Religious and Moral Poems by Phillis Wheatley (books to read as a couple TXT) đ
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Fancy might now her silken pinions try To rise from earth, and sweep thâ expanse on high: From Tithonâs bed now might Aurora rise, Her cheeks all glowing with celestial dies, While a pure stream of light oâerflows the skies. The monarch of the day I might behold, And all the mountains tipt with radiant gold, But I reluctant leave the pleasing views, Which Fancy dresses to delight the Muse; Winter austere forbids me to aspire, And northern tempests damp the rising fire; They chill the tides of Fancyâs flowing sea, Cease then, my song, cease the unequal lay.
A Funeral POEM on the Death of C. E.
an Infant of Twelve Months.
THROUGH airy roads he wings his instant flight To purer regions of celestial light; Enlargâd he sees unnumberâd systems roll, Beneath him sees the universal whole, Planets on planets run their destinâd round, And circling wonders fill the vast profound. Thâ ethereal now, and now thâ empyreal skies With growing splendors strike his wondâring eyes: The angels view him with delight unknown, Press his soft hand, and seat him on his throne; Then smilling thus: âTo this divine abode, âThe seat of saints, of seraphs, and of God, âThrice welcome thou.â The rapturâd babe replies, âThanks to my God, who snatchâd me to the skies, âEâer vice triumphant had possessâd my heart, âEâer yet the tempter had beguil d my heart, âEâer yet on sinâs base actions I was bent, âEâer yet I knew temptationâs dire intent; âEâer yet the lash for horrid crimes I felt, âEâer vanity had led my way to guilt, âBut, soon arrivâd at my celestial goal, âFull glories rush on my expanding soul.â Joyful he spoke: exulting cherubs round Clapt their glad wings, the heavânly vaults resound.
Say, parents, why this unavailing moan? Why heave your pensive bosoms with the groan? To Charles, the happy subject of my song, A brighter world, and nobler strains belong. Say would you tear him from the realms above By thoughtless wishes, and prepostârous love? Doth his felicity increase your pain? Or could you welcome to this world again The heir of bliss? with a superior air Methinks he answers with a smile severe, âThrones and dominions cannot tempt me there.â
But still you cry, âCan we the sigh borbear, âAnd still and still must we not pour the tear? âOur only hope, more dear than vital breath, âTwelve moons revolvâd, becomes the prey of death; âDelightful infant, nightly visions give âThee to our arms, and we with joy receive, âWe fain would clasp the Phantom to our breast, âThe Phantom flies, and leaves the soul unblest.â
To yon bright regions let your faith ascend, Prepare to join your dearest infant friend In pleasures without measure, without end.
To Captain HââD, of the 65th Regiment.
SAY, muse divine, can hostile scenes delight The warriorâs bosom in the fields of fight? Lo! here the christian and the hero join With mutual grace to form the man divine. In HââD see with pleasure and surprise, Where valour kindles, and where virtue lies: Go, hero brave, still grace the post of fame, And add new glories to thine honourâd name, Still to the field, and still to virtue true: Britannia glories in no son like you.
To the Right Honourable WILLIAM, Earl
of DARTMOUTH, His Majestyâs Principal
Secretary of State for North-America, &c.
HAIL, happy day, when, smiling like the morn, Fair Freedom rose New-England to adorn: The northern clime beneath her genial ray, Dartmouth, congratulates thy blissful sway: Elate with hope her race no longer mourns, Each soul expands, each grateful bosom burns, While in thine hand with pleasure we behold The silken reins, and Freedomâs charms unfold. Long lost to realms beneath the northern skies She shines supreme, while hated faction dies: Soon as appearâd the Goddess long desirâd, Sick at the view, she languishâd and expirâd; Thus from the splendors of the morning light The owl in sadness seeks the caves of night.
No more, America, in mournful strain Of wrongs, and grievance unredressâd complain, No longer shalt thou dread the iron chain, Which wanton Tyranny with lawless hand Had made, and with it meant tâ enslave the land.
Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song, Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung, Whence flow these wishes for the common good, By feeling hearts alone best understood, I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate Was snatchâd from Africâs fancyâd happy seat: What pangs excruciating must molest, What sorrows labour in my parentâs breast? Steelâd was that soul and by no misery movâd That from a father seizâd his babe belovâd: Such, such my case. And can I then but pray Others may never feel tyrannic sway?
For favours past, great Sir, our thanks are due, And thee we ask thy favours to renew, Since in thy powâr, as in thy will before, To sooth the griefs, which thou didâst once deplore. May heavânly grace the sacred sanction give To all thy works, and thou for ever live Not only on the wings of fleeting Fame, Though praise immortal crowns the patriotâs name, But to conduct to heavâns refulgent fane, May fiery coursers sweep thâ ethereal plain, And bear thee upwards to that blest abode, Where, like the prophet, thou shalt find thy God.
O D E T O N E P T U N E.
On Mrs. Wâââs Voyage to England.
I. WHILE raging tempests shake the shore, While AElusâ thunders round us roar, And sweep impetuous oâer the plain Be still, O tyrant of the main; Nor let thy brow contracted frowns betray, While my Susanna skims the watâry way.
II. The Powâr propitious hears the lay, The blue-eyâd daughters of the sea With sweeter cadence glide along, And Thames responsive joins the song. Pleasâd with their notes Sol sheds benign his ray, And double radiance decks the face of day.
III. To court thee to Britanniaâs arms
Serene the climes and mild the sky, Her region boasts unnumberâd charms,
Thy welcome smiles in evâry eye. Thy promise, Neptune keep, record my prayâr, Not give my wishes to the empty air.
Boston, October 12, 1772.
To a LADY on her coming to North-America
with her Son, for the Recovery of her
Health.
INDULGENT muse! my grovâling mind inspire, And fill my bosom with celestial fire. See from Jamaicaâs fervid shore she moves, Like the fair mother of the blooming loves, When from above the Goddess with her hand Fans the soft breeze, and lights upon the land; Thus she on Neptuneâs watâry realm reclinâd Appearâd, and thus invites the lingâring wind.
âArise, ye winds, America explore, âWaft me, ye gales, from this malignant shore; âThe Northern milder climes I long to greet, âThere hope that health will my arrival meet.â Soon as she spoke in my ideal view The winds assented, and the vessel flew.
Madam, your spouse bereft of wife and son, In the groveâs dark recesses pours his moan; Each branch, wide-spreading to the ambient sky, Forgets its verdure, and submits to die.
From thence I turn, and leave the sultry plain, And swift pursue thy passage oâer the main: The ship arrives before the favâring wind, And makes the Philadelphian port assignâd, Thence I attend you to Bostoniaâs arms, Where genârous friendship evâry bosom warms: Thrice welcome here! may health revive again, Bloom on thy cheek, and bound in evâry vein! Then back return to gladden evâry heart, And give your spouse his soulâs far dearer part, Receivâd again with what a sweet surprise, The tear in transport starting from his eyes! While his attendant son with blooming grace Springs to his fatherâs ever dear embrace. With shouts of joy Jamaicaâs rocks resound, With shouts of joy the country rings around.
To a LADY on her remarkable Preservation
in an Hurricane in North-Carolina.
THOUGH thou didâst hear the tempest from afar, And feltâst the horrors of the watâry war, To me unknown, yet on this peaceful shore Methinks I hear the storm tumultuous roar, And how stern Boreas with impetuous hand Compellâd the Nereids to usurp the land. Reluctant rose the daughters of the main, And slow ascending glided oâer the plain, Till AEolus in his rapid chariot drove In gloomy grandeur from the vault above: Furious he comes. His winged sons obey Their frantic sire, and madden all the sea. The billows rave, the windâs fierce tyrant roars, And with his thundâring terrors shakes the shores: Broken by waves the vesselâs frame is rent, And strows with planks the watâry element.
But thee, Maria, a kind Nereidâs shield Preservâd from sinking, and thy form upheld: And sure some heavânly oracle designâd At that dread crisis to instruct thy mind Things of eternal consequence to weigh, And to thine heart just feelings to convey Of things above, and of the future doom, And what the births of the dread world to come.
From tossing seas I welcome thee to land. âResign her, Nereid,â âtwas thy Godâs command. Thy spouse late buried, as thy fears conceivâd, Again returns, thy fears are all relievâd: Thy daughter blooming with superior grace Again thou seeâst, again thine arms embrace; O come, and joyful show thy spouse his heir, And what the blessings of maternal care!
To a LADY and her Children, on the Death
of her Son and their Brother.
OâERWHELMING sorrow now demands my song: From death the overwhelming sorrow sprung. What flowing tears? What hearts with grief opprest? What sighs on sighs heave the fond parentâs breast? The brother weeps, the hapless sisters join Thâ increasing woe, and swell the crystal brine; The poor, who once his genârous bounty fed, Droop, and bewail their benefactor dead. In death the friend, the kind companion lies, And in one death what various comfort dies!
Thâ unhappy mother sees the sanguine rill Forget to flow, and natureâs wheels stand still, But see from earth his spirit far removâd, And know no grief recals your best-belovâd: He, upon pinions swifter than the wind, Has left mortalityâs sad scenes behind For joys to this terrestial state unknown, And glories richer than the monarchâs crown. Of virtueâs steady course the prize behold! What blissful wonders to his mind unfold! But of celestial joys I sing in vain: Attempt not, muse, the too adventârous strain.
No more in briny showârs, ye friends around, Or bathe his clay, or waste them on the ground: Still do you weep, still wish for his return? How cruel thus to wish, and thus to mourn? No more for him the streams of sorrow pour, But haste to join him on the heavânly shore, On harps of gold to tune immortal lays, And to your God immortal anthems raise.
To a GENTLEMAN and LADY on the Death
of the Ladyâs Brother and Sister, and a
Child of the Name of Avis, aged one Year.
ON Deathâs domain intent I fix my eyes, Where human nature in vast ruin lies: With pensive mind I search the drear abode, Where the great conquâror has his spoils bestowâd; There there the offspring of six thousand years In endless numbers to my view appears: Whole kingdoms in his gloomy den are thrust, And nations mix with their primeval dust: Insatiate still he gluts the ample tomb; His is the present, his the age to come. See here a brother, here a sister spread, And a sweet daughter mingled with the dead.
But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside, And let the fountain of your tears be dryâd, In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain, Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain, Your pains they witness, but they can no more, While Death reigns tyrant oâer this mortal
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