 | The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison |  |
147
TO Mr. Taylor, A. B. of St. John's, &c.
Upon Reading some of his excellent Poems.
As Suppliants e'er they seek the sacred Shrine,
Prefer their Off'rings to the Power within;
Thus let me fix this Token of my Zeal,
Here, thro' these Gates of Fame, a Pass-port steal;
Pursue the Paths of Glory where you run,
And, like the Lark, salute the rising Sun.
Prefer their Off'rings to the Power within;
Thus let me fix this Token of my Zeal,
Here, thro' these Gates of Fame, a Pass-port steal;
Pursue the Paths of Glory where you run,
And, like the Lark, salute the rising Sun.
But hark! what sweet enchanting Notes I hear!
Does Horace, or does Taylor charm mine Ear?
Delusive Thought! the Roman, now no more,
To Latium lost, delights th' Elysium Shore;
There, hap'ly could he hear thy loftier Strain,
Thy Lyre would charm him into Life again.
Does Horace, or does Taylor charm mine Ear?
Delusive Thought! the Roman, now no more,
To Latium lost, delights th' Elysium Shore;
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Thy Lyre would charm him into Life again.
Securely may'st thou dare the Darts of Death,
Defy the Tyrant with thy latest Breath;
For this Life lost, eternal Life receive,
And in thy own Pindaric ever live.
Defy the Tyrant with thy latest Breath;
For this Life lost, eternal Life receive,
And in thy own Pindaric ever live.
What may not all thy lofty Numbers raise,
When Light receives new Lustre from thy Lays?
Amaz'd, I view'd thy Beams, like antient Night,
Silver my Gloom, and chear my Soul with Light:
Like the fair Orb you sing with equal Force,
By your own Brightness you direct your Course;
To us below, thy genial Rays dispense,
The glorious Beams of everlasting Sense;
Ripen each Thought, recal each Fancy forth,
And warm Poetic Harvests into Birth.
In thee, as in Apollo, both unite,
Celestial Lustre, and celestial Wit.
When Light receives new Lustre from thy Lays?
Amaz'd, I view'd thy Beams, like antient Night,
Silver my Gloom, and chear my Soul with Light:
Like the fair Orb you sing with equal Force,
By your own Brightness you direct your Course;
To us below, thy genial Rays dispense,
The glorious Beams of everlasting Sense;
Ripen each Thought, recal each Fancy forth,
And warm Poetic Harvests into Birth.
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Celestial Lustre, and celestial Wit.
Had Holy David heard thee weep his Woe,
The Psalmist had resign'd his Harp to you;
Music, like yours, would all his Griefs controul,
And sooth him, as he sooth'd distemper'd Saul.
The Psalmist had resign'd his Harp to you;
Music, like yours, would all his Griefs controul,
And sooth him, as he sooth'd distemper'd Saul.
But whilst I thus thy pleasing Paths pursue,
What Fields of Glory open to my View?
What rising Raptures, all my Breast inspire,
How my Soul kindles with reflected Fire!
Still, as I read, with Rage divine I glow,
Dwell on each Thought, and strive to think like you:
With Wonder view judicious Ardour shine,
Bloom in each Thought, and ripen ev'ry Line:
Each manly Verse, with female Sweetness flows,
With Fruits, and Blossoms, like the Orange glows.
What Fields of Glory open to my View?
What rising Raptures, all my Breast inspire,
How my Soul kindles with reflected Fire!
Still, as I read, with Rage divine I glow,
Dwell on each Thought, and strive to think like you:
With Wonder view judicious Ardour shine,
Bloom in each Thought, and ripen ev'ry Line:
Each manly Verse, with female Sweetness flows,
With Fruits, and Blossoms, like the Orange glows.
150
But, O! forgive a weak officious Friend,
And let these Lines my honest Love commend:
Whilst to sublimer Flights your Wings aspire,
Thus let me gaze at Distance, thus admire;
Receive a single Portion of your Power,
Nor, like Elisha, could I wish for more.
And let these Lines my honest Love commend:
Whilst to sublimer Flights your Wings aspire,
Thus let me gaze at Distance, thus admire;
Receive a single Portion of your Power,
Nor, like Elisha, could I wish for more.
But, when Time sees thy future Laurels grow
For some Great Iliad, to adorn thy Brow,
In the soft Shade, thus let me chaunt my Love,
And live the Linnet of thy Laurel-Grove.
For some Great Iliad, to adorn thy Brow,
In the soft Shade, thus let me chaunt my Love,
And live the Linnet of thy Laurel-Grove.
| The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison | |