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 Death of Mr. POPE.
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 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
On the Death of Mr. POPE.
An ELEGY.
Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung;
Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue;
Ev'n he, whose soul, now melts in mournful lays,
Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays.
Pope's Unfortunate Lady.
Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue;
Ev'n he, whose soul, now melts in mournful lays,
Shall shortly want the gen'rous tear he pays.
Pope's Unfortunate Lady.
While yet I scarce awake from dumb surprize,
And tepid streams profusely bathe my eyes;
While soul-dissolving sighs my bosom strain,
And all my being sinks oppress'd with pain;
Deign you, whose souls, like mine, are form'd to know
The nice poetic sense of bliss and woe;
To these sad accents deign a pitying ear:
Strong be our sorrow, as the cause severe.
And tepid streams profusely bathe my eyes;
While soul-dissolving sighs my bosom strain,
And all my being sinks oppress'd with pain;
Deign you, whose souls, like mine, are form'd to know
The nice poetic sense of bliss and woe;
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Strong be our sorrow, as the cause severe.
O Pope, what tears thy obsequies attend!
Britain a bard deplores, mankind a friend:
For thee, their darling, weep th' Aonian choir,
Mute the soft voice, unstrung the tuneful lyre:
For thee, the virtuous and the sage shall mourn,
And virgin sorrows bathe thy sacred urn:
One veil of grief o'er heav'n and earth be thrown,
And vice and envy flaunt in smiles alone.
Erewhile depress'd in abject dust they lay,
Nor with their hideous forms affronted day;
While thy great genius, in their tortur'd sight,
Plac'd truth and virtue cloath'd with heav'nly light:
Now pleas'd, to open sunshine they return,
And o'er the fate exult which others mourn.
Britain a bard deplores, mankind a friend:
For thee, their darling, weep th' Aonian choir,
Mute the soft voice, unstrung the tuneful lyre:
For thee, the virtuous and the sage shall mourn,
And virgin sorrows bathe thy sacred urn:
One veil of grief o'er heav'n and earth be thrown,
And vice and envy flaunt in smiles alone.
Erewhile depress'd in abject dust they lay,
Nor with their hideous forms affronted day;
While thy great genius, in their tortur'd sight,
Plac'd truth and virtue cloath'd with heav'nly light:
Now pleas'd, to open sunshine they return,
And o'er the fate exult which others mourn.
Ah me! far other thoughts my soul inspire;
Far other accents breathes the plaintive lyre:
Thee, tho' the muses bless'd with all their art,
And pour'd their sacred raptures on thy heart;
Tho' thy lov'd virtue, with a mother's pain,
Deplores thy fate, alas! deplores in vain?
Silent and pale thy tuneful frame remains;
Death seals thy sight, and freezes in thy veins:
“Cold is that breast, which warm'd the world before,
“And that heav'n-prompted tongue shall charm no more.”
Far other accents breathes the plaintive lyre:
Thee, tho' the muses bless'd with all their art,
And pour'd their sacred raptures on thy heart;
Tho' thy lov'd virtue, with a mother's pain,
Deplores thy fate, alas! deplores in vain?
Silent and pale thy tuneful frame remains;
Death seals thy sight, and freezes in thy veins:
“Cold is that breast, which warm'd the world before,
“And that heav'n-prompted tongue shall charm no more.”
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Whom next shall heav'n to share thy honours chuse;
Whom consecrate to virtue and the muse?
The muse, by fate's eternal plan design'd
To light, exalt, and humanize the mind;
To bid kind pity melt, just anger glow;
To kindle joy, or prompt the sighs of woe;
To shake with horror, rack with tender smart,
And touch the finest springs that move the heart.
Whom consecrate to virtue and the muse?
The muse, by fate's eternal plan design'd
To light, exalt, and humanize the mind;
To bid kind pity melt, just anger glow;
To kindle joy, or prompt the sighs of woe;
To shake with horror, rack with tender smart,
And touch the finest springs that move the heart.
Curst he! who, without extasy sincere,
The poet's soul effus'd in song can hear:
His aid in vain shall indigence require;
Unmov'd he views his dearest friends expire:
Nature and nature's God that wretch detest;
Unsought his friendship, and his days unblest:
Hell's mazy frauds deep in his bosom roll,
And all her gloom hangs heavy on his soul.
The poet's soul effus'd in song can hear:
His aid in vain shall indigence require;
Unmov'd he views his dearest friends expire:
Nature and nature's God that wretch detest;
Unsought his friendship, and his days unblest:
Hell's mazy frauds deep in his bosom roll,
And all her gloom hangs heavy on his soul.
