 | Poems (1735) |  |
To Mrs. Mary Barber, under the Name of Sapphira:
Occasion'd by the Encouragement She met with in England, to publish her Poems by Subscription.
Long has the Warrior's, and the Lover's Fire,
Employ'd the Poet, and ingross'd the Lyre;
And justly too the World might long approve
The Praise of Heroes and of virtuous Love;
Had Tyrants not usurp'd the Hero's Name,
Nor low Desires debas'd the Lover's Flame;
If on those Themes, all Triflers had not writ,
Guiltless of Sense, or Elegance, or Wit.
Employ'd the Poet, and ingross'd the Lyre;
And justly too the World might long approve
The Praise of Heroes and of virtuous Love;
Had Tyrants not usurp'd the Hero's Name,
Nor low Desires debas'd the Lover's Flame;
If on those Themes, all Triflers had not writ,
Guiltless of Sense, or Elegance, or Wit.
Far different Themes We in thy Verses view;
Themes, in themselves, alike sublime, and new:
Thy tuneful Labours all conspire to show
The highest Bliss the Mind can taste below;
To ease those Wants, with which the Wretched pine;
And imitate Beneficence divine:
A Theme, alas! forgot by Bards too long;
And, but for Thee, almost unknown to Song.
Themes, in themselves, alike sublime, and new:
Thy tuneful Labours all conspire to show
The highest Bliss the Mind can taste below;
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And imitate Beneficence divine:
A Theme, alas! forgot by Bards too long;
And, but for Thee, almost unknown to Song.
Such wise Reflections in thy Lays are shown,
As Flaccus' Muse, in all her Pride, might own:
So Elegant, and so Refin'd, thy Praise,
As grearest Minds, at once, might mend and please:
No florid Toys, in pompous Numbers drest;
But justest Thoughts, in purest Stile, exprest:
Whene'er thy Muse designs the Heart to move,
The melting Reader must, with Tears, approve;
Or when, more gay, her spritely Satire bites,
'Tis not to wound, but to instruct, She writes.
As Flaccus' Muse, in all her Pride, might own:
So Elegant, and so Refin'd, thy Praise,
As grearest Minds, at once, might mend and please:
No florid Toys, in pompous Numbers drest;
But justest Thoughts, in purest Stile, exprest:
Whene'er thy Muse designs the Heart to move,
The melting Reader must, with Tears, approve;
Or when, more gay, her spritely Satire bites,
'Tis not to wound, but to instruct, She writes.
Cou'd ---, or --- from the Tomb,
Which shades their Ashes till the final Doom,
The dire Effects of vicious Writings view,
How wou'd they mourn to think what might ensue!
Blush at their Works, for no one End design'd,
But to embellish Vice, and taint the Mind!
No more their dear-bought Fame wou'd raise their Pride;
But Terrors wait on Talents misapply'd.
Which shades their Ashes till the final Doom,
The dire Effects of vicious Writings view,
How wou'd they mourn to think what might ensue!
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But to embellish Vice, and taint the Mind!
No more their dear-bought Fame wou'd raise their Pride;
But Terrors wait on Talents misapply'd.
Not so Sapphira: her unsully'd Strain
Shall never give her Soul one conscious Pain;
To latest Times shall melt the harden'd Breast,
And raise her Joys, by making others blest.
Shall never give her Soul one conscious Pain;
To latest Times shall melt the harden'd Breast,
And raise her Joys, by making others blest.
These Works, which Modesty conceal'd in
Your Candor, gen'rous Britons, brings to Light;
Born, by your Arms, for Liberty's Defence;
Born, by your Taste, the Arbiters of Sense:
Long may your Taste, and long your Empire stand,
To Honour, Wit, and Worth, from every Land.
Your Candor, gen'rous Britons, brings to Light;
Born, by your Arms, for Liberty's Defence;
Born, by your Taste, the Arbiters of Sense:
Long may your Taste, and long your Empire stand,
To Honour, Wit, and Worth, from every Land.
Oh! cou'd my conscious Muse but fully trace
The silent Virtues which Sapphira grace;
How much her Heart, from low Desires refin'd;
How much her Works, the Transcript of her Mind;
Her tender Care, and Grief for the Distrest;
Her Joy unfeign'd, to see true Merit blest;
Her Soul so form'd for every social Care;
A Friend so gen'rous, ardent, and sincere;
How wou'd you triumph in yourselves to find
Your Favours shewn to so complete a Mind;
To find her Breast with every Grace inspir'd,
Whom first You only for her Lays admir'd.
Thus the great Father of the Hebrew State,
Who watch'd for weary'd Strangers at his Gate;
The Good He thought conferr'd on Men unknown,
He found to more exalted Beings shown.
The silent Virtues which Sapphira grace;
How much her Heart, from low Desires refin'd;
How much her Works, the Transcript of her Mind;
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Her Joy unfeign'd, to see true Merit blest;
Her Soul so form'd for every social Care;
A Friend so gen'rous, ardent, and sincere;
How wou'd you triumph in yourselves to find
Your Favours shewn to so complete a Mind;
To find her Breast with every Grace inspir'd,
Whom first You only for her Lays admir'd.
Thus the great Father of the Hebrew State,
Who watch'd for weary'd Strangers at his Gate;
The Good He thought conferr'd on Men unknown,
He found to more exalted Beings shown.
Dublin, Jan.
5. 1732.
Constantia Grierson.
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Upon my Son's speaking Latin in School to less Advantage than English:
Written as from a Schoolfellow.
By Mrs. Grierson.
Thus twice detected, Con. thy Pride give o'er,
And hope to triumph in our School no more.
Tho' you speak English Verse with graceful Ease;
Tho' ev'ry Motion, Air, and Accent, please;
Tho' ev'ry Speech a crouded Audience draws;
And ev'ry Line be echo'd with Applause;
Yet now thy undeceiv'd Companions see,
The Muse, thy Mother, only speaks in thee.
And hope to triumph in our School no more.
Tho' you speak English Verse with graceful Ease;
Tho' ev'ry Motion, Air, and Accent, please;
Tho' ev'ry Speech a crouded Audience draws;
And ev'ry Line be echo'd with Applause;
Yet now thy undeceiv'd Companions see,
The Muse, thy Mother, only speaks in thee.
We knew long since, your Verse, so much admir'd,
By her superior Genius was inspir'd;
And by your Latin Speech, this Day, you've shown,
Your graceful Action too was hers alone.
In learned Languages had she been skill'd,
Still with your Praises had our School been fill'd.
By her superior Genius was inspir'd;
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Your graceful Action too was hers alone.
In learned Languages had she been skill'd,
Still with your Praises had our School been fill'd.
Yet, Youth, repine not at impartial Fate;
Nor mourn those Ills, that must attend the Great.
For had she been with meaner Talents born;
Did no uncommon Gifts her Mind adorn;
Had she been moulded like the stupid Race,
Whom Culture can't exalt, nor Science grace;
Phoebus had then not study'd to controul
The future Grandeur of her soaring Soul.
But, when he saw each Muse, with endless Pains,
Forming the curious Texture of her Brains;
When he beheld them anxious to inspire
A double Portion of celestial Fire;
Grown jealous for the Honour of the Dead,
He thus, in Anger, to the Virgins said:
Nor mourn those Ills, that must attend the Great.
For had she been with meaner Talents born;
Did no uncommon Gifts her Mind adorn;
Had she been moulded like the stupid Race,
Whom Culture can't exalt, nor Science grace;
Phoebus had then not study'd to controul
The future Grandeur of her soaring Soul.
But, when he saw each Muse, with endless Pains,
Forming the curious Texture of her Brains;
When he beheld them anxious to inspire
A double Portion of celestial Fire;
Grown jealous for the Honour of the Dead,
He thus, in Anger, to the Virgins said:
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“In vain you strive, with such unweary'd Care,
“To grace the Breast of this accomplish'd Fair:
“In vain ye labour to adorn her Mind
“With tuneful Numbers, and with Sense refin'd;
“With ev'ry Elegance of Thought and Phrase:
“With Virgil's Purity, and Ovid's Ease;
“Tho' she with them in all their Graces vie;
“Yet I'll their universal Tongue deny.
“For if, like them, she could unfold her Mind
“In Language understood by all Mankind;
“Their matchless Fame, thro' many Ages won,
“(Her Sex might boast) would be in one out-done.
“To grace the Breast of this accomplish'd Fair:
“In vain ye labour to adorn her Mind
“With tuneful Numbers, and with Sense refin'd;
“With ev'ry Elegance of Thought and Phrase:
“With Virgil's Purity, and Ovid's Ease;
“Tho' she with them in all their Graces vie;
“Yet I'll their universal Tongue deny.
“For if, like them, she could unfold her Mind
“In Language understood by all Mankind;
“Their matchless Fame, thro' many Ages won,
“(Her Sex might boast) would be in one out-done.
141
To the Honourable Mrs. Percival,
on her desisting from the Bermudan Project.
By Mrs. Grierson.
