The Athenians Answer. Elizabeth Rowe (née Singer) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. R7317 A57734 Rowe, Elizabeth Singer, 1674-1737. Poems on several occasions. Written by Philomela. London Printed for John Dunton at the Raven in Jewen-street 1696 pp. 3-5. [24],72,69,[11]p.; 8⁰

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The Athenians Answer . AH ! Bright Unknown ! you know not what you ask ! Angels wou'd bend beneath the unequal Task . Were that bless'd World disclos'd , 'twou'd seem so fair , Who wou'd not leap Lifes Barriers to be there ? Yet see a Glimpse , all , Heav'n permits to see , And learn the rest from Faith and Extasie . The Paradise of God , those happy seats which cost Far more than that fair Eden we have lost ; Exceeds luxuriant Fancies richest dress , And Beggers Rhime and Numbers self t' express . — No , were we lost in that primaeval Grove Where Father Adam with his New-born Bride Walkt careless , walkt and lov'd , nor Want , nor Sin , Nor jealous Rage , nor curst tormenting Hopes Their Sacred Verge approaching cou'd we pierce As the blind Bard , with intellectual sight Thro' those first happy Mortals Sylvan shade , Thro'clust'ring Vines whose swelling Purple Grapes With generous Juice invited the bless'd Pair To taste , nor fear to dye ; were all the Springs That from some easie Mountains mossy side Or hoary Rock ran gently murmuring , A thousand Flour's upon the bending Banks , A thousand Birds upon the fragrant Trees , And Eve her self all smiling ioyn'd the Quire , With blissful Hymns of chast and holy Love Were these and more united to compose A Poets Heaven to the true Heaven 'twou'd be A Barren Wilderness , nay worse , a World . — Not Reasons self , a Ray of the divine Off-spring , and Friend of God , when manacled In sinful mortal mold , altho' it trace , No Sister Truth thro' each Dedalean maze , And builds on Sense with well poiz'd Argument , Not that can tell us what we there shall see , Or have or know , or do , or ever be . Nay tho' with nobler Faiths more perfect Glass , We look beyond the Christal starry Worlds , We know but part , sunk in our darksom selves , And from Life's dungeon wish the glim'ring Light , Coasters of Heav'n we beat along the shore , Some Creeks and Landmarks found , but know no more . The Inland Country's undiscover d still , The glorious City of th' eternal King , Yet of coelestial Growth we bear away , Some rich immortal Fruit , Joy , Peace and Love , Knowledge and Praise , Vision and pure Delight , Rivers of Bliss , ay-dwelling from the Throne Of the most high , exhaustless Fund of Light . There , there is Heav'n , 'tis he who makes it so , The Soul can hold no more , for God is all , He only equalls its capacious Grasp , He only o're fills to spaces infinite , Ah ! who can follow ? — That shall only those Who with intrepid Breasts the World oppose . Tear out the glitt'ring Snake , tho' ne're so close it twine , And part with mortal Ioys for Ioys Divine .