The Works of Richard Savage ... With an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author, by Samuel Johnson. A New Edition |
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ON THE RECOVERY OF A LADY OF QUALITY FROM THE SMALL-POX. |
 | The Works of Richard Savage |  |
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ON THE RECOVERY OF A LADY OF QUALITY FROM THE SMALL-POX.
Long a lov'd fair had bless'd her consort's sight,
With am'rous pride, and undisturb'd delight;
Till Death grown envious, with repugnant aim,
Frown'd at their joys, and urg'd a tyrant's claim.
He summons each disease!—the noxious crew,
Writhing, in dire distortions, strike his view;
From various plagues, which various natures know,
Forth rushes beauty's fear'd, and fervent foe.
Fierce to the fair, the missile mischief flies,
The sanguine streams in raging ferments rise!
It drives, ignipotent, thro' ev'ry vein,
Hangs on the heart, and burns around the brain!
Now a chill damp the charmer's lustre dims!
Sad o'er her eyes the livid languor swims!
Her eyes, that with a glance could joy inspire,
Like setting stars, scarce shoot a glimm'ring fire.
With am'rous pride, and undisturb'd delight;
Till Death grown envious, with repugnant aim,
Frown'd at their joys, and urg'd a tyrant's claim.
He summons each disease!—the noxious crew,
Writhing, in dire distortions, strike his view;
From various plagues, which various natures know,
Forth rushes beauty's fear'd, and fervent foe.
Fierce to the fair, the missile mischief flies,
The sanguine streams in raging ferments rise!
It drives, ignipotent, thro' ev'ry vein,
Hangs on the heart, and burns around the brain!
Now a chill damp the charmer's lustre dims!
Sad o'er her eyes the livid languor swims!
Her eyes, that with a glance could joy inspire,
Like setting stars, scarce shoot a glimm'ring fire.
Here stands her consort, sore, with anguish prest,
Grief in his eye, and terror in his breast.
The Paphian graces, smit with anxious care,
In silent sorrow weep the waining fair.
Eight suns, successive, roll their fire away,
And eight slow nights see their deep shades decay.
While these revolve, tho' mute each muse appears,
Each speaking eye drops eloquence in tears.
On the ninth noon, great Phœbus, list'ning, bends!
On the ninth noon, each voice in pray'r ascends!—
Great God of light, of song, and physic's art,
Restore the languid fair, new soul impart!
Her beauty, wit, and virtue, claim thy care,
And thy own bounty's almost rival'd there.
Grief in his eye, and terror in his breast.
The Paphian graces, smit with anxious care,
In silent sorrow weep the waining fair.
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And eight slow nights see their deep shades decay.
While these revolve, tho' mute each muse appears,
Each speaking eye drops eloquence in tears.
On the ninth noon, great Phœbus, list'ning, bends!
On the ninth noon, each voice in pray'r ascends!—
Great God of light, of song, and physic's art,
Restore the languid fair, new soul impart!
Her beauty, wit, and virtue, claim thy care,
And thy own bounty's almost rival'd there.
Each paus'd. The God assents. Would Death advance?
Phœbus, unseen, arrests the threat'ning lance!
Down from his orb a vivid influ'nce streams,
And quick'ning earth imbibes salubrious beams;
Each balmy plant, encrease of virtue knows,
And art, inspir'd, with all her patron glows.
The charmer's opening eye, kind hope, reveals,
Kind hope, her consort's breast enliv'ning feels,
Each grace revives, each muse resumes the lyre,
Each beauty brightens with re-lumin'd fire.
As Health's auspicious pow'rs, gay life display,
Death, sullen at the sight, stalks slow away.
Phœbus, unseen, arrests the threat'ning lance!
Down from his orb a vivid influ'nce streams,
And quick'ning earth imbibes salubrious beams;
Each balmy plant, encrease of virtue knows,
And art, inspir'd, with all her patron glows.
The charmer's opening eye, kind hope, reveals,
Kind hope, her consort's breast enliv'ning feels,
Each grace revives, each muse resumes the lyre,
Each beauty brightens with re-lumin'd fire.
As Health's auspicious pow'rs, gay life display,
Death, sullen at the sight, stalks slow away.
| The Works of Richard Savage | |