Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/489

    Rich with immortal green above the rest:
  Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star,
  Thou roll'st above us, in thy wandering race,
    Or, in procession fixt and regular,
    Mov'd with the heaven's majestic pace;
    Or, called to more superior bliss,
  Thou tread'st with seraphims the vast abyss:
  Whatever happy region is thy place,
  Cease thy celestial song a little space;
  Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,
    Since Heaven's eternal year is thine.
  Hear, then, a mortal Muse thy praise rehearse,
            In no ignoble verse;
  But such as thy own voice did practise here,
  When thy first-fruits of Poesy were given,
  To make thyself a welcome inmate there;
    While yet a young probationer,
            And candidate of heaven.

    If by traduction came thy mind,
    Our wonder is the less, to find
  A soul so charming from a stock so good;
  Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood:
  So wert thou born into the tuneful strain,
  An early, rich, and inexhausted vein.
    But if thy pre-existing soul
    Was form'd at first with myriads more,
  It did through all the mighty poets roll
    Who Greek or Latin laurels wore,
And was that Sappho last, which once it was before.
    If so, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born mind!
  Thou hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore:
    Nor can thy soul a fairer mansion find,