The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume Ii Part 9

What will raise your admiration, I am not one of G.o.d's creation, But sprung, (and I this truth maintain,) Like Pallas, from my father's brain.

And after all, I chiefly owe My beauty to the shades below.

Most wondrous forms you see me wear, A man, a woman, lion, bear, A fish, a fowl, a cloud, a field, All figures Heaven or earth can yield; Like Daphne sometimes in a tree; Yet am not one of all you see.

ON A CIRCLE

I'm up and down, and round about, Yet all the world can't find me out; Though hundreds have employ'd their leisure, They never yet could find my measure.

I'm found almost in every garden, Nay, in the compa.s.s of a farthing.

There's neither chariot, coach, nor mill, Can move an inch except I will.

ON INK

I am jet black, as you may see, The son of pitch and gloomy night: Yet all that know me will agree, I'm dead except I live in light.

Sometimes in panegyric high, Like lofty Pindar, I can soar; And raise a virgin to the sky, Or sink her to a pocky wh.o.r.e.

My blood this day is very sweet, To-morrow of a bitter juice; Like milk, 'tis cried about the street, And so applied to different use.

Most wondrous is my magic power: For with one colour I can paint; I'll make the devil a saint this hour, Next make a devil of a saint.

Through distant regions I can fly, Provide me but with paper wings; And fairly show a reason why There should be quarrels among kings:

And, after all, you'll think it odd, When learned doctors will dispute, That I should point the word of G.o.d, And show where they can best confute.

Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats: 'Tis I that must the lands convey, And strip their clients to their coats; Nay, give their very souls away.

ON THE FIVE SENSES

All of us in one you'll find, Brethren of a wondrous kind; Yet among us all no brother Knows one t.i.ttle of the other; We in frequent councils are, And our marks of things declare, Where, to us unknown, a clerk Sits, and takes them in the dark.

He's the register of all In our ken, both great and small; By us forms his laws and rules, He's our master, we his tools; Yet we can with greatest ease Turn and wind him where we please.

One of us alone can sleep, Yet no watch the rest will keep, But the moment that he closes, Every brother else reposes.

If wine's brought or victuals drest, One enjoys them for the rest.

Pierce us all with wounding steel, One for all of us will feel.

Though ten thousand cannons roar, Add to them ten thousand more, Yet but one of us is found Who regards the dreadful sound.

Do what is not fit to tell, There's but one of us can smell.

FONTINELLA[1] TO FLORINDA

When on my bosom thy bright eyes, Florinda, dart their heavenly beams, I feel not the least love surprise, Yet endless tears flow down in streams; There's nought so beautiful in thee, But you may find the same in me.

The lilies of thy skin compare; In me you see them full as white: The roses of your cheeks, I dare Affirm, can't glow to more delight.

Then, since I show as fine a face, Can you refuse a soft embrace?

Ah! lovely nymph, thou'rt in thy prime!

And so am I, while thou art here; But soon will come the fatal time, When all we see shall disappear.

'Tis mine to make a just reflection, And yours to follow my direction.

Then catch admirers while you may; Treat not your lovers with disdain; For time with beauty flies away, And there is no return again.

To you the sad account I bring, Life's autumn has no second spring.

[Footnote 1: A fountain.]

AN ECHO

Never sleeping, still awake, Pleasing most when most I speak; The delight of old and young, Though I speak without a tongue.

Nought but one thing can confound me, Many voices joining round me; Then I fret, and rave, and gabble, Like the labourers of Babel.

Now I am a dog, or cow, I can bark, or I can low; I can bleat, or I can sing, Like the warblers of the spring.

Let the lovesick bard complain, And I mourn the cruel pain; Let the happy swain rejoice, And I join my helping voice: Both are welcome, grief or joy, I with either sport and toy.

Though a lady, I am stout, Drums and trumpets bring me out: Then I clash, and roar, and rattle, Join in all the din of battle.

Jove, with all his loudest thunder, When I'm vext, can't keep me under; Yet so tender is my ear, That the lowest voice I fear; Much I dread the courtier's fate, When his merit's out of date, For I hate a silent breath, And a whisper is my death.

ON A SHADOW IN A GLa.s.s;

By something form'd, I nothing am, Yet everything that you can name; In no place have I ever been, Yet everywhere I may be seen; In all things false, yet always true, I'm still the same--but ever new.

Lifeless, life's perfect form I wear, Can show a nose, eye, tongue, or ear, Yet neither smell, see, taste, or hear.

All shapes and features I can boast, No flesh, no bones, no blood--no ghost: All colours, without paint, put on, And change like the cameleon.

Swiftly I come, and enter there, Where not a c.h.i.n.k lets in the air; Like thought, I'm in a moment gone, Nor can I ever be alone: All things on earth I imitate Faster than nature can create; Sometimes imperial robes I wear, Anon in beggar's rags appear; A giant now, and straight an elf, I'm every one, but ne'er myself; Ne'er sad I mourn, ne'er glad rejoice, I move my lips, but want a voice; I ne'er was born, nor e'er can die, Then, pr'ythee, tell me what am I?

Most things by me do rise and fall, And, as I please, they're great and small; Invading foes without resistance, With ease I make to keep their distance: Again, as I'm disposed, the foe Will come, though not a foot they go.

Both mountains, woods, and hills, and rocks And gamesome goats, and fleecy flocks, And lowing herds, and piping swains, Come dancing to me o'er the plains.

The greatest whale that swims the sea Does instantly my power obey.

In vain from me the sailor flies, The quickest ship I can surprise, And turn it as I have a mind, And move it against tide and wind.

Nay, bring me here the tallest man, I'll squeeze him to a little span; Or bring a tender child, and pliant, You'll see me stretch him to a giant: Nor shall they in the least complain, Because my magic gives no pain.

ON TIME

Ever eating, never cloying, All-devouring, all-destroying, Never finding full repast, Till I eat the world at last.