As little weight his vain presages bear
Of ill effect to such alone who fear:
Most prophesies are of a piece with these,
Each Nostradamus can foretel with ease:
Not naming persons and confounding times,
One causal truth supports a thousand lying rhymes.
Th' advice was true, but fear had seiz'd the most,
And all good counsel is on cowards lost
The question crudely put to shun delay,
'Twas carry'd by the major part to stay.
His point thus gain'd, Sir Martin dated thence
His pow'r and from a priest became a prince.
He order'd all things with a busy care,
And cells, and refectories did prepare,
And large provisions laid of winter-fare:
But now and then let fall a word or two
Of hope, that Heav'n some miracle might show,
And for their sakes the sun should backward go;
Against the law of Nature upward climb,
And mounted on the Ram, renew the prime;
For which two proofs in sacred story lay,
Of Ahaz' dial, and of Joshua's day.
In expectation of such times as these,
A chapel hous'd 'em truly call'd of Ease:
For Martin much devotion did not ask;
They pray'd sometimes, and that was all their task.
It happen'd (as beyond the reach of wit
Blind prophesies may have a lucky hit)
That this accomplish'd, or at least in part,
Gave great repute to their new Merlin's art.
Some Swifts, the giants of the swallow kind,
Large-limb'd, stout-hearted, but of stupid mind
(For Swisses or for Gibeonites design'd)
These lubbers, peeping through a broken pane,
To suck fresh air, survey'd the neighb'ring plain,
And saw (but scarcely could believe their eyes)
New blossoms flourish, and new flow'rs arise;
As God had been abroad, and walking there,
Had left his footsteps, and reform'd the year:
The sunny hills from far were seen to glow
With glitt'ring beams, and in the meads below
The burnish'd brooks appear'd with liquid gold to
flow.
At last they heard the foolish cuckow sing,
Whose note proclaim'd the holy-day of spring.
No longer doubting, all prepare to fly,
And repossess their patrimonial sky.
The priest before 'em did his wings display,
And, that good omens might attend their way,
As luck would have it, 't was St. Martin's day.
Who but the Swallow triumphs now alone?
The canopy of heav'n is all her own:
Her youthful offspring to their haunts repair,
And glide along in glades, and skim in air,
And dip for insects in the purling springs,
And stoop on rivers to refresh their wings.
Volume I.
Their mothers think a fair provision made,
That ev'ry son can live upon his trade;
And, now the careful charge is off their hands,
Look out for husbands, and new nuptial bands:
The youthful widow longs to be supply'd;
But first the lover is by lawyers ty'd
To settle jointure-chimnies on the bride.
So thick they couple, in so short a space,
That Martin's marriage-off'rings rise apace:
Their ancient houses running to decay,
Are furbish'd up, and cemented with clay;
They teem already; store of eggs are laid,
And brooding mothers call Lucina's aid;
Fame spreads the news, and foreign fowls appear
In flocks to greet the new-returning year,
To bless the founder, and partake the cheer.
And now 'twas time (so fast their numbers rise)
To plant abroad, and people colonies.
The youth drawn forth, as Martin had desir'd,
(For so their cruel destiny requir’d)
Were sent far off on an ill-fated day;
The rest would needs conduct 'em on their way;
And Martin went because he fear'd alone to stay.
So long they flew with inconsid' rate haste,
That now their afternoon began to waste;
And, what was ominous, that very morn
The sun was enter'd into Capricorn,
Which by their bad astronomer's account,
That week the virgin Balance should remount:
An infant moon eclips'd him in his way,
And hid the small remainders of his day.
The crowd, amaz'd, pursu'd no certain mark;
But birds met birds, and justled in the dark:
Few mind the public in a panic fright,
And fear increas'd. the horror of the night.
Night came, but unattended with repose;
Alone she came, no sleep their eyes to close:
Alone, and black; she came no friendly stars arose.
What should they do, beset with dangers round,
No neighb'ring drop, no lodging to be found,
But bleaky plains, and bare unhospitable ground?
The latter brood, who just began to fly,
Sick-feather'd, and unpractis'd in the sky,
For succour to their helpless mother call;
She spread her wings; some few beneath 'em
She spread 'em wider yet, but could not cover all.
T'augment their woes, the winds began to move,
Debate in air for empty fields above,
Till Boreas got the skies, and pour'd amain
His rattling hailstones, mix'd with snow and rain.
The joyless morning late arose and found
A dreadful desolation reign around,
Some bury'd in the snow, some frozen to the
The rest were struggling still with death, and lay
The crows, and ravens, right, an undefended prey;
Dryden.]
Qij
Excepting Martin's race; for they and he
Had gain'd the shelter of a hollow tree;
But soon discover'd by a sturdy clown,,
He headed all the rabble of the town,
And finish'd 'em with bats, or poll'd 'em down.
Martin himself was caught alive, and try'd
For treas'nous crimes, because the laws provide
No Martin there in winter shall abide,
High on an oak which never leaf shall bear,
He breathed his last, expos'd to open air;
And there his corpse unbless'd, is hanging still,
To shew the change of winds with his prophetic bill.
The patience of the Hind did almost fail,
For well she mark'd the malice of the tail;
Which ribbald art their church to Luther owes,
In malice it began, by malice grows;
He sow'd the serpent's teeth, an iron harvest rose:
But most in Martin's character and fate,
She saw her slander'd sons, the panther's hate,
The people's rage, the persecuting state:
Then said, I take th' advice in friendly part;
You clear your conscience or at least your heart:
Perhaps you fail'd in your foreseeing skill,
For swallows are unlucky birds to kill:
As for my sons, the family is bless'd,
Whose ev'ry child is equal to the rest:
No church reform'd can boast a blameless line;
Such Martins build in your's, and more than mine;
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