Some Guardian Pow'rs, in Pity to our Land,
Your Voyage to the Summer-Isles withstand.
Heav'n will by other Means convert the West;
And you must make your native Country blest:
Your Business there was but to serve Mankind;
And here, for that, an ample Field you'll find;
To Virtue, here, may thoughtless Souls persuade,
Inftruct the Ignorant, the Wretched aid:
Of these no Realm, from Lapland to Japan,
Displays such Numbers, as Hibernia can.
Haste then, O haste! return, and bless our Eyes,
Nor more the Call of Providence despise:
142
Who sacrifice their Country to their Pride,
And squander vast Estates at Balls and Play,
While public Debts increase, and Funds decay;
While the starv'd Hind with Want distracted lives,
Nor tastes that Plenty, which his Labour gives.
Let those alone to foreign Countries stray,
Who, with their Wealth, their Follies take away.
Whatever such may act, where-e'er they go,
Do thou return, to mitigate our Woe.
Our Gold may flow to Albion with each Tide;
But let them with that Gold be satisfy'd:
The Want of that, we long have learnt to bear;
But Souls like thine accomplish'd, cannot spate.
161
To the Honourable Mrs. Percival,
with Hutcheson's Treatise on Beauty and Order.
By Mrs. Grierson.
Th' internal Senses painted here we see:
They're born in others, but they live in thee.
O were our Author with thy Converse blest,
Could he behold the Virtues, of thy Breast;
His needless Labours with Contempt he'd view;
And bid the World not read—but copy you!
225
The Speech of Cupid,
upon seeing him self painted by the Honourable Miss Carteret, (now Countess of Dysert) on a Fan.
Written by Mrs. Grierson.
In various Forms have I been shown,
Tho' little yet to Mortals known;
In antient Temples painted blind,
Nor less imperfect in my Mind:
Abroad I threw my random Darts,
And, spiteful, pierc'd ill-suited Hearts:
The steady Patriot, wise and brave,
Is to some giddy Jilt a Slave;
The thoughtful Sage oft weds a Shrew;
And Vestals languish for a Beau:
The fiery Youth's unguided Rage;
The childish Dotages of Age;
These, and ten thousand Follies more,
Are plac'd to injur'd Cupid's Score.
As such, is Love by Realms ador'd,
As such, his giddy Aid implor'd:
Tho' oft the thoughtless Nymph, and Swain,
That su'd me thus, have su'd in vain.
Tho' little yet to Mortals known;
In antient Temples painted blind,
Nor less imperfect in my Mind:
Abroad I threw my random Darts,
And, spiteful, pierc'd ill-suited Hearts:
The steady Patriot, wise and brave,
Is to some giddy Jilt a Slave;
The thoughtful Sage oft weds a Shrew;
And Vestals languish for a Beau:
226
The childish Dotages of Age;
These, and ten thousand Follies more,
Are plac'd to injur'd Cupid's Score.
As such, is Love by Realms ador'd,
As such, his giddy Aid implor'd:
Tho' oft the thoughtless Nymph, and Swain,
That su'd me thus, have su'd in vain.
Yet, long insulted by Mankind,
Who from false Figures judg'd my Mind;
And on me all the Faults have thrown,
They were themselves asham'd to own;
I from this Picture plainly see,
A Mortal can be just to me;
That awful Sweetness can display,
With which Angelic Minds I sway;
With which I rule the Good on Earth,
And give exalted Passions Birth:
The Form of Love, so long unknown,
At last by bright Charissa's shown:
Her Hand does ev'ry Beauty trace,
That can adorn a heav'nly Face;
And of my Graces more unfold,
Than ever Paint, or Verse, of old.
Who from false Figures judg'd my Mind;
And on me all the Faults have thrown,
They were themselves asham'd to own;
I from this Picture plainly see,
A Mortal can be just to me;
That awful Sweetness can display,
With which Angelic Minds I sway;
With which I rule the Good on Earth,
And give exalted Passions Birth:
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At last by bright Charissa's shown:
Her Hand does ev'ry Beauty trace,
That can adorn a heav'nly Face;
And of my Graces more unfold,
Than ever Paint, or Verse, of old.
Now hear the God, whom Worlds revere,
What He decrees for Her, declare.
What He decrees for Her, declare.
Thou, lovely Nymph! shalt shortly prove
Those Sweets, thou paint'st so well in Love:
Thou soon that charming Swain shalt see,
Whom Fate and I design for Thee;
His Head adorn'd with ev'ry Art;
With ev'ry Grace his glowing Heart,
That throbs with ev'ry fond Desire,
Thy Charms can raise, or Love inspire.
