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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On the Refinements in Metaphysical Philosophy.
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| II. |
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| IV. |
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| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
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| X. |
| XI. |
 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
51
On the Refinements in Metaphysical Philosophy.
An ODE.
I
False wisdom, fly, with all thy owls;The dust and cobwebs of the schools
For me have charms no more:
The gross Minerva of our days,
In mighty bulk my learn'd Essays
Reads joyful o'er and o'er.
II
Led by her hand a length of time,Thro' sense and nonsense, prose and rhyme,
I beat my painful way;
Long, long, revolv'd the mystic page
Of many a Dutch and German Sage,
And hop'd at last for day.
III
But, as the mole, hid under ground,Still works more dark as more profound,
So all my toils were vain:
52
As far as ocean from the sky,
From all the formal train.
IV
The Stagyrite, whose fruitful quillO'er free-born nature lords it still,
Sustain'd by form and phrase
Of dire portent and solemn sound,
Where meaning seldom can be found,
From me shall gain no praise.
V
But you, who would be truly wise,To nature's light unveil your eyes,
Her gentle call obey:
She leads by no false wand'ring glare,
No voice ambiguous strikes your ear,
To bid you vainly stray.
VI
Not in the gloomy cell recluse,For noble deeds or gen'rous views,
She bids us watch the night;
Fair Virtue shines, to all display'd.
Nor asks the tardy Schoolman's aid,
To teach us what is right.
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VII
Pleasure and pain she sets in view,And which to shun, and which pursue,
Instructs her pupil's heart:
Then, letter'd Pride, say, what thy gain,
To mask, with so much fruitless pain,
Thy ignorance with art?
VIII
Thy stiff grimace, and awful tone,An idiot's wonder move alone;
And, spite of all thy rules,
The wise in ev'ry age conclude
Thy fairest prospects, rightly view'd,
The Paradise of Fools.
IX
The gamester's hope, when doom'd to lose,The joys of wine, the wanton's vows,
The faithless calm at sea,
The courtier's word, the crowd's applause,
The Jesuit's faith, the sense of laws,
Are not more false than thee.
X
Blest he! who sees, without surprise,The various systems fall and rise,
As shifts the fickle gale;
While all their utmost force exert,
To wound the foe's unguarded part,
And all alike prevail.
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XI
Thus (sacred Bards of yore have sung),High heav'n with martial clamours rung,
And deeds of mortal wrath;
When cranes and pigmies glory sought,
And in the fields of æther fought,
With mutual wounds and death.
XII
Let Logic's sons, mechanic throng,Their syllogistic war prolong,
And reason's empire boast:
Inshrin'd in deep congenial gloom,
Eternal wrangling be their doom,
To truth and nature lost!
XIII
Amus'd by fancy's fleeting fire,Let Malebranche still for Truth inquire,
And rack his aching sight:
While the coy goddess wings her way,
To scenes of uncreated day,
Absorb'd in dazzling light.
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XIV
With firmer step and graver guise,Whilst Locke in conscious triumph tries,
Her dwelling to explore;
Swift she eludes his ardent chace,
A shadow courts his fond embrace,
Which Hobbes caress'd before.
XV
Let Dodwell with the Fathers join,To strip of energy divine
The heav'n-descended soul;
The test of Sense let Berkley scorn,
And both on borrow'd pinions borne,
Annihilate the whole.
XVI
In Academic vales retir'd,With Plato's love and beauty fir'd;
My steps let candour guide;
By tenets vain unprepossest,
Those lawless tyrants of the breast,
Offspring of zeal and pride!
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XVII
Or, while thro' nature's walks I stray,Would Truth's bright source emit one ray,
And all my soul inflame;
Creation, and her bounteous laws,
Her order fix'd, her glorious cause,
Should be my fav'rite theme.
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |