Andrew Marvell

William Mason, in "To Independency" Odes (1756) 9-11.

As now o'er this lone beach I stray;
Thy fav'rite Swain oft stole along,
And artless wove his Doric lay,
Far from the busy throng.
Thou heard'st him, Goddess, strike the tender string,
And badst his soul with bolder passions move:
Strait these responsive shores forgot to ring,
With Beauty's praise, or plaint of slighted Love;
To loftier flights his daring Genius rose,
And led the war, 'gainst thine, and Freedom's foes.

Pointed with Satire's keenest steel,
The shafts of Wit he darts around;
Ev'n mitred Dulness learns to feel,
And shrinks beneath the wound.
In awful poverty his honest Muse
Walks forth vindictive thro' a venal land:
In vain Corruption sheds her golden dews,
In vain Oppression lifts her iron hand;
He scorns them both, and, arm'd with truth alone,
Bids Lust and Folly tremble on the throne.

Behold, like him, immortal Maid,
The Muses vestal fires I bring:
Here at thy feet the sparks I spread;
Proptitious wave thy wing,
And fan them to that dazzling blaze of Song,
That glares tremendous on the Sons of Pride.