Canto II

He that did first this way of writing grace,Conversed with the Almighty face to face;Wonders he did in sacred verse unfold,When he had more than eighty winters told.The writer feels no dire effect of age,Nor verse, that flows from so divine a rage.Eldest of Poets, he beheld the light,When first it triumph'd o'er eternal night;Chaos he saw, and could distinctly tellHow that confusion into order fell.As if consulted with, he has express'dThe work of the Creator, and His rest;How the flood drown'd the first offending race,Which might the figure of our globe deface.For new-made earth, so even and so fair,Less equal now, uncertain makes the air;Surprised with heat, and unexpected cold,Early distempers make our youth look old;Our days so evil, and so few, may tellThat on the ruins of that world we dwell.Strong as the oaks that nourish'd them, and high,That long-lived race did on their force rely,Neglecting Heaven; but we, of shorter date!Should be more mindful of impendent fate.To worms, that crawl upon this rubbish here,This span of life may yet too long appear;Enough to humble, and to make us great,If it prepare us for a nobler seat.

Which well observing, he, in numerous lines,Taught wretched man how fast his life declines;In whom he dwelt before the world was made,And may again retire when that shall fade.The lasting Iliads have not lived so longAs his and Deborah's triumphant song.Delphos unknown, no Muse could them inspire,But that which governs the celestial choir.Heaven to the pious did this art reveal,And from their store succeeding poets steal.Homer's Scamander for the Trojans fought,And swell'd so high, by her old Kishon taught.His river scarce could fierce Achilles stay;Hers, more successful, swept her foes away.The host of heaven, his Phoebus and his Mars,He arms, instructed by her fighting stars.She led them all against the common foe;But he (misled by what he saw below!)The powers above, like wretched men, divides,And breaks their union into different sides.The noblest parts which in his heroes shine,May be but copies of that heroine.Homer himself, and Agamemnon, sheThe writer could, and the commander, be.Truth she relates in a sublimer strain,Than all the tales the boldest Greeks could feign;For what she sung that Spirit did indite,Which gave her courage and success in fight.A double garland crowns the matchless dame;From heaven her poem and her conquest came.

Though of the Jews she merit most esteem,Yet here the Christian has the greater theme;Her martial song describes how Sis'ra fell;This sings our triumph over death and hell.The rising light employ'd the sacred breathOf the blest Virgin and Elizabeth.In songs of joy the angels sung His birth;Here how He treated was upon the earthTrembling we read! th'affliction and the scorn,Which for our guilt so patiently was borne!Conception, birth, and suff'ring, all belong(Though various parts) to one celestial song;And she, well using so divine an art,Has in this concert sung the tragic part.

As Hannah's seed was vow'd to sacred use,So here this lady consecrates her Muse.With like reward may Heaven her bed adorn,With fruit as fair as by her Muse is born!