The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont ... Edited from the autograph manuscript with introduction and notes by Eloise Robinson |
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Submission
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 | The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont |  |
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Submission
1
Oft has my prostrate Soule to TheeGreat Lord of Love, commended this DESIGNE
Whose restless importunitie
Burns in this Heart of mine:
And at thy gracious Feet full low
It & my Self, again I throw.
2
Thou se'st how many pretious HouresOf my short Time it spends: Thou seest how
It reigns in all my Thoughts, & pours
Storms of Disquiet through
My deerest Meditations, which
Fain at thy Heavn & Thee would reach.
3
Most bitter-sweet DESIGNE which hantsMy Bosome with such Tyrannous Delight,
That though my Hearts Indeavour pants
To flie this tedious Night
Of gloomy & uncertain Hope,
Still in these doubtfull Mists I grope.
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4
Oft have I thought, that I had drawnNeer unto Quiets blessed Shore; but strait
By flattering Fancy I was thrown
Into some new Deceit:
Still-joying to Sail in this Sea
Which shipwrackd all my Joies, & Me.
5
And thus deliciously perplext,Close in my Breast I huggd my sweet Distress;
Which, though it always knawd & vext
With pleasing Restlesness,
I durst not turn my Foe away
Whoe me so daintily did slay.
6
My Wounds to any tender EyI durst not shew, nor gain a Freinds releif:
I durst not mine own Help supply
To cure ev'n mine own Greif:
I unwishd mine own Wishes, and
With one beat down my other Hand.
7
A thousand times my Thoughts I chode,And then as oft those Chideings did recant:
Against my Self I boldly stood,
And when I firmly ment
This Side should Victor be, the other
Soon trampled down his dareing Brother.
8
Did any Riddle e'r presentSo valiant a Coward, as poor I;
Who by the Wings of strange Consent
Pursue ev'n what I fly:
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So mad to Think none else but them.
9
O mighty LORD of GOODNES, myMost aenigmatik Greif appeals to Thee:
Use, Use thine own Authority
Both upon it, & Me.
No more will I own this DESIGNE
Unless it may comply with Thine.
10
Pure Sweets dwell in thy Will alone,But mine, when sweetest, with rank Gall doth flow:
O then, may Thine, may Thine be done,
Though mine it overthrow!
The onely way I have to quiet
My troubled Will, is, to Deny it.
| The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont | |