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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Miss ------ to the AUTHOR. |
 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
138
Miss ------ to the AUTHOR.
While friendship's gentle pow'rs my bosom fire,
Damon accept the lays which you inspire:
My long-neglected muse thy worth revives,
And gen'rous ardour from thy flame receives.
Domestic troubles long my mind oppress'd,
And made the muse a stranger to my breast;
Not friendship's softest charms could raise my song,
Till wak'd to life by thy persuasive tongue.
O Damon, could I boast thy wondrous skill,
Were but my genius equal to my will,
Thy praises I unweary'd would proclaim;
And place thee with the brightest sons of fame.
Sure, Damon, 'tis some god thy breast inspires,
And fills thy soul with those celestial fires:
Thy thoughts so just, so noble, so refin'd,
That elegant, that virtuous turn of mind,
May justly claim the praise of all mankind.
Damon accept the lays which you inspire:
My long-neglected muse thy worth revives,
And gen'rous ardour from thy flame receives.
Domestic troubles long my mind oppress'd,
And made the muse a stranger to my breast;
Not friendship's softest charms could raise my song,
Till wak'd to life by thy persuasive tongue.
O Damon, could I boast thy wondrous skill,
Were but my genius equal to my will,
Thy praises I unweary'd would proclaim;
And place thee with the brightest sons of fame.
Sure, Damon, 'tis some god thy breast inspires,
And fills thy soul with those celestial fires:
Thy thoughts so just, so noble, so refin'd,
That elegant, that virtuous turn of mind,
May justly claim the praise of all mankind.
Why am I call'd to leave my native plains,
To range on barren hills with rustic swains?
Far from my fellow nymphs, a sprightly throng,
And far, too far from thy harmonious tongue!
Yet still thy praise shall be my fav'rite theme:
Each echo shall resound with Damon's fame,
And ev'ry tree shall bear his much-lov'd name.
To range on barren hills with rustic swains?
Far from my fellow nymphs, a sprightly throng,
And far, too far from thy harmonious tongue!
Yet still thy praise shall be my fav'rite theme:
Each echo shall resound with Damon's fame,
And ev'ry tree shall bear his much-lov'd name.
139
O! could I bear thee to Acasto's seat,
To Phœbus and his sons a known retreat;
Acasto, whose great mind and honest soul
No hopes can bias, and no fears control.
He virtue's Patron long has firmly stood,
And, in a vicious age, been greatly good.
Oft has Acasto in some fragrant bow'r
Invok'd Urania, and confess'd her pow'r;
As oft the tuneful maid has own'd his lays,
And bless'd his song with well-deserved praise.
Were Damon there, to join the tuneful choir,
With all the beauties of his verse and lyre,
His wit would civilize our savage plains,
Polish our country nymphs, and rural swains.
But tho' hard fate deny my fond request,
It cannot tear thy mem'ry from my breast;
No—while life's blood runs warm in ev'ry vein,
For thee a lasting friendship I'll maintain:
And when this busy scene of life is o'er,
Nor earth retards the soul's excursions more,
I'll joy to meet thee in those happier scenes,
Where unallay'd, immortal pleasure reigns.
There, crown'd with youth unfading, let us stray
Thro' the bright regions of eternal day;
There, of essential happiness secur'd,
With joy we'll tell the pains we once endur'd.
To Phœbus and his sons a known retreat;
Acasto, whose great mind and honest soul
No hopes can bias, and no fears control.
He virtue's Patron long has firmly stood,
And, in a vicious age, been greatly good.
Oft has Acasto in some fragrant bow'r
Invok'd Urania, and confess'd her pow'r;
As oft the tuneful maid has own'd his lays,
And bless'd his song with well-deserved praise.
Were Damon there, to join the tuneful choir,
With all the beauties of his verse and lyre,
His wit would civilize our savage plains,
Polish our country nymphs, and rural swains.
But tho' hard fate deny my fond request,
It cannot tear thy mem'ry from my breast;
No—while life's blood runs warm in ev'ry vein,
For thee a lasting friendship I'll maintain:
And when this busy scene of life is o'er,
Nor earth retards the soul's excursions more,
I'll joy to meet thee in those happier scenes,
Where unallay'd, immortal pleasure reigns.
There, crown'd with youth unfading, let us stray
Thro' the bright regions of eternal day;
There, of essential happiness secur'd,
With joy we'll tell the pains we once endur'd.
Some pow'r conduct us thro' the glorious road,
And lead us safe to that divine abode,
Where bliss eternal waits the virtuous soul,
And joys on joys in endless circles roll.
And lead us safe to that divine abode,
140
And joys on joys in endless circles roll.
1740. Clio.
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |