Amongst whose iron rocks grim Saturn yet remains, Bound in those gloomy caves with adamantine chains. Ye sacred[55] bards, that to your harps’ melodious strings Sung th’ ancient Heroes’ deeds (the monuments of Kings) And in your dreadul verse ingrav’d the prophecies, The aged world’s descents and genealogies; If, as those[56] Druids taught, which kept the British rites, And dwelt in darksome groves, there counselling with sprites (But their opinions fail’d, by error led awry, As since clear truth hath shew’d to their posterity) When these our souls by death our bodies do forsake, They instantly again do other bodies take; I could have wisht your spirits redoubled in my breast, To give my verse applause to time’s eternal rest. Thus scarcely said the Muse, but hovering while she hung Upon the[57] Celtic wastes, the sea-nymphs loudly sung: ‘O ever-happy isles, your heads so high that bear, ‘By nature strongly fenc’d, which never need to fear ‘On Neptune’s watry realms when Eölus raiseth wars, ‘And every billow bounds, as though to quench the stars: ‘Fair Jersey first of these here scatter’d in the deep, ‘Peculiarly that boasts thy double-horned sheep: ‘Inferior nor to thee, thou Guernsey, bravely crown’d ‘With rough-embattled rocks, whose venom-hating ground ‘The hard’ned emeril hath, which thou abroad dost send: ‘Thou Ligon her belov’d, and Serk, that doth attend ‘Her pleasure every hour; as Jethow, them at need, ‘With pheasants, fallow deer, and conies that dost feed: ‘Ye seven small sister isles, and Sorlings, which to see ‘The half-sunk sea-man joys; or whatsoe’er you be, ‘From fruitful Aurney, near the ancient Celtic shore, ‘To Ushant and the Seams, whereas those nuns of yore ‘Gave answers from their caves, and took what shapes they please: ‘Ye happy islands set within the British seas, ‘With shrill and jocund shouts, th’unmeasur’d deeps awake, ‘And let the Gods of sea their secret bowr’s forsake, ‘Whilst our industrious muse Great Britain forth shall bring, ‘Crown’d with those glorious wreaths that beautify the spring; ‘And whilst green Thetis’ nymphs, with many an amorous lay ‘Sing our invention safe unto her long-wisht bay.’ Upon the utmost end of Cornwal’s furrowing beak, Where[58] Bresan from the land the tilting waves doth break; The shore let her transcend, the[59] promont to descry, And view about the point th’ unnumbred fowl that fly; Some rising like a storm from off the troubled sand, Seem in their hov’ring flight to shadow all the land; Some sitting on the beach to prune their painted breasts, As if both earth and air they only did possess; Whence climbing to the cliffs, herself she firmly sets The bourns, the brooks, the becks, the rills, the rivulets, Exactly to derive; receiving in her way That streightned tongue of land, where at Mount-Michael’s bay, Rude Neptune cutting in, a cantle forth doth take;