Classic Poem

ODE LIV

1

Soe flitts the trembling Needle, round about
The Compasse; till it fall
Into its loved North; soe clings unto't
And will not move at all;
Then with a Mutuall Force, these Lovers meet
In a Magneticke Chaine.
Strange Simpathiel and though wee doe not see't,
Tis in our Selves as plaine;
Nor let us wonder why
The Attractive Power, should fixe
The Iron to its point; soe may wee vexe
Our Selves perpetuallye.
Rather see everie Creature, pointing forth
Its proper object, as this meets the North.

2

Tis seene by everie Eye, in Common things;
How apt and Eagerlie
They joyne themselves. Everie occasion brings
Proofe, to this Propertie.
Tis not alone the Adamant, can boast
This strange Affinitie;
Not Flowers, nor Trees, nor Birds, nor Beasts are lost,
But Each, respectivelie,
Have hidden Flames: and move
By a strange innate Cause,
To its cheife End; insensible, what drawes
Soe neare a tye of Love,
But loose all Choice; and their Cheife Sence devour
In the strange force of this magneticke Power.

3

These secret workings, in all Bodies are;
And All, at once, are mett
In man: whose motion, more irregular
To all the points, doth flitt;
Yet as Affections objects still propose,
Hee bends, unto the Point:
And though he varie much, and oft, in those;
Some Qualitie of Constraint
Urges him to incline,
Hee knowes not how, nor why.
But Hee must bend, to that darke Simpathie,
Which yet unseen, doth shine
Upon his Heart; and passionat'lie move
Him to behold, or Seeke, desire, or Love.