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 |
 |
|
A PASTORAL. |
 |
 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
77
A PASTORAL.
Inscribed to EUANTHE.
Whilst I rehearse unhappy Damon's lays,
At which his fleecy charge forgot to graze,
With drooping heads and griev'd attention, stood,
Nor frisk'd the green, nor sought the neighb'ring flood;
Essential Sweetness! deign with me to stray,
Where yon close shades exclude the heat of day;
Or where yon fountain murmurs soft along,
Mixt with his tears, and vocal to his song;
There hear the sad relation of his fate,
And pity all the pains thy charms create.
At which his fleecy charge forgot to graze,
With drooping heads and griev'd attention, stood,
Nor frisk'd the green, nor sought the neighb'ring flood;
Essential Sweetness! deign with me to stray,
Where yon close shades exclude the heat of day;
Or where yon fountain murmurs soft along,
Mixt with his tears, and vocal to his song;
There hear the sad relation of his fate,
And pity all the pains thy charms create.
Close in th' adjacent shade, conceal'd from view,
I staid, and heard him thus his griefs pursue.
I staid, and heard him thus his griefs pursue.
“Awake, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Mild gleams the purple ev'ning o'er the plain;
Mild fan the breezes, mild the waters flow,
And heav'n and earth an equal quiet know;
With ease the shepherds and their flocks are blest,
And ev'ry grief, but mine, consents to rest.
Mild gleams the purple ev'ning o'er the plain;
Mild fan the breezes, mild the waters flow,
And heav'n and earth an equal quiet know;
With ease the shepherds and their flocks are blest,
And ev'ry grief, but mine, consents to rest.
78
Awake, my muse, the soft Sicilian strain;
Sicilian numbers may delude my pain:
The thirsty field, which scorching heat devours,
Is ne'er supply'd, tho' heav'n descend in show'rs:
From flow'r to flow'r the bee still plies her wing,
Of sweets insatiate, tho' she drain the spring:
Still from those eyes love calls their liquid store,
And, when their currents fail, still thirsts for more.
Sicilian numbers may delude my pain:
The thirsty field, which scorching heat devours,
Is ne'er supply'd, tho' heav'n descend in show'rs:
From flow'r to flow'r the bee still plies her wing,
Of sweets insatiate, tho' she drain the spring:
Still from those eyes love calls their liquid store,
And, when their currents fail, still thirsts for more.
Awake, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain:
Yet why to ruthless storms should I complain?
Deaf storms and death itself complaints may move,
But groans are music to the tyrant Love.
O Love! thy genius and thy force I know,
Thy burning torch, and pestilential bow:
From some fermented tempest of the main,
At once commenc'd thy being, and thy reign;
Nurs'd by fell harpies in some howling wood,
Inur'd to slaughter, and regal'd with blood:
Relentless mischief! at whose dire command,
A mother stain'd with filial blood her hand:
Curst boy! curst mother! which most impious, say,
She who could wound, or he who could betray?
Yet why to ruthless storms should I complain?
Deaf storms and death itself complaints may move,
But groans are music to the tyrant Love.
O Love! thy genius and thy force I know,
Thy burning torch, and pestilential bow:
From some fermented tempest of the main,
At once commenc'd thy being, and thy reign;
Nurs'd by fell harpies in some howling wood,
Inur'd to slaughter, and regal'd with blood:
Relentless mischief! at whose dire command,
A mother stain'd with filial blood her hand:
Curst boy! curst mother! which most impious, say,
She who could wound, or he who could betray?
Awake, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain:
From love those sighs I breathe, those plagues sustain.
Why did I first Euanthe's charms admire,
Bless the soft smart, and fan the growing fire?
Why, happy still my danger to conceal,
Could I no ruin fear, till sure to feel?
So seeks the swain by night his doubtful way,
Led by th' insidious meteor's fleeting ray;
Still on, attracted by th' illusive beam,
He tempts the faithless marsh, or fatal stream:
Away with scorn the laughing Daemon flies,
While shades eternal seal the wretch's eyes.
From love those sighs I breathe, those plagues sustain.
Why did I first Euanthe's charms admire,
Bless the soft smart, and fan the growing fire?
Why, happy still my danger to conceal,
Could I no ruin fear, till sure to feel?
79
Led by th' insidious meteor's fleeting ray;
Still on, attracted by th' illusive beam,
He tempts the faithless marsh, or fatal stream:
Away with scorn the laughing Daemon flies,
While shades eternal seal the wretch's eyes.
Awake, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Ah! can no last, no darling hope remain,
Round which my soul with all her strength may twine,
And, tho' but flatter'd, call the treasure mine?
Wretch! to the charmer's sphere canst thou ascend,
Or dar'st thou fancy she to thee will bend?
Say, shall the chirping grashopper assume
The varied accent, and the soaring plume;
Or shall that oak, the tallest of his race,
Stoop to his root, and meet yon shrub's embrace?
Ah! can no last, no darling hope remain,
Round which my soul with all her strength may twine,
And, tho' but flatter'd, call the treasure mine?
Wretch! to the charmer's sphere canst thou ascend,
Or dar'st thou fancy she to thee will bend?
Say, shall the chirping grashopper assume
The varied accent, and the soaring plume;
Or shall that oak, the tallest of his race,
Stoop to his root, and meet yon shrub's embrace?
Awake, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Those pallid cheeks how long shall sorrow stain?
Well I remember, O my soul! too well,
When in the snare of fate I thoughtless fell:
Languid and sick, she sought the distant shade,
Where, led by love or destiny, I stray'd:
There, from the nymphs retir'd, depress'd she lay,
To unremitting pain a smiling prey:
Ev'n then I saw her, as an angel, bright;
I saw, I lov'd, I perish'd at the sight;
I sigh'd, I blush'd, I gaz'd with fix'd surprise,
And all my soul hung raptur'd in my eyes.
Those pallid cheeks how long shall sorrow stain?
Well I remember, O my soul! too well,
When in the snare of fate I thoughtless fell:
Languid and sick, she sought the distant shade,
Where, led by love or destiny, I stray'd:
There, from the nymphs retir'd, depress'd she lay,
To unremitting pain a smiling prey:
Ev'n then I saw her, as an angel, bright;
I saw, I lov'd, I perish'd at the sight;
I sigh'd, I blush'd, I gaz'd with fix'd surprise,
And all my soul hung raptur'd in my eyes.
80
Forbear, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Which heav'n bestows, and art refines, in vain:
What tho' the heav'n-born muse my temples shade
With wreaths of fame, and bays that never fade?
What tho' the Sylvan pow'rs, while I complain,
Attend my flocks, and patronize my strain?
On me my stars, not gifts, but ills bestow,
And all the change I feel, is change of woe.
Which heav'n bestows, and art refines, in vain:
What tho' the heav'n-born muse my temples shade
With wreaths of fame, and bays that never fade?
What tho' the Sylvan pow'rs, while I complain,
Attend my flocks, and patronize my strain?
On me my stars, not gifts, but ills bestow,
And all the change I feel, is change of woe.
But see yon rock projected o'er the main,
Whose giddy prospect turns the gazer's brain:
Object is lost beneath its vast profound,
And deep and hoarse below the surges sound:
Oft, while th' unthinking world is lost in sleep,
My sable genius tempts me to the steep;
In fancy's view bids endless horrors move,
A barren fortune, and a hopeless love,
Life has no charms for me; why longer stay?
I hear the gloomy mandate, and obey.
What! fall the victim of a mean despair,
And crown the triumph of the cruel fair?
No, let me once some conscious merit show,
And tell the world, I can survive my woe.
Whose giddy prospect turns the gazer's brain:
Object is lost beneath its vast profound,
And deep and hoarse below the surges sound:
Oft, while th' unthinking world is lost in sleep,
My sable genius tempts me to the steep;
In fancy's view bids endless horrors move,
A barren fortune, and a hopeless love,
Life has no charms for me; why longer stay?
I hear the gloomy mandate, and obey.
What! fall the victim of a mean despair,
And crown the triumph of the cruel fair?
No, let me once some conscious merit show,
And tell the world, I can survive my woe.
Forbear, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain:
Fool! wretched fool! what frenzy fires thy brain?
See, choak'd with weeds, thy languid flow'rs recline,
Thy sheep unguarded, and unprop'd thy vine.
At length recall'd, to toil thy hands inure,
Or weave the basket, or the fold secure.
Fool! wretched fool! what frenzy fires thy brain?
See, choak'd with weeds, thy languid flow'rs recline,
Thy sheep unguarded, and unprop'd thy vine.
At length recall'd, to toil thy hands inure,
Or weave the basket, or the fold secure.
81
What tho' her cheeks a living blush display,
Pure as the dawn of heav'n's unclouded day;
Tho' love from ev'ry glance an arrow wings,
And all the muses warble, when she sings?
Forbear, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Some nymph, as fair, a sprightlier note may gain:
There are who know to prize more genuine charms,
Which genius brightens, and which virtue warms:
Forbear, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Some nymph, as fair, may smile, tho' she disdain.
Pure as the dawn of heav'n's unclouded day;
Tho' love from ev'ry glance an arrow wings,
And all the muses warble, when she sings?
Forbear, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Some nymph, as fair, a sprightlier note may gain:
There are who know to prize more genuine charms,
Which genius brightens, and which virtue warms:
Forbear, my muse! the soft Sicilian strain;
Some nymph, as fair, may smile, tho' she disdain.
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |