields of aether crost,
On Saturn's cold uncomfortable coast;
Here in the gloom the pamper'd sluggards lull
The lazy hours, lethargically dull.
In caves they live; for who was ever known
So wise, so sedulous to build a town?
The same stupidity infects the whole,
Fix'd in the breast, and center'd in the soul.
These never feel th' ambitious fires of Jove,
To Industry not Mercury can move,
Mars cannot spur to war, nor Venus woo to love.
Here rove those souls, 'tis said, when life departs,
Who never cultivated useful arts;
But stupify'd with plenty and repose,
Dreamt out long life in one continued dose!
No feather'd songsters, with sweet-warbled strains
Attune to melting melody the plains,
No flocks wide-past'ring bleat, nor oxen low,
No fountains musically murm'ring flow;
Th' ungenial waste no tender herbage yields,
No harvests wave luxuriant in the fields.
Low lie the groves, if groves this land can boast,
Chain'd in the fetters of eternal frost,
Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure lost.
Dull animals inhabit this abode,
The owl, mole, dormouse, tortoise, and the toad
Dull rivers deep within their channels glide,
And slow roll on their tributary tide:
Nor aught th' unvegetative waters feed,
But sleepy poppy and the slimy reed;
Whose lazy fogs, like Lethe's cups, dispense
Eternal slumbers of dull indolence.

Agast I stood, the drowsy vapours lull
My soul in gloom, ev'n Pegasus grew dull.
My guide observ'd, and thrice he urg'd his speed,
Thrice the loud lash resounded from the steed;
Fir'd at the strokes, he flies with slacken'd rein
Swift o'er the level of the liquid plain,
Glides with the gentle gale, and lights on earth again.