Poems, on several occasions By Ann Yearsley, a milkwoman of Bristol. The second edition |
 |
On Mrs. MONTAGU. |
 | Poems, on several occasions |  |
101
On Mrs. MONTAGU.
Why boast, O arrogant, imperious man,
Perfection so exclusive? are thy powers
Nearer approaching Deity? can'st thou solve
Questions which high Infinity propounds,
Soar nobler flights, or dare immortal deeds,
Unknown to woman, if she greatly dares
To use the powers assign'd her? Active strength,
The boast of animals, is clearly thine;
By this upheld, thou think'st the lesson rare
That female virtues teach; and poor the height
Which female wit obtains. The theme unfolds
Its ample maze, for Montagu befriends
The puzzled thought, and, blazing in the eye
Of boldest Opposition, strait presents
The soul's best energies, her keenest powers,
Clear, vigorous, enlighten'd; with firm wing
Swift she o'ertakes his Muse, which spread afar
Its brightest glories in the days of yore;
Lo! where she, mounting, spurns the stedfast earth,
And, failing on the cloud of science, bears
The banner of Perfection.—
Ask Gallia's mimic sons how strong her powers,
Whom, flush'd with plunder from her Shakespeare's page,
She swift detects amid their dark retreats;
(Horrid as Cacus in their thievish dens)
Regains the trophies, bears in triumph back
The pilfer'd glories to a wond'ring world.
So Stella boasts, from her the tale I learn'd;
With pride she told it, I with rapture heard.
Perfection so exclusive? are thy powers
Nearer approaching Deity? can'st thou solve
Questions which high Infinity propounds,
Soar nobler flights, or dare immortal deeds,
Unknown to woman, if she greatly dares
To use the powers assign'd her? Active strength,
The boast of animals, is clearly thine;
By this upheld, thou think'st the lesson rare
That female virtues teach; and poor the height
102
Its ample maze, for Montagu befriends
The puzzled thought, and, blazing in the eye
Of boldest Opposition, strait presents
The soul's best energies, her keenest powers,
Clear, vigorous, enlighten'd; with firm wing
Swift she o'ertakes his Muse, which spread afar
Its brightest glories in the days of yore;
Lo! where she, mounting, spurns the stedfast earth,
And, failing on the cloud of science, bears
The banner of Perfection.—
Ask Gallia's mimic sons how strong her powers,
Whom, flush'd with plunder from her Shakespeare's page,
She swift detects amid their dark retreats;
(Horrid as Cacus in their thievish dens)
103
The pilfer'd glories to a wond'ring world.
So Stella boasts, from her the tale I learn'd;
With pride she told it, I with rapture heard.
O, Montagu! forgive me, if I sing
Thy wisdom temper'd with the milder ray
Of soft humanity, and kindness bland:
So wide its influence, that the bright beams
Reach the low vale where mists of ignorance lodge,
Strike on the innate spark which lay immers'd,
Thick clogg'd, and almost quench'd in total night—
On me it fell, and cheer'd my joyless heart.
Thy wisdom temper'd with the milder ray
Of soft humanity, and kindness bland:
So wide its influence, that the bright beams
Reach the low vale where mists of ignorance lodge,
Strike on the innate spark which lay immers'd,
Thick clogg'd, and almost quench'd in total night—
On me it fell, and cheer'd my joyless heart.
Unwelcome is the first bright dawn of light
To the dark soul; impatient, she rejects,
And fain won'd push the heavenly stranger back;
She loaths the cranny which admits the day;
Confus'd, afraid of the intruding guest;
Disturb'd, unwilling to receive the beam,
Which to herself her native darkness shews.
To the dark soul; impatient, she rejects,
104
She loaths the cranny which admits the day;
Confus'd, afraid of the intruding guest;
Disturb'd, unwilling to receive the beam,
Which to herself her native darkness shews.
The effort rude to quench the cheering flame
Was mine, and e'en on Stella cou'd I gaze
With sullen envy, and admiring pride,
Till, doubly rous'd by Montagu, the pair
Conspire to clear my dull, imprison'd sense,
And chase the mists which dimm'd my visual beam.
Was mine, and e'en on Stella cou'd I gaze
With sullen envy, and admiring pride,
Till, doubly rous'd by Montagu, the pair
Conspire to clear my dull, imprison'd sense,
And chase the mists which dimm'd my visual beam.
Oft as I trod my native wilds alone,
Strong gusts of thought wou'd rise, but rise to die;
The portals of the swelling soul, ne'er op'd
By liberal converse, rude ideas strove
Awhile for vent, but found it not, and died.
Thus rust the Mind's best powers. Yon starry orbs,
Majestic ocean, flowery vales, gay groves,
Eye-wasting lawns, and Heaven-attempting hills,
Which bound th'horizon, and which curb the view;
All those, with beauteous imagery awak'd
My ravish'd soul to extacy untaught,
To all the transport the rapt sense can bear;
But all expir'd, for want of powers to speak;
All perish'd in the mind as soon as born,
Eras'd more quick than cyphers on the shore,
O'er which the cruel waves, unheedful, roll.
Strong gusts of thought wou'd rise, but rise to die;
The portals of the swelling soul, ne'er op'd
105
Awhile for vent, but found it not, and died.
Thus rust the Mind's best powers. Yon starry orbs,
Majestic ocean, flowery vales, gay groves,
Eye-wasting lawns, and Heaven-attempting hills,
Which bound th'horizon, and which curb the view;
All those, with beauteous imagery awak'd
My ravish'd soul to extacy untaught,
To all the transport the rapt sense can bear;
But all expir'd, for want of powers to speak;
All perish'd in the mind as soon as born,
Eras'd more quick than cyphers on the shore,
O'er which the cruel waves, unheedful, roll.
Such timid rapture as young
Edwin seiz'd,
When his lone footsteps on the Sage obtrude,
Whose noble precept charm'd his wond'ring ear,
Such rapture fill'd Lactilla's vacant soul,
When the bright Moralist, in softness drest,
Opes all the glories of the mental world,
Deigns to direct the infant thought, to prune
The budding sentiment, uprear the stalk
Of feeble fancy, bid idea live,
Woo the abstracted spirit from its cares,
And gently guide her to the scenes of peace.
Mine was that balm, and mine the grateful heart,
Which breathes its thanks in rough, but timid strains.
When his lone footsteps on the Sage obtrude,
106
Such rapture fill'd Lactilla's vacant soul,
When the bright Moralist, in softness drest,
Opes all the glories of the mental world,
Deigns to direct the infant thought, to prune
The budding sentiment, uprear the stalk
Of feeble fancy, bid idea live,
Woo the abstracted spirit from its cares,
And gently guide her to the scenes of peace.
Mine was that balm, and mine the grateful heart,
Which breathes its thanks in rough, but timid strains.
| Poems, on several occasions | |