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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| I. |
| II. |
| III. | ODE III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| XXXIV. |
 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
ODE III.
The Stars, those glitt'ring Worlds of Light,
That gild the dusky Face of Night,
And deck the boundless airy Plain,
Had finish'd half their nightly Reign,
And Men by weak'ning Toil subdu'd,
Dissolv'd in Sleep, their Strength renew'd,
When Cupid, God of sweet Deceit,
Impatient thunder'd at my Gate.
That gild the dusky Face of Night,
And deck the boundless airy Plain,
Had finish'd half their nightly Reign,
And Men by weak'ning Toil subdu'd,
Dissolv'd in Sleep, their Strength renew'd,
When Cupid, God of sweet Deceit,
Impatient thunder'd at my Gate.
“Who is't so rudely knocks, and tries
“To banish Slumber from my Eyes,
“To tear the blissful Dreams away
“With which the Soul delights to play?
“To banish Slumber from my Eyes,
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“With which the Soul delights to play?
Then Love: Ah! be not Friend, afraid,
To lend your hospitable Aid,
For I'm a Boy, unfit to bear
The dreary Night's inclement Air;
The Moon o'ercast, her Light denies
To guide my Steps, and bless my Eyes,
I've wander'd, chill'd with Cold and Rain,
And sought some Place of Rest, in vain.
To lend your hospitable Aid,
For I'm a Boy, unfit to bear
The dreary Night's inclement Air;
The Moon o'ercast, her Light denies
To guide my Steps, and bless my Eyes,
I've wander'd, chill'd with Cold and Rain,
And sought some Place of Rest, in vain.
I pitied, while I heard his Woes,
And quick to his Assistance rose,
I soon reviv'd the faded Light
To ease his Fears, and cheer his Sight;
And op'ning, saw an Infant stand,
A Bow smooth-polish'd in his Hand,
Two Wings, to wanton with the Wind,
Their silver Plumage spread behind,
And o'er his snowy Shoulder slung,
The shaftful Quiver id'ly hung.
And quick to his Assistance rose,
I soon reviv'd the faded Light
To ease his Fears, and cheer his Sight;
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A Bow smooth-polish'd in his Hand,
Two Wings, to wanton with the Wind,
Their silver Plumage spread behind,
And o'er his snowy Shoulder slung,
The shaftful Quiver id'ly hung.
To swell his Heart with vig'rous Heat
Before th' enliv'ning Fire I sate,
His little Hands with mine I warm,
From which I ne'er suspected Harm,
His Limbs I chaf'd, and press'd with Care
The chilling Moisture from his Hair.
Before th' enliv'ning Fire I sate,
His little Hands with mine I warm,
From which I ne'er suspected Harm,
His Limbs I chaf'd, and press'd with Care
The chilling Moisture from his Hair.
New Life the vital Warmth supplies,
And come, “Let's try this Bow, he cries,
“If yet the moisten'd Nerve can throw
“The Dart, or bend the circling Bow.
And come, “Let's try this Bow, he cries,
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“The Dart, or bend the circling Bow.
He strains the flexile Horn, and drew
The Shaft, which too unerring flew,
Like Light'ning it transfix'd my Heart,
And scatter'd Pains thro' ev'ry Part.
The Shaft, which too unerring flew,
Like Light'ning it transfix'd my Heart,
And scatter'd Pains thro' ev'ry Part.
Away the Wanton lightly springs,
And, laughing, waves his downy Wings,
And cries, with me rejoice my Friend,
My Fears were vain, my Sorrows end,
My Bow's uninjur'd, but thy Breast
With pale, enfeebling Grief possest,
Shall swell with Woes unfelt before,
And find it's wonted Peace no more.
And, laughing, waves his downy Wings,
And cries, with me rejoice my Friend,
My Fears were vain, my Sorrows end,
My Bow's uninjur'd, but thy Breast
With pale, enfeebling Grief possest,
Shall swell with Woes unfelt before,
And find it's wonted Peace no more.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |