Religious and Moral Poems, Phillis Wheatley [ebook offline reader TXT] 📗

shore.

The glowing stars and silver queen of light At last must perish in the gloom of night: Resign thy friends to that Almighty hand, Which gave them life, and bow to his command; Thine Avis give without a murm’ring heart, Though half thy soul be fated to depart. To shining guards consign thine infant care To waft triumphant through the seas of air: Her soul enlarg’d to heav’nly pleasure springs, She feeds on truth and uncreated things. Methinks I hear her in the realms above, And leaning forward with a filial love, Invite you there to share immortal bliss Unknown, untasted in a state like this. With tow’ring hopes, and growing grace arise, And seek beatitude beyond the skies.

 

On the Death of Dr. SAMUEL MARSHALL.

 

1771.

 

THROUGH thickest glooms look back, immortal

shade, On that confusion which thy death has made: Or from Olympus’ height look down, and see A Town involv’d in grief bereft of thee. Thy Lucy sees thee mingle with the dead, And rends the graceful tresses from her head, Wild in her woe, with grief unknown opprest Sigh follows sigh deep heaving from her breast.

Too quickly fled, ah! whither art thou gone? Ah! lost for ever to thy wife and son! The hapless child, thine only hope and heir, Clings round his mother’s neck, and weeps his sorrows

there. The loss of thee on Tyler’s soul returns, And Boston for her dear physician mourns.

When sickness call’d for Marshall’s healing hand, With what compassion did his soul expand? In him we found the father and the friend: In life how lov’d! how honour’d in his end!

And must not then our AEsculapius stay To bring his ling’ring infant into day? The babe unborn in the dark womb is tost, And seems in anguish for its father lost.

Gone is Apollo from his house of earth, But leaves the sweet memorials of his worth: The common parent, whom we all deplore, From yonder world unseen must come no more, Yet ‘midst our woes immortal hopes attend The spouse, the sire, the universal friend.

 

To a GENTLEMAN on his Voyage to Great-Britain for the Recovery of his Health.

WHILE others chant of gay Elysian scenes, Of balmy zephyrs, and of flow’ry plains, My song more happy speaks a greater name, Feels higher motives and a nobler flame. For thee, O R–—, the muse attunes her strings, And mounts sublime above inferior things.

I sing not now of green embow’ring woods, I sing not now the daughters of the floods, I sing not of the storms o’er ocean driv’n, And how they howl’d along the waste of heav’n. But I to R–— would paint the British shore, And vast Atlantic, not untry’d before: Thy life impair’d commands thee to arise, Leave these bleak regions and inclement skies, Where chilling winds return the winter past, And nature shudders at the furious blast.

O thou stupendous, earth-enclosing main Exert thy wonders to the world again! If ere thy pow’r prolong’d the fleeting breath, Turn’d back the shafts, and mock’d the gates of death, If ere thine air dispens’d an healing pow’r, Or snatch’d the victim from the fatal hour, This equal case demands thine equal care, And equal wonders may this patient share. But unavailing, frantic is the dream To hope thine aid without the aid of him Who gave thee birth and taught thee where to flow, And in thy waves his various blessings show.

May R–— return to view his native shore Replete with vigour not his own before, Then shall we see with pleasure and surprise, And own thy work, great Ruler of the skies!

 

To the Rev. DR. THOMAS AMORY, on

reading his Sermons on DAILY DEVOTION,

in which that Duty is recommended and

assisted.

TO cultivate in ev’ry noble mind Habitual grace, and sentiments refin’d, Thus while you strive to mend the human heart, Thus while the heav’nly precepts you impart, O may each bosom catch the sacred fire, And youthful minds to Virtue’s throne aspire!

When God’s eternal ways you set in sight, And Virtue shines in all her native light, In vain would Vice her works in night conceal, For Wisdom’s eye pervades the sable veil.

Artists may paint the sun’s effulgent rays, But Amory’s pen the brighter God displays: While his great works in Amory’s pages shine, And while he proves his essence all divine, The Atheist sure no more can boast aloud Of chance, or nature, and exclude the God; As if the clay without the potter’s aid Should rise in various forms, and shapes self-made, Or worlds above with orb o’er orb profound Self-mov’d could run the everlasting round. It cannot be—unerring Wisdom guides With eye propitious, and o’er all presides.

Still prosper, Amory! still may’st thou receive The warmest blessings which a muse can give, And when this transitory state is o’er, When kingdoms fall, and fleeting Fame’s no more, May Amory triumph in immortal fame, A nobler title, and superior name!

 

On the Death of J. C. an Infant.

NO more the flow’ry scenes of pleasure rife, Nor charming prospects greet the mental eyes, No more with joy we view that lovely face Smiling, disportive, flush’d with ev’ry grace.

The tear of sorrow flows from ev’ry eye, Groans answer groans, and sighs to sighs reply; What sudden pangs shot thro’ each aching heart, When, Death, thy messenger dispatch’d his dart? Thy dread attendants, all-destroying Pow’r, Hurried the infant to his mortal hour. Could’st thou unpitying close those radiant eyes? Or fail’d his artless beauties to surprise? Could not his innocence thy stroke controul, Thy purpose shake, and soften all thy soul?

The blooming babe, with shades of Death o’erspread, No more shall smile, no more shall raise its head, But, like a branch that from the tree is torn, Falls prostrate, wither’d, languid, and forlorn. “Where flies my James?” ‘tis thus I seem to hear The parent ask, “Some angel tell me where “He wings his passage thro’ the yielding air?” Methinks a cherub bending from the skies Observes the question, and serene replies, “In heav’ns high palaces your babe appears: “Prepare to meet him, and dismiss your tears.” Shall not th’ intelligence your grief restrain, And turn the mournful to the cheerful strain? Cease your complaints, suspend each rising sigh, Cease to accuse the Ruler of the sky. Parents, no more indulge the falling tear: Let Faith to heav’n’s refulgent domes repair, There see your infant, like a seraph glow: What charms celestial in his numbers flow Melodious, while the foul-enchanting strain Dwells on his tongue, and fills th’ ethereal plain? Enough—for ever cease your murm’ring breath; Not as a foe, but friend converse with Death, Since to the port of happiness unknown He brought that treasure which you call your own. The gift of heav’n intrusted to your hand Cheerful resign at the divine command: Not at your bar must sov’reign Wisdom stand.

 

An H Y M N to H U M A N I T Y.

To S. P. G. Esq;

 

I. LO! for this dark terrestrial ball Forsakes his azure-paved hall

A prince of heav’nly birth! Divine Humanity behold, What wonders rise, what charms unfold

At his descent to earth!

 

II. The bosoms of the great and good With wonder and delight he view’d,

And fix’d his empire there: Him, close compressing to his breast, The sire of gods and men address’d,

“My son, my heav’nly fair!

 

III. “Descend to earth, there place thy throne; “To succour man’s afflicted son

“Each human heart inspire: “To act in bounties unconfin’d “Enlarge the close contracted mind,

“And fill it with thy fire.”

 

IV. Quick as the word, with swift career He wings his course from star to star,

And leaves the bright abode. The Virtue did his charms impart; Their G–—! then thy raptur’d heart

Perceiv’d the rushing God:

 

V. For when thy pitying eye did see The languid muse in low degree,

Then, then at thy desire Descended the celestial nine; O’er me methought they deign’d to shine,

And deign’d to string my lyre.

 

VI. Can Afric’s muse forgetful prove? Or can such friendship fail to move

A tender human heart? Immortal Friendship laurel-crown’d The smiling Graces all surround

With ev’ry heav’nly Art.

 

To the Honourable T. H. Esq; on the Death

of his Daughter.

WHILE deep you mourn beneath the cypress-shade The hand of Death, and your dear daughter

laid In dust, whose absence gives your tears to flow, And racks your bosom with incessant woe, Let Recollection take a tender part, Assuage the raging tortures of your heart, Still the wild tempest of tumultuous grief, And pour the heav’nly nectar of relief: Suspend the sigh, dear Sir, and check the groan, Divinely bright your daughter’s Virtues shone: How free from scornful pride her gentle mind, Which ne’er its aid to indigence declin’d! Expanding free, it sought the means to prove Unfailing charity, unbounded love!

She unreluctant flies to see no more Her dear-lov’d parents on earth’s dusky shore: Impatient heav’n’s resplendent goal to gain, She with swift progress cuts the azure plain, Where grief subsides, where changes are no more, And life’s tumultuous billows cease to roar; She leaves her earthly mansion for the skies, Where new creations feast her wond’ring eyes.

To heav’n’s high mandate cheerfully resign’d She mounts, and leaves the rolling globe behind; She, who late wish’d that Leonard might return, Has ceas’d to languish, and forgot to mourn; To the same high empyreal mansions come, She joins her spouse, and smiles upon the tomb: And thus I hear her from the realms above: “Lo! this the kingdom of celestial love! “Could ye, fond parents, see our present bliss, “How soon would you each sigh, each fear dismiss? “Amidst unutter’d pleasures whilst I play “In the fair sunshine of celestial day, “As far as grief affects an happy soul “So far doth grief my better mind controul, “To see on earth my aged parents mourn, “And secret wish for T–—! to return: “Let brighter scenes your ev’ning-hours employ: “Converse with heav’n, and taste the promis’d joy”

 

NIOBE in Distress for her Children slain by

APOLLO, from Ovid’s Metamorphoses,

Bood VI. and from a view of the Painting

of Mr. Richard Wilson.

APOLLO’s wrath to man the dreadful spring Of ills innum’rous, tuneful goddess, sing! Thou who did’st first th’ ideal pencil give, And taught’st the painter in his works to live, Inspire with glowing energy of thought, What Wilson painted, and what Ovid wrote. Muse! lend thy aid, nor let me sue in vain, Tho’ last and meanest of the rhyming train! O guide my pen in lofty strains to show The Phrygian queen, all beautiful in woe.

‘Twas where Maeonia spreads her wide domain Niobe dwelt, and held her potent reign: See in her hand the regal sceptre shine, The wealthy heir of Tantalus divine, He most distinguish’d by Dodonean Jove, To approach the tables of the gods above: Her grandsire Atlas, who with mighty pains Th’ ethereal axis on his neck sustains: Her other grandsire on the throne on high Rolls the loud-pealing thunder thro’ the sky.

Her spouse, Amphion, who from Jove too springs, Divinely taught to sweep the sounding strings.

Seven sprightly sons the royal bed adorn, Seven daughters beauteous as the op’ning morn, As when Aurora fills the ravish’d sight, And decks the orient realms with rosy light From their bright eyes the living splendors play, Nor can beholders bear the flashing ray.

Wherever, Niobe, thou turn’st thine eyes, New beauties kindle, and new joys arise! But thou had’st far the happier mother prov’d, If this fair offspring had been less belov’d: What if their charms exceed Aurora’s teint. No words could tell them, and no pencil paint, Thy love too vehement hastens to destroy Each blooming maid, and each celestial boy.

Now Manto comes, endu’d with mighty