The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Apollo's Edict: Occasioned by News From Parnassus

by Jonathan Swift

APOLLO'S EDICT^[1].

OCCASIONED BY "NEWS FROM PARNASSUS." 1720.

IRELAND is now our royal care,
We lately fix'd our viceroy there:
How near was she to be undone,
Till pious love inspired her son!
What cannot our vicegerent do,
As poet and as patriot too?

Let his success our subjects sway,	$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Our inspirations to obey,
And follow where he leads the way:

Then study to correct your taste;

Nor beaten paths be longer traced.
⁠No simile shall be begun,
With rising or with setting sun;
And let the secret head of Nile
Be ever banish'd from your isle.
⁠When wretched lovers live on air,
I beg you'll the chameleon spare;
And when you'd make a hero grander,
Forget he's like a salamander.

⁠No son of mine shall dare to say,	$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Aurora usher'd in the day,
Or ever name the milky-way.

⁠You all agree, I make no doubt,

Elijah's mantle is worn out.
⁠The bird of Jove shall toil no more
To teach the humble wren to soar.
Your tragick heroes shall not rant,
Nor shepherds use poetick cant.
Simplicity alone can grace
The manners of the rural race.
Theocritus and Philips be
Your guides to true simplicity.

⁠When Damon's soul shall take its flight,	$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Though poets have the second sight,
They shall not see a trail of light.

Nor shall the vapours upward rise,

Nor a new star adorn the skies:
For who can hope to place one there,
As glorious as Belinda's hair?
Yet, if his name you'd eternize,
And must exalt him to the skies;
Without a star, this may be done:
So Tickell mourn'd his Addison.
⁠If Anna's happy reign you praise,
Pray, not a word of halcyon days;
Nor let my votaries show their skill
In aping lines from Cooper's Hill;
For know, I cannot bear to hear
The mimickry of deep, yet clear.
⁠Whene'er my viceroy is address'd,
Against the phenix I protest.
When poets soar in youthful strains,
No Phaëton to hold the reins.
⁠When you describe a lovely girl,
No lips of coral; teeth of pearl.
⁠Cupid shall ne'er mistake another,
However beauteous, for his mother;
Nor shall his darts at random fly
From magazine in Celia's eye.
With women compounds I am cloy'd,
Which only pleas'd in Biddy Floyd^[2].
For foreign aid what need they roam.
Whom fate has amply blest at home?
⁠Unerring Heaven, with bounteous hand,
Has formed a model for your land,
Whom Jove endow'd with every grace;
The glory of the Granard race;
Now destined by the powers divine
The blessing of another line.
Then, would you paint a matchless dame,
Whom you'd consign to endless fame?
Invoke not Cytherea's aid,
Nor borrow from the blue ey'd maid;
Nor need you on the Graces call;
Take qualities from Donegal.

1. The last twelve lines of this poem were printed separately in 1743, on the death of lady Catharine Forbes, only daughter of Arthur, first earl of Granard, (descended from the noble family of Forbes in Scotland). She was the second lady of Arthur, third earl of Donegal; and died June 15, 1743.
2. "And call'd the happy composition Floyd." See vol. VII, page 38.