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 |
 |
|
 |
To a FRIEND, of whose Health and Success the Author had heard, after a long Absence. |
 | Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock |  |
To a FRIEND, of whose Health and Success the Author had heard, after a long Absence.
Thou dearest of friends to my heart ever known,
Whose enjoyments and sufferings have still been my own,
Since early we met in susceptible youth,
When glowing for virtue, and toiling for truth;
To God one petition, with steady regard,
With ardor incessant, my spirit preferr'd,
Thy life to protract, and thy blessings augment,
Now my wish is obtain'd, and my bosom content.
Whose enjoyments and sufferings have still been my own,
Since early we met in susceptible youth,
When glowing for virtue, and toiling for truth;
To God one petition, with steady regard,
With ardor incessant, my spirit preferr'd,
Thy life to protract, and thy blessings augment,
Now my wish is obtain'd, and my bosom content.
You ask, by what means I my livelihood gain,
And how my long conflict with fortune maintain?
The question is kind, yet I cannot tell why,
'Tis hard for a spirit like mine to reply.
If a friend with a friend must be free and sincere,
My vesture is simple and sober my cheer;
But tho' few my resources, and vacant my purse,
One comfort is left me, things cannot be worse.
'Tis vain to repine, as philosophers say,
So I take what is offer'd, and live as I may;
To my wants, still returning, adapt my supplies,
And find in my hope what my fortune denies.
And how my long conflict with fortune maintain?
The question is kind, yet I cannot tell why,
'Tis hard for a spirit like mine to reply.
193
My vesture is simple and sober my cheer;
But tho' few my resources, and vacant my purse,
One comfort is left me, things cannot be worse.
'Tis vain to repine, as philosophers say,
So I take what is offer'd, and live as I may;
To my wants, still returning, adapt my supplies,
And find in my hope what my fortune denies.
To the powerful and great had I keenly apply'd,
Had I toil'd for their pleasures, or flatter'd their pride,
In splendour and wealth I perhaps might have flam'd,
For learning, for virtue, for ev'ry thing fam'd.
The gamester, th' informer, the quack, and the smuggler,
The bully, the player, the mimic, the juggler,
The dispenser of libels, the teller of fortunes,
And others of equal respect and importance,
Find high reputation and ample subsistence,
Whilst craving necessity stands at a distance.
Had I toil'd for their pleasures, or flatter'd their pride,
In splendour and wealth I perhaps might have flam'd,
For learning, for virtue, for ev'ry thing fam'd.
The gamester, th' informer, the quack, and the smuggler,
The bully, the player, the mimic, the juggler,
The dispenser of libels, the teller of fortunes,
And others of equal respect and importance,
Find high reputation and ample subsistence,
Whilst craving necessity stands at a distance.
But who could determine, in soundness of brain,
By priesthood, or poetry, life to sustain?
Our Maker to serve, or our souls to improve,
Are tasks self-rewarded, and labours of love.
Such with hunger and thirst are deservedly paid,
'Tis glorious to starve by so noble a trade:
'Tis guilt and ambition for priests to pretend
Their fame to advance, and their fortune amend;
Their fame and their fortune, by pious mankind,
Are such trifles esteem'd as no mortal should mind.
By priesthood, or poetry, life to sustain?
Our Maker to serve, or our souls to improve,
Are tasks self-rewarded, and labours of love.
Such with hunger and thirst are deservedly paid,
'Tis glorious to starve by so noble a trade:
'Tis guilt and ambition for priests to pretend
Their fame to advance, and their fortune amend;
194
Are such trifles esteem'd as no mortal should mind.
Nor less by the world is the heav'n-gifted bard,
In his visions abandon'd to find his reward.
Can sensations of wretchedness ever invade
That breast which Apollo his temple has made?
On the top of Parnassus his hermitage lies;
And who can repine, when so near to the skies?
For him sweet ambrosia spontaneously grows;
For him Agannippe spontaneously flows.
Tho' the bev'rage be cool, and æthereal the diet,
Fine souls, thus regal'd, should be happy and quiet.
But I, who substantial nutrition require,
Would rather the muses should feed than inspire.
And whilst lofty Pindus my fancy explores,
To earth the wild fugitive hunger restores.
In his visions abandon'd to find his reward.
Can sensations of wretchedness ever invade
That breast which Apollo his temple has made?
On the top of Parnassus his hermitage lies;
And who can repine, when so near to the skies?
For him sweet ambrosia spontaneously grows;
For him Agannippe spontaneously flows.
Tho' the bev'rage be cool, and æthereal the diet,
Fine souls, thus regal'd, should be happy and quiet.
But I, who substantial nutrition require,
Would rather the muses should feed than inspire.
And whilst lofty Pindus my fancy explores,
To earth the wild fugitive hunger restores.
Yet lest what I mean be obscurely express'd,
No call is unanswer'd, no wish unredress'd:
But other resources supplied what was wanting,
Less barren employments than preaching or chanting.
For thee, whom I glory to claim as my friend,
May stars more propitious thy labours attend;
On earth be thy prospect still smiling and bright,
And thy portion hereafter immortal delight.
No call is unanswer'd, no wish unredress'd:
But other resources supplied what was wanting,
Less barren employments than preaching or chanting.
For thee, whom I glory to claim as my friend,
May stars more propitious thy labours attend;
On earth be thy prospect still smiling and bright,
And thy portion hereafter immortal delight.
| Poems by the Late Reverend Dr. Thomas Blacklock | |