Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock Together with an Essay on the Education of the Blind. To Which is Prefixed A New Account of the Life and Writings of the Author |
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 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
48
To a COQUETTE.
An ODE.
I.
At length, vain, airy flutt'rer, fly;
Nor vex the public ear and eye
With all this noise and glare:
Thy wiser kindred gnats behold,
All shrouded in their parent mould,
Forsake the chilling air.
Nor vex the public ear and eye
With all this noise and glare:
Thy wiser kindred gnats behold,
All shrouded in their parent mould,
Forsake the chilling air.
Of conquest there they safely dream;
Nor gentle breeze, nor transient gleam,
Allures them forth to play:
But thou, alike in frost and flame,
Insatiate of the cruel game,
Still on mankind would'st prey.
Nor gentle breeze, nor transient gleam,
Allures them forth to play:
But thou, alike in frost and flame,
Insatiate of the cruel game,
Still on mankind would'st prey.
Thy conscious charms, thy practis'd arts,
Those adventitious beams that round thee shine,
Reserve for unexperienc'd hearts:
Superior spells despair to conquer mine.
Those adventitious beams that round thee shine,
Reserve for unexperienc'd hearts:
Superior spells despair to conquer mine.
II.
Go, bid the sunshine of thine eyes
Melt rigid winter, warm the skies,
And set the rivers free;
O'er fields immers'd in frost and snow,
Bid flow'rs with smiling verdure grow;
Then hope to soften me.
Melt rigid winter, warm the skies,
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O'er fields immers'd in frost and snow,
Bid flow'rs with smiling verdure grow;
Then hope to soften me.
No, heav'n and freedom witness bear,
This heart no second frown shall fear,
No second yoke sustain:
Enough of female scorn I know;
Scarce fate could break my chain.
This heart no second frown shall fear,
No second yoke sustain:
Enough of female scorn I know;
Scarce fate could break my chain.
Ye hours, consum'd in hopeless pain,
Ye trees, inscrib'd with many a flaming vow,
Ye echoes, oft invok'd in vain,
Ye moon-light walks, ye tinkling rills, adieu!
Ye trees, inscrib'd with many a flaming vow,
Ye echoes, oft invok'd in vain,
Ye moon-light walks, ye tinkling rills, adieu!
III.
Your paint that idle hearts controuls;
Your fairy nets for feeble souls,
By partial fancy wrought;
Your Syren voice, your tempting air,
Your borrow'd visage falsely fair,
With me avail you nought.
Your fairy nets for feeble souls,
By partial fancy wrought;
Your Syren voice, your tempting air,
Your borrow'd visage falsely fair,
With me avail you nought.
Let ev'ry charm that wakes desire,
Let each insnaring art conspire;
Not all can hurt my rest:
Touch'd by Ithuriel's potent spear,
At once unmask'd the fiends appear,
In native blackness drest.
Let each insnaring art conspire;
Not all can hurt my rest:
Touch'd by Ithuriel's potent spear,
At once unmask'd the fiends appear,
In native blackness drest.
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The speaking glance, the heaving breast,
The cheek with lilies ting'd and rosy dye;
False joys, which ruin all who taste,
How swift they fade in reason's piercing eye!
The cheek with lilies ting'd and rosy dye;
False joys, which ruin all who taste,
How swift they fade in reason's piercing eye!
IV.
Seest thou yon taper's vivid ray,
Which emulates the blaze of day,
Diffusing far its light?
Tho' it from blasts shall stand secure,
Time urges on the destin'd hour,
And, lo! it sinks in night.
Which emulates the blaze of day,
Diffusing far its light?
Tho' it from blasts shall stand secure,
Time urges on the destin'd hour,
And, lo! it sinks in night.
Such is thy glory, such its date,
Wav'd by the sportive hand of fate,
A while to catch our view:
Now bright to heav'n the blaze aspires,
Then sudden from our gaze retires,
And yields to wonders new.
Wav'd by the sportive hand of fate,
A while to catch our view:
Now bright to heav'n the blaze aspires,
Then sudden from our gaze retires,
And yields to wonders new.
Like this poor torch, thy haughty airs.
Thy short-liv'd splendor on a puff depends;
And, soon as fate the stroke prepares,
The flash in dust and nauseous vapours ends.
Thy short-liv'd splendor on a puff depends;
And, soon as fate the stroke prepares,
The flash in dust and nauseous vapours ends.
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |