Poems on Several Occasions By Edward, Lord Thurlow. The Second Edition, considerably enlarged |
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| 22. | 22. TO A LADY:
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
150
22. TO A LADY:
WITH MY BOOK OF POEMS.
If I possess'd great Tasso's wit,
Or Ariosto's fire,
To build some glorious labour up,
Till the whole World expire;
Or Ariosto's fire,
To build some glorious labour up,
Till the whole World expire;
Fair Lady, to your sweet regard
That toil I would present,
And underneath your favour shield
My happy argument.
That toil I would present,
And underneath your favour shield
My happy argument.
151
But since the Muses are forbade
In this time-lessen'd age;
Since we with the too-blameful world
A hopeless war must wage:
In this time-lessen'd age;
Since we with the too-blameful world
A hopeless war must wage:
In this, that we will not endure
T' impair divinest thought,
Or liken to the common use
What is for Angels wrought:
T' impair divinest thought,
Or liken to the common use
What is for Angels wrought:
As some have done, who yet, perhaps,
Had no fine wings for flight,
But rather chose in grief to dwell
With the unconscious Night:
Had no fine wings for flight,
But rather chose in grief to dwell
With the unconscious Night:
Fair Lady, as it is, accept
The boon which I present;
And think, how much your smiles may do
To lift my argument!
The boon which I present;
And think, how much your smiles may do
To lift my argument!
152
If you upon this labour smile,
Believe it, ere the year
Shall through the various signs have run,
That do adorn our sphere,
Believe it, ere the year
Shall through the various signs have run,
That do adorn our sphere,
Some beauteous work may yet be penn'd,
In which the World may see
Some kindred to the crystal air,
And immortality!
In which the World may see
Some kindred to the crystal air,
And immortality!
If this be so, (and may it not?)
When Nature shall approve,
When Phœbus shall confess our lines,
And all the Muses love,
When Nature shall approve,
When Phœbus shall confess our lines,
And all the Muses love,
I ask not of supremest kings
The soft, th' unfading wreath,
But to your pure and gentle ear
This faultless pray'r I breathe:
The soft, th' unfading wreath,
But to your pure and gentle ear
This faultless pray'r I breathe:
153
May you, whose approbation fann'd
The weak, th' aspiring flame,
And bade me without fear to walk
Up the steep path of fame,
The weak, th' aspiring flame,
And bade me without fear to walk
Up the steep path of fame,
Present me, as a perfect gift,
With that unfading leaf,
That laurel, which no flame can harm
With the pale hue of grief;
With that unfading leaf,
That laurel, which no flame can harm
With the pale hue of grief;
My head shall then, like Virgil's, shine,
And all my thoughts shall be
Still dwelling by the sacred gates
Of immortality!
And all my thoughts shall be
Still dwelling by the sacred gates
Of immortality!
And as the bird, that haunts the Spring,
Is faithful in her train,
And with a tender voice repeats
Her praises in his strain;
Is faithful in her train,
And with a tender voice repeats
Her praises in his strain;
154
Your faultless praises I will sing,
Till the whole World shall smile;
Your praise my first delight shall be,
My latest songs beguile!
Till the whole World shall smile;
Your praise my first delight shall be,
My latest songs beguile!
The Spring but yields an early wreath,
Which Phœbus must approve;
Nor can, like golden Summer, be
As prodigal in love;
Which Phœbus must approve;
Nor can, like golden Summer, be
As prodigal in love;
But, what she yields, she freely yields
With an unfeigned heart;
And truth to tribute, in delight,
It's value must impart.
With an unfeigned heart;
And truth to tribute, in delight,
It's value must impart.
If, then, my strain may faulty be,
Yet is the gift sincere;
If you approve, my verse shall shine,
Like the unbounded Year,
Yet is the gift sincere;
If you approve, my verse shall shine,
Like the unbounded Year,
155
In which the tender Spring shall breathe,
The golden Summer burn,
The joyous Autumn yield it's fruit,
Till time to Winter turn:
The golden Summer burn,
The joyous Autumn yield it's fruit,
Till time to Winter turn:
To Winter, in whose noble rage
Th' unblamed year shall quake;
And Nature, to her utmost bounds,
The sacred fault partake:
Th' unblamed year shall quake;
And Nature, to her utmost bounds,
The sacred fault partake:
My verse shall be a perfect globe,
Like that, which Jove dismiss'd
To wander in the peerless air,
As He, and Nature wist:
Like that, which Jove dismiss'd
To wander in the peerless air,
As He, and Nature wist:
This shall be so, if you approve;
Then, O fair Lady, deign
To pardon, what is here in fault,
And to accept my strain!
Then, O fair Lady, deign
To pardon, what is here in fault,
And to accept my strain!
| Poems on Several Occasions | |