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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To Mrs. R--- On the Death of a promising Infant.
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 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
To Mrs. R--- On the Death of a promising Infant.
An ODE.
I
While, touch'd with all thy tender pain,The muses breathe a mournful strain,
O! lift thy languid eye!
O! deign a calm auspicious ear;
The muse shall yield thee tear for tear,
And mingle sigh with sigh.
II
Not for the Thracian bard, whose lyreCould rocks and woods with soul inspire,
By jealous fury slain,
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Eurydice imperfect hung,
The nine could more complain.
III
Ah! say, harmonious sisters, say:When swift, to pierce the lovely prey,
Fate took its cruel aim;
When languish'd ev'ry tender grace,
Each op'ning bloom that ting'd his face,
And pangs convuls'd his frame:
IV
Say, could no song of melting woe,Revoke the keen determin'd blow,
That clos'd his sparkling eye?
Thus roses oft, by early doom,
Robb'd of their blush and sweet perfume,
Grow pale, recline, and die.
V
Pale, pale and cold the beauteous frame!Nor salient pulse, nor vital flame,
A mother's hopes restore:
In vain keen anguish tears her breast,
By ev'ry tender mark exprest,
He lives, he smiles no more!
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VI
Such is the fate of human kind;The fairest form, the brightest mind,
Can no exemption know:
The mighty mandate of the sky,
“That man when born begins to die,”
Extends to all below.
VII
In vain a mother's pray'rs ascend,Should nature to her sorrows lend
The native voice of smart;
In vain would plaints their force essay
To hold precarious life one day,
Or fate's dread hand avert.
VIII
Fix'd as the rock that braves the main,Fix'd as the poles that all sustain,
Its purpose stands secure:
The humble Hynd who toils for bread,
The scepter'd hand, the laurel'd head,
Alike confess its pow'r.
IX
Since time began, the stream of woesAlong its rapid current flows;
Still swells the groan profound:
While age, re-echoing still to age,
Transmits the annals of its rage,
And points the recent wound.
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X
When human hopes sublimest tow'r,Then, wanton in th' excess of pow'r,
The tyrant throws them down;
The orphan early robb'd of aid,
The widow'd wife, the plighted maid,
His sable triumph crown.
XI
At length to life and joy return;Man was not destin'd still to mourn,
A prey to endless pain:
Heav'n's various hand, the heart to form,
With bliss and anguish, calm and storm,
Diversifies the scene:
XII
But hides with care from human eyes,What bliss beyond this prospect lies;
Lest we, with life opprest,
Should grieve its burden to endure,
And, with excursion premature,
Pursue eternal rest.
XIII
From disappointment, grief, and care,From every pang of sharp despair,
Thy charmer wings his way;
And, while new scenes his bosom fire,
He learns to strike the golden lyre,
And heav'n resounds his lay.
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XIV
Lo! where his sacred reliques lie,Immortal guardians from the sky
Their silver wings display;
Till, bright emerging from the tomb,
They rise to heav'n, their destin'd home,
And hail eternal day.
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |