Philomela Or, Poems By Mrs. Elizabeth Singer, [Now Rowe,] ... The Second Edition |
 |
|
 |
On CANTICLES. Ch. V. VI. &c. |
 | Philomela |  |
19
On CANTICLES. Ch. V. VI. &c.
Oh! How his pointed Language, like a Dart,Sticks to the softest Fibres of my Heart;
Quite thro' my Soul the charming Accents slide,
Which from his Life-inspiring Portals glide;
And whilst I, the inchanting Sound admire,
My melting Vitals in a Trance expire.
O! Son of Venus, mourn thy baffled Arts,
For I defy the proudest of thy Darts:
Undaz'led now, I thy weak Taper view,
And find no fatal Influence accrue;
Nor would, fond Child, thy feebler Lamp appear,
Should my bright Sun deign to approach more near:
Canst thou his Rival then pretend to prove?
Thou a false Idol, He the God of Love;
Lovely beyond Conception, he is all
Reason, or Fancy, amiable can call,
20
When sublimated to its utmost Stretch.
O! altogether charming, why in Thee
Do the vain World no Form or Beauty see?
Why do they idolize a dusty Clod,
And yet refuse their Homage to a God?
Why from a beauteous flowing Fountain turn,
For the dead Puddle of a narrow Urn?
Oh Carnal Madness! sure we falsly call
So dull a thing as Man is, Rational;
Alas, my shining Love, what can there be
On Earth so splendid to out-glitter Thee?
In whom the Brightness of a God-head shines,
With all its lovely and endearing Lines;
Thee with whose Sight Mortality once blest,
Would throw off its dark Veil to be possest;
Then, altogether Lovely, why in thee
Do the vain World no Form or Beauty see.
| Philomela | |