106
COWLEY'S POEMS.
And I myself, who now love quiet too,
As much almost as any chair can do,
Would yet a journey take,
An old wheel of that chariot to see,
Which Phaeton so rashly brake:
Yet what could that say more than these remains of Drake?
Great relick! thou too, in this port of ease,
Hast still one way of making voyages;
The breath of Fame, like an auspicious gale
(The great trade-wind which ne'er does fail)
Shall drive thee round the world, and thou shalt run
As long around it as the sun.
The streights of Time too narrow are for thee;
Launch forth into an undiscover'd sea,
And steer the endless course of vast Eternity!
Take for thy sail this verse, and for thy pilot me!
As much almost as any chair can do,
Would yet a journey take,
An old wheel of that chariot to see,
Which Phaeton so rashly brake:
Yet what could that say more than these remains of Drake?
Great relick! thou too, in this port of ease,
Hast still one way of making voyages;
The breath of Fame, like an auspicious gale
(The great trade-wind which ne'er does fail)
Shall drive thee round the world, and thou shalt run
As long around it as the sun.
The streights of Time too narrow are for thee;
Launch forth into an undiscover'd sea,
And steer the endless course of vast Eternity!
Take for thy sail this verse, and for thy pilot me!
UPON THE DEATH OF
THE EARL OF BARCARRES.
'Tis folly all that can be said
By living mortals of th' immortal dead,
And I'm afraid they laugh at the vain tears we shed.
'T is as if we, who stay behind
In expectation of the wind,
Should pity those who pass'd this streight before,
And touch the universal shore.
Ah, happy man! who art to sail no more!
By living mortals of th' immortal dead,
And I'm afraid they laugh at the vain tears we shed.
'T is as if we, who stay behind
In expectation of the wind,
Should pity those who pass'd this streight before,
And touch the universal shore.
Ah, happy man! who art to sail no more!
