Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

When Nature to Athens and Rome bad adieu,
To Britain the goddess with extasy flew;
So tempting she look'd, and so blooming her charms,
Jove quitted his sky, and indulg'd in her arms.

On Avon's fair banks, now the subject of Fame,
She brought forth a boy, and Will Shakespeare his name,
Not egg was to egg more alike, than in feature,
The smiling young rogue to his parent dame Nature.

Of all her sweet prattlers she lov'd Willy best,
She nurs'd the young smiler with milk from her breast
And as he grew older, she nothing conceal'd,
But all, all her secrets to Willy reveal'd.

She fed him with honey from Hybla's sweet store,
The same which her Homer had tasted before;
A Swan on the Avon first taught him to sing,
Whilst the Loves and the Graces danc'd round in a ring.

An Eaglet from Jove's fav'rite hobby was given,
On which the young genius oft frolic'd to heav'n;
And when Willy sung, all the Deities swore,
They ne'er heard such warblings, such wild-notes before.

With envy just bursting, with impotent lies,
And sneers, Momus pelted the bard of the skies;

Jove kick'd the foul Critic from heaven's azure round,
And, venting his spleen, now at Ferney he's found.

To govern, and lead as he pleas'd in a string,
Jove gave him the passions; they hail'd Willy king.
The Muses, as handmaids, were doom'd to attend him,
And Phœbus with Wit's brightest ray did befriend him:

A pow'r to create Jove to Willy assign'd,
This pow'r was to Fancy's bright regions confin'd,
Or Willy all Chaos with life had endu'd,
And Jove for Creations had wanted new food.

Jove next gave the boy from his thunder a shaft,
Will grasp'd it, and fearless play'd with it, and laugh'd;
Not Jove cou'd his lightning dispatch with more art,
Or send the wing'd vengeance more sure to the heart.

The Deities all shew'd their love to the boy,
Minerva gave wisdom, and Venus gave joy;
But Juno, quite jealous, with insolent pride,
To Jove's love-begotten all favours deny'd.

Fresh pluck'd from his wing Cupid gave him a quill,
Which Willy long flourish'd with magical skill,
He penn'd with it strains that enchanted the spheres,
And drew from the soul of stern Pluto salt tears.

The harp, when he sounded, Vice instant grew pale,
While Virtue triumphant rode high on the gale;
Each note to our inmost of cores found its way,
Nor, like mortal notes, on the surface did play.

The light-tripping Fays still awaited his nod,
Oft with them he danc'd on the green-circled sod;
Sylphs, Demons, and Witches, strait flew at his call,
And his magic the mob of the air could enthrall.

Ye bards of all ages, yield Shakespeare the bays,
What star can be seen 'mid the sun's dazzling blaze?
Let Britons, enraptur'd, their thanks swell on high,
One Shakespeare on earth—and one Jove in the sky.

Voltaire's Seat near Geneva.

In the Heathen Mythology Jove was supposed to form Creation out of Chaos.