As when the sun begins his eastern way,
To bless the nations with returning day,
Crown'd with unfading splendor, on he flies;
Reveals the world, and kindles all the skies:
The prostrate East the radiant God adore;
So, Pope, we view'd thee, but must view no more.
Thee angels late beheld, with mute surprise,
Glow with their themes, and to their accents rise;
They view'd with wonder thy unbounded aim,
To trace the mazes of th' eternal scheme:
But heav'n those scenes to human view denies,
Those scenes impervious to celestial eyes:
Whoe'er attempts the path, shall lose his way,
And, wrapt in night, thro' endless error stray.
To bless the nations with returning day,
Crown'd with unfading splendor, on he flies;
Reveals the world, and kindles all the skies:
The prostrate East the radiant God adore;
So, Pope, we view'd thee, but must view no more.
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Glow with their themes, and to their accents rise;
They view'd with wonder thy unbounded aim,
To trace the mazes of th' eternal scheme:
But heav'n those scenes to human view denies,
Those scenes impervious to celestial eyes:
Whoe'er attempts the path, shall lose his way,
And, wrapt in night, thro' endless error stray.
In thee what talent shall we most admire;
The critic's judgment, or the poet's fire?
Alike, in both, to glory is thy claim;
Thine Aristotle's taste, and Homer's flame.
The critic's judgment, or the poet's fire?
Alike, in both, to glory is thy claim;
Thine Aristotle's taste, and Homer's flame.
Arm'd with impartial satire, when thy muse
Triumphant vice with all her rage pursues;
To hell's dread gloom the monster scours away,
Far from the haunts of men, and scenes of day:
There, curst and cursing, rack'd with raging woe,
Shakes with incessant howls the realms below.
But soon, too soon, the fiend to light shall rise;
Her steps the earth scarce bound, her head the skies;
Till his red terrors Jove again display,
Assert his laws, and vindicate his sway.
Triumphant vice with all her rage pursues;
To hell's dread gloom the monster scours away,
Far from the haunts of men, and scenes of day:
There, curst and cursing, rack'd with raging woe,
Shakes with incessant howls the realms below.
But soon, too soon, the fiend to light shall rise;
Her steps the earth scarce bound, her head the skies;
Till his red terrors Jove again display,
Assert his laws, and vindicate his sway.
When Ovid's song bewails the Lesbian Fair,
Her slighted passion, and intense despair;
By thee improv'd, in each soul-moving line,
Not Ovid's wit, but Sappho's sorrows shine.
When Eloisa mourns her hapless fate,
What heart can cease with all her pangs to beat!
Her slighted passion, and intense despair;
By thee improv'd, in each soul-moving line,
Not Ovid's wit, but Sappho's sorrows shine.
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What heart can cease with all her pangs to beat!
While pointed wit, with flowing numbers grac'd,
Excites the laugh, ev'n in the guilty breast;
The gaudy coxcomb, and the fickle fair,
Shall dread the satire of thy ravish'd hair.
Excites the laugh, ev'n in the guilty breast;
The gaudy coxcomb, and the fickle fair,
Shall dread the satire of thy ravish'd hair.
Not the Sicilian breath'd a sweeter song,
While Arethusa, charm'd and list'ning, hung;
For whom each muse, from her dear seat retir'd,
His flocks protected, and himself inspir'd:
Nor he who sung, while sorrow fill'd the plain,
How Cytherea mourn'd Adonis slain;
Nor Tityrus, who, in immortal lays,
Taught Mantua's echoes Galatea's praise.
No more let Mantua boast unrival'd fame;
Thy Windsor now shall equal honours claim:
Eternal fragrance shall each breeze perfume,
And in each grove eternal verdure bloom.
While Arethusa, charm'd and list'ning, hung;
For whom each muse, from her dear seat retir'd,
His flocks protected, and himself inspir'd:
Nor he who sung, while sorrow fill'd the plain,
How Cytherea mourn'd Adonis slain;
Nor Tityrus, who, in immortal lays,
Taught Mantua's echoes Galatea's praise.
No more let Mantua boast unrival'd fame;
Thy Windsor now shall equal honours claim:
Eternal fragrance shall each breeze perfume,
And in each grove eternal verdure bloom.
