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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HORACE, Ode XIII. Book I.
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 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
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HORACE, Ode XIII. Book I.
Imitated.
Cum tu Lydia, Telephi, &c.
When Cælia dwells on Damon's name,
Insatiate of the pleasing theme,
Or in detail admires his charms,
His rosy neck, and waxen arms;
O! then, with fury scarce supprest,
My big heart labours in my breast;
From thought to thought across my soul
Incessant tides of passion roll;
My blood alternate chills and glows,
My wav'ring colour comes and goes;
While down my cheek the silent tear
Too plainly bids my grief appear;
Too plainly shows the latent flame
Whose slow consumption melts my frame.
Insatiate of the pleasing theme,
Or in detail admires his charms,
His rosy neck, and waxen arms;
O! then, with fury scarce supprest,
My big heart labours in my breast;
From thought to thought across my soul
Incessant tides of passion roll;
My blood alternate chills and glows,
My wav'ring colour comes and goes;
While down my cheek the silent tear
Too plainly bids my grief appear;
Too plainly shows the latent flame
Whose slow consumption melts my frame.
I burn, when conscious of his sway,
The youth elated I survey,
Presume, with insolence of air
To frown, or dictate to my fair;
Or in the madness of delight,
When to thy arms he wings his flight,
And having snatch'd a rude embrace,
Profanes the softness of that face;
That face which heav'n itself imbues
With brightest charms and purest hues.
Oh! if my counsels touch thine ear,
(Love's counsels always are sincere),
From his ungovern'd transports fly,
Howe'er his form may please thine eye;
For conflagrations, fierce and strong,
Are fatal still, but never long:
And he who roughly treats the shrine,
Where modest worth and beauty shine,
Forgetful of his former fire,
Will soon no more these charms admire.
The youth elated I survey,
Presume, with insolence of air
To frown, or dictate to my fair;
Or in the madness of delight,
When to thy arms he wings his flight,
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Profanes the softness of that face;
That face which heav'n itself imbues
With brightest charms and purest hues.
Oh! if my counsels touch thine ear,
(Love's counsels always are sincere),
From his ungovern'd transports fly,
Howe'er his form may please thine eye;
For conflagrations, fierce and strong,
Are fatal still, but never long:
And he who roughly treats the shrine,
Where modest worth and beauty shine,
Forgetful of his former fire,
Will soon no more these charms admire.
How bless'd, how more than bless'd are they
Whom love retains with equal sway;
Whose flame inviolably bright,
Still burns in its meridian height;
Nor jealous fears, nor cold disdain,
Disturb their peace, nor break their chain:
But, when the hours of life ebb fast,
For each in sighs they breathe their last!
Whom love retains with equal sway;
Whose flame inviolably bright,
Still burns in its meridian height;
Nor jealous fears, nor cold disdain,
Disturb their peace, nor break their chain:
But, when the hours of life ebb fast,
For each in sighs they breathe their last!
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |