The Needle. a Poetical Essay, Canto I

While others sing of high imperial states, Their jarring interests, or impending fates, Terpsichoré, do thou inspire my song, To thee, gay Muse, delightful strains belong.

Accept, dear Woty, madrigals of glee, I sing the needle—and I sing to thee; Nor thou refuse the incense which I bring, Singing to thee, I shall the sweeter sing: For thou delightest too in jocund themes, Tho' every Muse has visited thy dreams; But chief thou bathest in that silver wave Where blithe Anacreon's Muse was wont to lave, Where all-facetious Flaccus wont to sport, Where Humour reigns, and Comus keeps his court. But what shall I, a poor pretender, win? Since all my sonnets are not worth thy Pin. The pole-enamour'd Needle pass we here, By which the mariners are taught to steer: Nor mean we now that death-denouncing streight, Where oft the merchant trembles for his freight; The Spanish Needle, a new theme, we sing, And to our friend the shining tribute bring.

Need we the process of its birth admire, Or trace it from the temper'd bars to wire? How first the Rounder gives the graceful form, Beneath the hammer while he keeps it warm; Or how the Polisher, with smoothing file, Bids the rich toy in silver lustre smile: Need we to sing the Pointer's curious art, Which makes it keen as Cupid's fatal dart: How next the Piercer's punching tools supply The little Cyclops with a single eye, 'Midst of the forehead, where it takes in light, And forms a pleasing visto to the sight: Thro' this small sky-light (may we use that name?) With spectacles oft pores the antient dame; And when the casement plain appears to view, Labouring to introduce the flaxen clue, Raptur'd she smiles, if she the pass attain, And reaps the pleasure, which she bought with pain. So have I seen a Philomath explore The windings of a problem o'er and o'er; Turn it, and twist it round, a thousand ways, Lost and bewilder'd in the endless maze, 'Till instantaneous, on a sudden thought, Happy at last the great solution's caught; With extacy, too high to be exprest, The Eureka inspires his glowing breast; Fill'd with the raptures of approaching fame, To the New Almanack he sends his name, Enjoys the bright discovery in his mind, And ranks himself the foremost of mankind.

But leave we terms mechanic, since the muse Now soars ambitious to sublimer views, To lead the Needle to its worthiest plan, Its ultimate design—the use of man. Its use imply we from its early want, Ere Wisdom's voice could charm, or Art inchant; Ere petticoats were made, or breeches worn, To sew his fig-leaves Adam us'd a thorn; Sharp poignant emblem of each future bride, To prove a thorn in every husband's side!

'Twas in the days of yore, when Time was young. If we may credit bards, and antient song, Ere Solomon was seated on his throne, Or ere the birth of Needlework was known, That young Needilla, fair and chaste as snow, Liv'd with her grandsire on the banks of Po, Beyond the river's mouth, where Ocean roars, Whose briny wave salutes the sedgy shores, Guiltless of love, unconscious of his fire, She gather'd shell-fish for her helpless sire; His sole support, and pillar of his age, For him she frequent risk'd the billow's rage; Spurr'd by parental duty—lo! the tide, Once furious, hemm'd her in on every side, This, Algaret, a fisherman, in view Anxious beheld, and row'd his swift canoe, Timely he snatch'd her from the dashing wave, And clasp'd the prize, which he was doom'd to save; The lovely damsel from the deep he bore, And after wedded on the friendly shore.

Three moons had scarce elaps'd, to close their wane, It chanc'd she spied her husband on the main; 'Twas on an evening mild, the sky serene, Heaven shed its softest splendors on the scene, Hush'd every breeze, and every wave asleep, Needilla risk'd her beauty on the deep, With Algaret, to seek the scaly prey, Perfidious winds! and more perfidious sea! The sail was torn, their little vessel tost On barren rocks, far-distant from the coast, When, in a moment, every wave subsides, And leaves the prospect of the silver tides, Long was the space to gain the distant shore, Their cordage broke, and shatter'd every oar— What can they helpless?—lo! Needilla spies A pointed shell-fish, pierc'd with argent eyes, A heap of sea-weed on the rocks was cast, Which thro' the eyes with eager haste she past, With these her ready fingers tack'd the sail, Which Algaret unfurl'd to catch the gale; Safe they arriv'd—hence, from Needilla's name, The Needle-fish has fill'd the trump of fame: Hence the Venetians took the hint to form Needles of steel—discover'd from a storm! Such is the work of chance, which oft prevents Our deepest projects, and our best intents; Thus, since those days, has gravity been found By a bare apple's dropping on the ground. Art thus grop'd on, bewilder'd in the dark, 'Till from the flint of genius, like a spark, Issued the Needle, with a new-born light, And struck improvement's beam upon the sight.