Poems on Various Subjects By John Thelwall. In Two Volumes |
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| VIII. | ELEGY VIII. The EXECRATION.
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 | Poems on Various Subjects |  |
ELEGY VIII. The EXECRATION.
TO A FRIEND.
1786.
Curs'd be the Muse! and curs'd the fatal hour
When first I listen'd to her syren tongue!
Resign'd my bosom to her pleasing pow'r,
And by her tuneful influence was undone.
When first I listen'd to her syren tongue!
Resign'd my bosom to her pleasing pow'r,
And by her tuneful influence was undone.
107
Curs'd be the love of Science, which pervades,
With wild, enthusiast ardour, all my heart!
Oh happier they whom torpid Dulness shades,
Who plodding ply some low mechanic art!
With wild, enthusiast ardour, all my heart!
Oh happier they whom torpid Dulness shades,
Who plodding ply some low mechanic art!
Oh had the fates, low mould'ring in the dust
Untimely laid me, ere th'aspiring flame
Of ambient Fancy o'er me shining first,
Inspir'd and fill'd me with the love of fame!
Untimely laid me, ere th'aspiring flame
Of ambient Fancy o'er me shining first,
Inspir'd and fill'd me with the love of fame!
Happy is he whose servile, grov'ling mind,
Nor sensibility nor spirit knows!
Who, all joys to appetite confin'd,
With pity throbs not, nor refinement glows!
Nor sensibility nor spirit knows!
Who, all joys to appetite confin'd,
With pity throbs not, nor refinement glows!
But ah! ere yet ten sportive years had run—
Oh years of bliss!—swift o'er my youthful head,
With rhimes uncouth, ambitious, I begun
To shew the flame which late so widely spread.
Oh years of bliss!—swift o'er my youthful head,
With rhimes uncouth, ambitious, I begun
To shew the flame which late so widely spread.
E'en then sequester'd oft would I retire,
With mimick pencil or instructive book,
And to refining arts, e'en then, aspire;—
My sports neglected, and my mates forsook.
With mimick pencil or instructive book,
And to refining arts, e'en then, aspire;—
My sports neglected, and my mates forsook.
108
Tho' arts unfriendly long the flame supprest;
Tho' cold Misfortune chill'd my progress long,
And damp'd the ardour of my youthful breast,
Nought could destroy the sacred love of song.
Tho' cold Misfortune chill'd my progress long,
And damp'd the ardour of my youthful breast,
Nought could destroy the sacred love of song.
Still as I grew, I nurs'd the embrio fire,
Which prompts the soul to knowledge and to fame;
Which to refinement makes us still aspire,
Expands the heart, and doubles feeling's claim.
Which prompts the soul to knowledge and to fame;
Which to refinement makes us still aspire,
Expands the heart, and doubles feeling's claim.
Oh foolish man! What is Refinement? say.
Or what is Science? Fame and Knowledge what?
That thus you throw soft peace and rest away,
And, for Opinion, blast your tranquil lot?
Or what is Science? Fame and Knowledge what?
That thus you throw soft peace and rest away,
And, for Opinion, blast your tranquil lot?
—Yes, grov'ling joys contented I resign;—
For Sensibility and Fame forego
Low-thoughted transports: be the bosom mine
That feels from Sympathy redoubled woe!
For Sensibility and Fame forego
Low-thoughted transports: be the bosom mine
That feels from Sympathy redoubled woe!
Be mine the heart that beats for high renown,—
Tho' nights of sleepless care the wish attend!
And my warm'd fancy, oh ye Muses! crown,—
Tho' in unpitied want the vision end!
Tho' nights of sleepless care the wish attend!
And my warm'd fancy, oh ye Muses! crown,—
Tho' in unpitied want the vision end!
109
Let careful Study quit her cobweb'd cell,
With me the page instructive to explore,
Unheedful of the midnight tolling bell,—
Tho' aching heads succeed the 'laborate lore!
With me the page instructive to explore,
Unheedful of the midnight tolling bell,—
Tho' aching heads succeed the 'laborate lore!
Still let me mourn, neglected, poor, despis'd,
From noisy Mirth and greedy Wealth estrang'd,
Ere all the feelings I so long have priz'd,
With Muse and Fancy, for such bliss be chang'd.
From noisy Mirth and greedy Wealth estrang'd,
Ere all the feelings I so long have priz'd,
With Muse and Fancy, for such bliss be chang'd.
For still I hold 'twere better far to be
(And generous souls the choice must better suit)
A man, oppress'd with grief and misery,
Than the most happy, grov'ling, sensual brute.
(And generous souls the choice must better suit)
A man, oppress'd with grief and misery,
Than the most happy, grov'ling, sensual brute.
And sure the keener feelings we possess,
The more of Science does the bosom fire;
We bear resemblance to the brutes the less,
And tow'ring rise in dignity the high'r.
The more of Science does the bosom fire;
We bear resemblance to the brutes the less,
And tow'ring rise in dignity the high'r.
| Poems on Various Subjects | |