You from each other shall receive
The highest Joys I know to give:
(Tho' to thy Parents, long before,
I thought I empty'd all my Store)
While your exalted Lives shall show
A Sketch of heav'nly Bliss below;
The Bliss of ev'ry god-like Mind,
Beneficent to human Kind;
And I to Mortals shine confess'd,
Both in your Paint, and in your Breast.
Those Sweets, thou paint'st so well in Love:
Thou soon that charming Swain shalt see,
Whom Fate and I design for Thee;
His Head adorn'd with ev'ry Art;
With ev'ry Grace his glowing Heart,
That throbs with ev'ry fond Desire,
Thy Charms can raise, or Love inspire.
228
The highest Joys I know to give:
(Tho' to thy Parents, long before,
I thought I empty'd all my Store)
While your exalted Lives shall show
A Sketch of heav'nly Bliss below;
The Bliss of ev'ry god-like Mind,
Beneficent to human Kind;
And I to Mortals shine confess'd,
Both in your Paint, and in your Breast.
250
Prologue to Theodosius:
Spoken by Athenais at the Theatre in Dublin, when Lord and Lady Carteret were in Ireland.
Written by Mrs. Grierson.
You look surpriz'd, in this deriding Age,
To find that Love dares venture on the Stage;
Where you, of late seem nothing to approve,
But what, in Men of Sense, Contempt must move;
That after all your Concerts, Farces, Shows,
You must attend a dying Lover's Woes.
To find that Love dares venture on the Stage;
Where you, of late seem nothing to approve,
But what, in Men of Sense, Contempt must move;
That after all your Concerts, Farces, Shows,
You must attend a dying Lover's Woes.
I know you'll be amaz'd at what I mean,
In all my Height of Fortune to complain:
Ador'd by Monarchs, and an Emp'rot's Bride,
You'll say, I need not in a Fret have dy'd.
Forbear; nor witless Jests on Love employ,
Alike unknowing in its Pain and Joy:
When you despise its Happiness or Woe,
You but your Want of Sense, or Virtue, show:
Be humane then; be touch'd with Scenes refin'd,
Which, while they raise the Passions, mend the Mind:
And, by your Pity of my Woes To night,
Convince the World, your Hearts are form'd aright.
In all my Height of Fortune to complain:
251
You'll say, I need not in a Fret have dy'd.
Forbear; nor witless Jests on Love employ,
Alike unknowing in its Pain and Joy:
When you despise its Happiness or Woe,
You but your Want of Sense, or Virtue, show:
Be humane then; be touch'd with Scenes refin'd,
Which, while they raise the Passions, mend the Mind:
And, by your Pity of my Woes To night,
Convince the World, your Hearts are form'd aright.
Or, if you scorn to hear what I advise,
Let great Examples teach you to be wise.
Lovers are not so out of Fashion here,
That Athenais blushes to appear:
As fam'd a Pair adorns this Isle and Age,
As ever could each other's Heart engage;
Endow'd with ev'ry Grace of Form and Mind,
To raise the Love and Wonder of Mankind:
Tho' bless'd with ev'ry Gift to merit Fame,
Their highest Glory is their mutual Flame:
A Flame, like that my tender Bosom fir'd;
But rul'd by Reason, and by Heav'n inspir'd:
Their Love like mine, but diff'rent far their Fate;
As happy they, as I unfortunate.
But my Distress had never reach'd the Stage,
Had Heav'n reserv'd me to the present Age:
None would have dar'd my Fondness to abuse,
Had I from beauteous Worsley learnt to chuse;
Nor I my Heart on rash Varanes set,
Had I, like her, but known a Carteret.
Let great Examples teach you to be wise.
Lovers are not so out of Fashion here,
That Athenais blushes to appear:
As fam'd a Pair adorns this Isle and Age,
As ever could each other's Heart engage;
Endow'd with ev'ry Grace of Form and Mind,
To raise the Love and Wonder of Mankind:
252
Their highest Glory is their mutual Flame:
A Flame, like that my tender Bosom fir'd;
But rul'd by Reason, and by Heav'n inspir'd:
Their Love like mine, but diff'rent far their Fate;
As happy they, as I unfortunate.
But my Distress had never reach'd the Stage,
Had Heav'n reserv'd me to the present Age:
None would have dar'd my Fondness to abuse,
Had I from beauteous Worsley learnt to chuse;
Nor I my Heart on rash Varanes set,
Had I, like her, but known a Carteret.
| Poems (1735) | |