Ye tuneful shepherds, and ye beauteous maids,
From fair Ladona's banks, and Windsor's shades,
Whose souls in transport melted at his song,
Soft as your sighs, and as your wishes strong;
O come! your copious annual tributes bring,
The full luxuriance of the rifled spring;
Strip various nature of each fairest flow'r,
And on his tomb the gay profusion show'r.
Let long-liv'd pansies here their scents bestow,
The violets languish, and the roses glow;
In yellow glory let the crocus shine,
Narcissus here his love-sick head recline;
Here hyacinths in purple sweetness rise,
And tulips ting'd with beauty's fairest dyes.
From fair Ladona's banks, and Windsor's shades,
Whose souls in transport melted at his song,
Soft as your sighs, and as your wishes strong;
O come! your copious annual tributes bring,
The full luxuriance of the rifled spring;
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And on his tomb the gay profusion show'r.
Let long-liv'd pansies here their scents bestow,
The violets languish, and the roses glow;
In yellow glory let the crocus shine,
Narcissus here his love-sick head recline;
Here hyacinths in purple sweetness rise,
And tulips ting'd with beauty's fairest dyes.
Who shall succeed thy worth, O darling swain!
Attempt thy reeds, or emulate thy strain?
Each painted warbler of the vocal grove
Laments thy fate, unmindful of his love:
Thee, thee the breezes, thee the fountains mourn,
And solemn moans responsive rocks return;
Shepherds and flocks protract the doleful sound,
And nought is heard but mingled plaints around.
Attempt thy reeds, or emulate thy strain?
Each painted warbler of the vocal grove
Laments thy fate, unmindful of his love:
Thee, thee the breezes, thee the fountains mourn,
And solemn moans responsive rocks return;
Shepherds and flocks protract the doleful sound,
And nought is heard but mingled plaints around.
When first Calliope thy fall survey'd,
Immortal tears her eyes profusely shed;
Her pow'rless hand the tuneful harp resign'd;
The conscious harp her griefs, low-murm'ring, join'd;
Her voice in trembling cadence dy'd away,
And, lost in anguish, all the goddess lay.
Such pangs she felt, when, from the realms of light,
The fates, in Homer, ravish'd her delight:
To thee her sacred hand consign'd his lyre,
And in thy bosom kindled all his fire:
Hence, in our tongue, his glorious labours drest,
Breathe all the god that warm'd their author's breast.
Immortal tears her eyes profusely shed;
Her pow'rless hand the tuneful harp resign'd;
The conscious harp her griefs, low-murm'ring, join'd;
Her voice in trembling cadence dy'd away,
And, lost in anguish, all the goddess lay.
Such pangs she felt, when, from the realms of light,
The fates, in Homer, ravish'd her delight:
To thee her sacred hand consign'd his lyre,
And in thy bosom kindled all his fire:
Hence, in our tongue, his glorious labours drest,
Breathe all the god that warm'd their author's breast.
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When horrid war informs the sacred page,
And men and gods with mutual wrath engage,
The clash of arms, the trumpet's awful sound,
And groans and clamours shake the mountains round;
The nations rock, earth's solid bases groan,
And quake heav'n's arches to th' eternal throne.
And men and gods with mutual wrath engage,
The clash of arms, the trumpet's awful sound,
And groans and clamours shake the mountains round;
The nations rock, earth's solid bases groan,
And quake heav'n's arches to th' eternal throne.
Wheh Eolus dilates the lawless wind,
O'er nature's face to revel unconfin'd,
Bend heav'n's blue concave, sweep the fruitful plain,
Tear up the forest, and inrage the main;
In horrid native pomp the tempests shine,
Ferment, and roar, and aestuate in each line.
O'er nature's face to revel unconfin'd,
Bend heav'n's blue concave, sweep the fruitful plain,
Tear up the forest, and inrage the main;
In horrid native pomp the tempests shine,
Ferment, and roar, and aestuate in each line.
When Sisyphus, with many a weary groan,
Rolls up the hill the still-revolving stone;
The loaded line, like it, seems to recoil,
Strains his bent nerves, and heaves with his full toil:
But, when resulting rapid from its height,
Precipitate the numbers emulate the flight.
Rolls up the hill the still-revolving stone;
The loaded line, like it, seems to recoil,
Strains his bent nerves, and heaves with his full toil:
But, when resulting rapid from its height,
Precipitate the numbers emulate the flight.
As when creative Energy, employ'd,
With various beings fill'd the boundless void;
With deep survey th' omniscient Parent view'd
The mighty fabric, and confess'd it good;
He view'd, exulting with immense delight,
The lovely transcript, as th' idea, bright:
So swell'd the bard with ecstasy divine,
When full and finish'd rose his bright design;
So, from the Elysian bow'rs, he joy'd to see
All his immortal self reviv'd in thee.
While fame enjoys thy consecrated fane,
First of th' inspir'd, with him for ever reign;
With his, each distant age shall rank thy name,
And ev'n reluctant envy hiss acclaim.
With various beings fill'd the boundless void;
With deep survey th' omniscient Parent view'd
The mighty fabric, and confess'd it good;
He view'd, exulting with immense delight,
The lovely transcript, as th' idea, bright:
So swell'd the bard with ecstasy divine,
When full and finish'd rose his bright design;
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All his immortal self reviv'd in thee.
While fame enjoys thy consecrated fane,
First of th' inspir'd, with him for ever reign;
With his, each distant age shall rank thy name,
And ev'n reluctant envy hiss acclaim.
But, ah! blind fate will no distinction know;
Swift down the torrent all alike must flow:
Wit, virtue, learning, are alike its prey;
All, all must tread th' irremeable way.
Swift down the torrent all alike must flow:
Wit, virtue, learning, are alike its prey;
All, all must tread th' irremeable way.
No more fond wishes in my breast shall roll,
Distend my heart, and kindle all my soul,
To breathe my honest raptures in thy ear,
And feel thy kindness in returns sincere;
Thy art, I hop'd, should teach the muse to sing,
Direct her flight, and prune her infant wing;
Now, muse, be dumb; or let thy song deplore
Thy pleasures blasted, and thy hopes no more.
Distend my heart, and kindle all my soul,
To breathe my honest raptures in thy ear,
And feel thy kindness in returns sincere;
Thy art, I hop'd, should teach the muse to sing,
Direct her flight, and prune her infant wing;
Now, muse, be dumb; or let thy song deplore
Thy pleasures blasted, and thy hopes no more.
Tremendous pow'rs! who rule th' eternal state,
Whose voice is thunder, and whose nod is fate;
Did I for empire, second to your own,
Cling round the shrine, and importune the throne?
Pray'd I, that fame should bear my name on high,
Thro' nation'd earth, or all-involving sky?
Woo'd I for me the sun to toil and shine,
The gem to brighten, or mature the mine?
Tho' deep involv'd in adamantine night,
Ask'd I again to view heav'n's chearful light?
Pope's love I sought; that only boon deny'd,
O life! what pleasure canst thou boast beside,
Worth my regard, or equal to my pride?
Whose voice is thunder, and whose nod is fate;
Did I for empire, second to your own,
Cling round the shrine, and importune the throne?
Pray'd I, that fame should bear my name on high,
Thro' nation'd earth, or all-involving sky?
Woo'd I for me the sun to toil and shine,
The gem to brighten, or mature the mine?
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Ask'd I again to view heav'n's chearful light?
Pope's love I sought; that only boon deny'd,
O life! what pleasure canst thou boast beside,
Worth my regard, or equal to my pride?
Thus mourns a tim'rous muse, unknown to fame,
Thus sheds her sweetest incense on thy name;
Whilst on her lips imperfect accents die,
Tear following tear, and sigh succeeding sigh:
She mourns, nor she alone, with fond regret,
A world, a feeling world, must weep thy fate.
Thus sheds her sweetest incense on thy name;
Whilst on her lips imperfect accents die,
Tear following tear, and sigh succeeding sigh:
She mourns, nor she alone, with fond regret,
A world, a feeling world, must weep thy fate.
Where polish'd arts and sacred science reign,
Where-e'er the Nine their tuneful presence deign;
There shall thy glory, with unclouded blaze,
Command immortal monuments of praise:
From clime to clime the circling sun shall view
Its rival splendour still his own pursue.
While the swift torrent from its source descends;
While round this globe heav'n's ample concave bends;
Whilst all its living lamps their course maintain,
And lead the beauteous year's revolving train;
So long shall men thy heav'nly song admire,
And nature's charms and thine at once expire.
Where-e'er the Nine their tuneful presence deign;
There shall thy glory, with unclouded blaze,
Command immortal monuments of praise:
From clime to clime the circling sun shall view
Its rival splendour still his own pursue.
While the swift torrent from its source descends;
While round this globe heav'n's ample concave bends;
Whilst all its living lamps their course maintain,
And lead the beauteous year's revolving train;
So long shall men thy heav'nly song admire,
And nature's charms and thine at once expire.
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |