Th' harmonious sound did reach my ear, That echo'd _thy_ clear name, Which all must know, who e'er did hear Of Cowley or Orinda's fame; I heard the Genius, with surprising grace, 30 Would visit us with his fair offspring, gay As is the morning spring in May; But fairer much, and of immortal race. IV. Delighted greatly, as I list'ning stood, The sound came from each corner of the wood; It both the shrubs and cedars shak'd, And my drowsy Muse awak'd; Strange that the sound should be so shrill, That had its passage through a quill. Then I resolv'd _thy_ praises to rehearse, 40 The wonders of _thy pen_, among the crowd Of thy learn'd friends that sing so loud: But 'twas not to be sung, or reach'd in verse. By my weak notes, scarce to be heard, Or if they could, not worth regard; Desisting therefore I must only send My very kind well wishes to my friend. OCTAVIAN PULLEYN. [_Within the haunted, &c._] 9 theme] So spelt here; 'theam' elsewhere--a fresh pair of instances from the same book of the absurdity of keeping bad spelling for its own sake.] [Line: 48 Octavian Pulleyn was probably the son of Octavian Pulleyn, warden of the Stationers' Company; he published Woodford's _Paraphrase of the Psalms_.] _Commendatory Poems_ The following spirited preface and a prefatory poem were printed only in the _Poems and Songs_ of 1674; they are worth preserving here. Advertisement to the Reader. _By long_ Prescription time out of mind, _the next Leafe to the_ Title Page _claims an_ EPISTLE to the READER; _I had the Project once in my own thoughts too: But the Market is so abominably_ forestall'd _already with all manner of excuses for Printing, that I could not possibly contrive_ one, _that would look any thing_ New: _And besides I never found, amongst all the_ Epistles _that I have read, that the best Rethorick in 'em could perswade me to have a better opinion of the Books for_ Their _sakes: I am apt to believe the rest of Mankind much of my humour in this particular, and therefore do here expose these few Results of my many Idle hours, to the mercy of the wide World, quite guiltless of_ Address _or_ Ceremony. _And that_ Reader, who will _not believe I had some tolerable Reason for_ This Publication, _cannot give me much disturbance, because I'me sure he is not at all acquainted with_ _T. F._ April 10. 1674. To his Worthy Friend Mr. Thomas Flatman on the publishing of his Poems. I. I think thou art not well advised, my friend, To bring thy spritely Poems on the stage Now when the Muses' empire 's at an end And there 's none left that feel poetic rage, Now Cowley's dead, the glory of the age, And all the lesser singing birds are starved i'th' cage. II.