Poems on Several Occasions ... To which is added, the Plague of Wealth, Occasion'd By the Author's receiving fifty Pounds from his Excellency the Lord Carteret, for the foremention'd Ode. With several Poems not in the Dublin Edition. By Matthew Pilkington. Revised by the Reverend Dr. Swift |
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The CANDLE.
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| XXXIV. |
 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
56
The CANDLE.
Hail! thou that chear'st the Face of Night,
Fair, artificial World of Light,
Whose Radiance bids the Gloom look gay,
And kindles Darkness into Day,
What Words thy Excellence can praise,
Or paint the Beauties of thy Blaze!
Fair, artificial World of Light,
Whose Radiance bids the Gloom look gay,
And kindles Darkness into Day,
What Words thy Excellence can praise,
Or paint the Beauties of thy Blaze!
The Stars that twinkle on the Eye
Thro' yon immeasurable Sky,
A less Degree of Lustre show,
And less assist this World below.
Thro' yon immeasurable Sky,
A less Degree of Lustre show,
And less assist this World below.
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Prometheus, boldest Son of Earth,
Was sure the Author of thy Birth,
His Wisdom form'd thee, fit to bear
The lucid Theft thro' Fields of Air.
Was sure the Author of thy Birth,
His Wisdom form'd thee, fit to bear
The lucid Theft thro' Fields of Air.
When dark-ey'd Night enshrouds the Skies
With Shades, and Nature silent lies,
Pleas'd with thy gloom-dispelling Fire,
I soon from Care and Noise retire:
Then, fond of Wisdom's Charms, explore
The ancient Sages golden Store,
And grieve, to think those Sons of Fame
Were less Immortal—than their Name.
With Shades, and Nature silent lies,
Pleas'd with thy gloom-dispelling Fire,
I soon from Care and Noise retire:
Then, fond of Wisdom's Charms, explore
The ancient Sages golden Store,
And grieve, to think those Sons of Fame
Were less Immortal—than their Name.
58
I read old Homer's nervous Lines,
Where Heav'n-born Inspiration shines:
Great Bard! who knew to raise Delight
Ev'n from the Terrors of a Fight;
To fire the Soul with Martial Rage,
Or give engaging Charms to Age,
To sway the Heart with Hope or Fear,
And wake the Grief-created Tear.
Where Heav'n-born Inspiration shines:
Great Bard! who knew to raise Delight
Ev'n from the Terrors of a Fight;
To fire the Soul with Martial Rage,
Or give engaging Charms to Age,
To sway the Heart with Hope or Fear,
And wake the Grief-created Tear.
By thee, I read what Flaccus writ
With boundless Elegance and Wit;
Or what the gay Anacreon sung,
Or Sapho's Soul-subduing Tongue:
Or Swift's, or Pope's, or Maro's Lays,
All blest with universal Praise,
By thee, the pleasing Means I find,
To brighten and improve the Mind.
With boundless Elegance and Wit;
Or what the gay Anacreon sung,
Or Sapho's Soul-subduing Tongue:
Or Swift's, or Pope's, or Maro's Lays,
All blest with universal Praise,
59
To brighten and improve the Mind.
But while by Thirst of Wisdom led,
I thus hold converse with the Dead,
Thy Beauty swift consumes away;
Alas! that fairest Forms decay!
Tho' Helen heav'nly Charms possest
That spread Delight thro' ev'ry Breast,
Like thine, her Beauties cou'd not save
The fair Possessor from the Grave.
I thus hold converse with the Dead,
Thy Beauty swift consumes away;
Alas! that fairest Forms decay!
Tho' Helen heav'nly Charms possest
That spread Delight thro' ev'ry Breast,
Like thine, her Beauties cou'd not save
The fair Possessor from the Grave.
In thee, Lætitia, tho' we find
All Virtues that exalt the Mind;
Tho' Nature ev'ry Gift supplies,
To make thee, more than Woman, wise;
Tho' Seraphs hymn the Pow'r divine
In Strains that only equal thine;
Tho' now with all Perfections grac't,
As Helen fair, as Cynthia chaste,
Yet thou, and all that's good, or great,
Must bow to wasting Time and Fate,
Thy sprightly Wit, thy Eyes divine
Shall cease,—ev'n They shall cease to shine.
All Virtues that exalt the Mind;
Tho' Nature ev'ry Gift supplies,
To make thee, more than Woman, wise;
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In Strains that only equal thine;
Tho' now with all Perfections grac't,
As Helen fair, as Cynthia chaste,
Yet thou, and all that's good, or great,
Must bow to wasting Time and Fate,
Thy sprightly Wit, thy Eyes divine
Shall cease,—ev'n They shall cease to shine.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |