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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Mr. John Rouse, Librarian of the University of Oxford. (Translated From Milton)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Strophe I<br>My two-fold Book! single in show<br>But double in Contents,<br>Neat, but not curiously adorn'd<br>Which in his early youth,<br>A poet gave, no lofty one in truth<br>Although an earnest wooer of the Muse--<br>Say, while in cool Ausonian shades<br>Or British wilds he roam'd,<br>Striking by turns his native lyre,<br>By turns the Daunian lute <br>And stepp'd almost in air,--</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Antistrophe<br>Say, little book, what furtive hand<br>Thee from thy fellow books convey'd,<br>What time, at the repeated suit<br>Of my most learned Friend,<br>I sent thee forth an honour'd traveller<br>From our great city to the source of Thames,<br>Caerulean sire!<br>Where rise the fountains and the raptures ring,<br>Of the Aonian choir,<br>Durable as yonder spheres,<br>And through the endless lapse of years<br>Secure to be admired?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Strophe II<br>Now what God or Demigod<br>For Britain's ancient Genius mov'd<br>(If our afflicted land<br>Have expiated at length the guilty sloth<br>Of her degen'rate sons)<br>Shall terminate our impious feuds,<br>And discipline, with hallow'd voice, recall? <br>Recall the Muses too<br>Driv'n from their antient seats<br>In Albion, and well-nigh from Albion's shore,<br>And with keen Phoebean shafts<br>Piercing th'unseemly birds,<br>Whose talons menace us<br>Shall drive the harpy race from Helicon afar?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Antistrophe<br>But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd,<br>Whether by treach'ry lost<br>Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault, <br>From all thy kindred books,<br>To some dark cell or cave forlorn,<br>Where thou endur'st, perhaps,<br>The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand,<br>Be comforted--<br>For lo! again the splendid hope appears<br>That thou may'st yet escape<br>The gulphs of Lethe, and on oary wings<br>Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove,</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Strophe III<br>Since Rouse desires thee, and complains <br>That, though by promise his,<br>Thou yet appear'st not in thy place<br>Among the literary noble stores<br>Giv'n to his care,<br>But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete.<br>He, therefore, guardian vigilant<br>Of that unperishing wealth,<br>Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge,<br>Where he intends a richer treasure far<br>Than Ion kept--(Ion, Erectheus' son<br>Illustrious, of the fair Creusa born)--<br>In the resplendent temple of his God,<br>Tripods of gold and Delphic gifts divine.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Antistrophe<br>Haste, then, to the pleasant groves,<br>The Muses' fav'rite haunt;<br>Resume thy station in Apollo's dome,<br>Dearer to him<br>Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill.<br>Exulting go,<br>Since now a splendid lot is also thine, <br>And thou art sought by my propitious friend;<br>For There thou shalt be read<br>With authors of exalted note,<br>The ancient glorious Lights of Greece and Rome.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=537948" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Epode<br>Ye, then my works, no longer vain<br>And worthless deem'd by me!<br>Whate'er this steril genius has produc'd<br>Expect, at last, the rage of Envy spent,<br>An unmolested happy home,<br>Gift of kind Hermes and my watchful friend, <br>Where never flippant tongue profane<br>Shall entrance find,<br>And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude<br>Shall babble far remote.<br>Perhaps some future distant age<br>Less tinged with prejudice and better taught<br>Shall furnish minds of pow'r<br>To judge more equally.<br>Then, malice silenced in the tomb,<br>Cooler heads and sounder hearts, <br>Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise<br>I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Cowper">William Cowper</a></strong></div>