Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral Phillis Wheatley (first color ebook reader .TXT) đ
- Author: Phillis Wheatley
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In vain she begs, the Fates her suit deny,
In her embrace she sees her daughter die.
4 âThe queen of all her family bereft,
âWithout or husband, son, or daughter left,
âGrew stupid at the shock. The passing air
âMade no impression on her stiffâning hair.
âThe blood forsook her face: amidst the flood
âPourâd from her cheeks, quite fixâd her eye-balls stood.
âHer tongue, her palate both obdurate grew,
âHer curdled veins no longer motion knew;
âThe use of neck, and arms, and feet was gone,
âAnd evân her bowels hardâned into stone:
âA marble statue now the queen appears,
âBut from the marble steal the silent tears.â
To show the labâring bosomâs deep intent,
And thought in living characters to paint,
When first thy pencil did those beauties give,
And breathing figures learnt from thee to live,
How did those prospects give my soul delight,
A new creation rushing on my sight?
Still, wondârous youth! each noble path pursue,
On deathless glories fix thine ardent view:
Still may the painterâs and the poetâs fire
To aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire!
And may the charms of each seraphic theme
Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame!
High to the blissful wonders of the skies
Elate thy soul, and raise thy wishful eyes.
Thrice happy, when exalted to survey
That splendid city, crownâd with endless day,
Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring:
Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring.
Calm and serene thy moments glide along,
And may the muse inspire each future song!
Still, with the sweets of contemplation blessâd,
May peace with balmy wings your soul invest!
But when these shades of time are chasâd away,
And darkness ends in everlasting day,
On what seraphic pinions shall we move,
And view the landscapes in the realms above?
There shall thy tongue in heavânly murmurs flow,
And there my muse with heavânly transport glow:
No more to tell of Damonâs tender sighs,
Or rising radiance of Auroraâs eyes,
For nobler themes demand a nobler strain,
And purer language on thâ ethereal plain.
Cease, gentle muse! the solemn gloom of night
Now seals the fair creation from my sight.
All-Conquering Death! by thy resistless powâr,
Hopeâs towâring plumage falls to rise no more!
Of scenes terrestrial how the glories fly,
Forget their splendors, and submit to die!
Who ere escapâd thee, but the saint5 of old
Beyond the flood in sacred annals told,
And the great sage,6 whom fiery coursers drew
To heavânâs bright portals from Elishaâs view;
Wondâring he gazâd at the refulgent car,
Then snatchâd the mantle floating on the air.
From Death these only could exemption boast,
And without dying gainâd thâ immortal coast.
Not falling millions sate the tyrantâs mind,
Nor can the victorâs progress be confinâd.
But cease thy strife with Death, fond Nature, cease:
He leads the virtuous to the realms of peace;
His to conduct to the immortal plains,
Where heavânâs Supreme in bliss and glory reigns.
There sits, illustrious Sir, thy beauteous spouse;
A gem-blazâd circle beaming on her brows.
Hailâd with acclaim among the heavânly choirs,
Her soul new-kindling with seraphic fires,
To notes divine she tunes the vocal strings,
While heavânâs high concave with the music rings.
Virtueâs rewards can mortal pencil paint?
Noâ âall descriptive arts, and eloquence are faint;
Nor canst thou, Oliver, assent refuse
To heavânly tidings from the Afric muse.
As soon may change thy laws, eternal fate,
As the saint miss the glories I relate;
Or her Benevolence forgotten lie,
Which wipâd the trickâling tear from Misâryâs eye.
Wheneâer the adverse winds were known to blow,
When loss to loss7 ensuâd, and woe to woe,
Calm and serene beneath her fatherâs hand
She sat resignâd to the divine command.
No longer then, great Sir, her death deplore,
And let us hear the mournful sigh no more,
Restrain the sorrow streaming from thine eye,
Be all thy future moments crownâd with joy!
Nor let thy wishes be to earth confinâd,
But soaring high pursue thâ unbodied mind.
Forgive the muse, forgive thâ adventârous lays,
That fain thy soul to heavânly scenes would raise.
Adieu, New-Englandâs smiling meads,
Adieu, the flowâry plain:
I leave thine opâning charms, O spring,
And tempt the roaring main.
In vain for me the flowârets rise,
And boast their gaudy pride,
While here beneath the northern skies
I mourn for health denyâd.
Celestial maid of rosy hue,
O let me feel thy reign!
I languish till thy face I view,
Thy vanishâd joys regain.
Susanna mourns, nor can I bear
To see the crystal showâr,
Or mark the tender falling tear
At sad departureâs hour;
Not unregarding can I see
Her soul with grief opprest:
But let no sighs, no groans for me,
Steal from her pensive breast.
In vain the featherâd warblers sing,
In vain the garden blooms,
And on the bosom of the spring
Breathes out her sweet perfumes,
While for Britanniaâs distant shore
We sweep the liquid plain,
And with astonishâd eyes explore
The wide-extended main.
Lo! Health appears! celestial dame!
Complacent and serene,
With Hebeâs mantle oâer her Frame,
With soul-delighting mein.
To mark the vale where London lies
With misty vapours crownâd,
Which cloud Auroraâs thousand dyes,
And veil her charms around,
Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow?
So slow thy rising ray?
Give us the famous town to view,
Thou glorious king of day!
For thee, Britannia, I resign
New-Englandâs smiling fields;
To view again her charms divine,
What joy the prospect yields!
But thou! Temptation hence away,
With all thy fatal train
Nor once seduce my soul away,
By thine enchanting strain.
Thrice happy they, whose heavânly shield
Secures their souls from harms,
And fell Temptation on the field
Of all its powâr disarms!
Boston, May 7, 1773.
A Rebus, by I. B. IA bird delicious to the taste,
On which an army once did feast,
Sent by an hand unseen;
A creature of the horned race,
Which Britainâs royal standards grace;
A gem of vivid green;
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