Forever singing, as they shine,
The hand that made us is divine.
JONATHAN SWIFT.
1667-1745.
Imitation of Horace. B. ii. Sat. 6.
I've often wished that I had clear,
For life, six hundred pounds a year,
A handsome house to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end.
Poetry, a Rhapsody.
So geographers, in Afric maps,
With savage pictures fill their gaps,
And o'er unhabitable downs
Place elephants for want of towns.