Religious and Moral Poems - Phillis Wheatley (ebook reader web txt) đ
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âGo, Thebans! great Latonaâs will obey, âAnd pious tribute at her altars pay: âWith rights divine, the goddess be implorâd, âNor be her sacred offspring unadorâd.â Thus Manto spoke. The Theban maids obey, And pious tribute to the goddess pay. The rich perfumes ascend in waving spires, And altars blaze with consecrated fires; The fair assembly moves with graceful air, And leaves of laurel bind the flowing hair.
Niobe comes with all her royal race, With charms unnumberâd, and superior grace: Her Phrygian garments of delightful hue, Inwove with gold, refulgent to the view, Beyond description beautiful she moves Like heavânly Venus, âmidst her smiles and loves: She views around the supplicating train, And shakes her graceful head with stern disdain, Proudly she turns around her lofty eyes, And thus reviles celestial deities: âWhat madness drives the Theban ladies fair âTo give their incense to surrounding air? âSay why this new sprung deity preferrâd? âWhy vainly fancy your petitions heard? âOr say why Caeus offspring is obeyâd, âWhile to my goddesship no tributeâs paid? âFor me no altars blaze with living fires, âNo bullock bleeds, no frankincense transpires, âThoâ Cadmusâ palace, not unknown to fame, âAnd Phrygian nations all revere my name. âWhereâer I turn my eyes vast wealth I find, âLo! here an empress with a goddess joinâd. âWhat, shall a Titaness be deifyâd, âTo whom the spacious earth a couch denyâd! âNor heavân, nor earth, nor sea receivâd your queen, âTill pitying Delos took the wandârer in. âRound me what a large progeny is spread! âNo frowns of fortune has my soul to dread. âWhat if indignant she decrease my train âMore than Latonaâs number will remain; âThen hence, ye Theban dames, hence haste away, âNor longer offârings to Latona pay; âRegard the orders of Amphionâs spouse, âAnd take the leaves of laurel from your brows.â Niobe spoke. The Theban maids obeyâd, Their brows unbound, and left the rights unpaid.
The angry goddess heard, then silence broke On Cynthusâ summit, and indignant spoke; âPhoebus! behold, thy mother in disgrace, âWho to no goddess yields the prior place âExcept to Junoâs self, who reigns above, âThe spouse and sister of the thundâring Jove. âNiobe, sprung from Tantalus, inspires âEach Theban bosom with rebellious fires; âNo reason her imperious temper quells, âBut all her father in her tongue rebels; âWrap her own sons for her blaspheming breath, âApollo! wrap them in the shades of death.â Latona ceasâd, and ardent thus replies The God, whose glory decks thâ expanded skies.
âCease thy complaints, mine be the task assignâd âTo punish pride, and scourge the rebel mind.â This Phoebe joinâd.âThey wing their instant flight; Thebes trembled as thâ immortal powârs alight.
With clouds incompassâd glorious Phoebus stands; The featherâd vengeance quivâring in his hands.
Near Cadmusâ walls a plain extended lay, Where Thebesâ young princes passâd in sport the day: There the bold coursers bounded oâer the plains, While their great masters held the golden reins. Ismenus first the racing pastime led, And rulâd the fury of his flying steed. âAh me,â he sudden cries, with shrieking breath, While in his breast he feels the shaft of death; He drops the bridle on his courserâs mane, Before his eyes in shadows swims the plain, He, the first-born of great Amphionâs bed, Was struck the first, first mingled with the dead.
Then didst thou, Sipylus, the language hear Of fate portentous whistling in the air: As when thâ impending storm the sailor sees He spreads his canvas to the favâring breeze, So to thine horse thou gavâst the golden reins, Gavâst him to rush impetuous oâer the plains: But ah! a fatal shaft from Phoebusâ hand Smites throâ thy neck, and sinks thee on the sand.
Two other brothers were at wrestling found, And in their pastime claspt each other round: A shaft that instant from Apolloâs hand Transfixt them both, and stretcht them on the sand: Together they their cruel fate bemoanâd, Together languishâd, and together groanâd: Together too thâ unbodied spirits fled, And sought the gloomy mansions of the dead. Alphenor saw, and trembling at the view, Beat his torn breast, that changâd its snowy hue. He flies to raise them in a kind embrace; A brotherâs fondness triumphs in his face: Alphenor fails in this fraternal deed, A dart dispatchâd him (so the fates decreed:) Soon as the arrow left the deadly wound, His issuing entrails smoakâd upon the ground.
What woes on blooming Damasichon wait! His sighs portend his near impending fate. Just where the well-made leg begins to be, And the soft sinews form the supple knee, The youth sore wounded by the Delian god Attempts tâ extract the crime-avenging rod, But, whilst he strives the will of fate tâ avert, Divine Apollo sends a second dart; Swift throâ his throat the featherâd mischief flies, Bereft of sense, he drops his head, and dies.
Young Ilioneus, the last, directs his prayâr, And cries, âMy life, ye gods celestial! spare.â Apollo heard, and pity touchâd his heart, But ah! too late, for he had sent the dart: Thou too, O Ilioneus, art doomâd to fall, The fates refuse that arrow to recal.
On the swift wings of ever flying Fame To Cadmusâ palace soon the tidings came: Niobe heard, and with indignant eyes She thus expressâd her anger and surprise: âWhy is such privilege to them allowâd? âWhy thus insulted by the Delian god? âDwells there such mischief in the powârs above? âWhy sleeps the vengeance of immortal Jove?â For now Amphion too, with grief oppressâd, Had plungâd the deadly dagger in his breast. Niobe now, less haughty than before, With lofty head directs her steps no more She, who late told her pedigree divine, And drove the Thebans from Latonaâs shrine, How strangely changâd!âyet beautiful in woe, She weeps, nor weeps unpityâd by the foe. On each pale corse the wretched mother spread Lay overwhelmâd with grief, and kissâd her dead, Then raisâd her arms, and thus, in accents slow, âBe sated cruel Goddess! with my woe; âIf Iâve offended, let these streaming eyes, âAnd let this sevânfold funeral suffice: âAh! take this wretched life you deignâd to save, âWith them I too am carried to the grave. âRejoice triumphant, my victorious foe, âBut show the cause from whence your triumphs flow? âThoâ I unhappy mourn these children slain, âYet greater numbers to my lot remain.â She ceasâd, the bow string twangâd with awful sound, Which struck with terror all thâ assembly round, Except the queen, who stood unmovâd alone, By her distresses more presumptuous grown. Near the pale corses stood their sisters fair In sable vestures and dishevellâd hair; One, while she draws the fatal shaft away, Faints, falls, and sickens at the light of day. To sooth her mother, lo! another flies, And blames the fury of inclement skies, And, while her words a filial pity show, Struck dumbâindignant seeks the shades below. Now from the fatal place another flies, Falls in her flight, and languishes, and dies. Another on her sister drops in death; A fifth in trembling terrors yields her breath; While the sixth seeks some gloomy cave in vain, Struck with the rest, and mingled with the slain.
One only daughter lives, and she the least; The queen close claspâd the daughter to her breast: âYe heavânly powârs, ah spare me one,â she cryâd, âAh! spare me one,â the vocal hills replyâd: In vain she begs, the Fates her suit deny, In her embrace she sees her daughter die.
* 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.
* This Verse to the End is the Work of another Hand.
âThe blood forsook her face: amidst the flood âPourâd from her cheeks, quite fixâd her eye-balls
âstood. 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 S. M. a young African Painter, on seeing
his Works.
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.
To his Honour the Lieutenant-Governor, on
the Death of his Lady. March 24, 1773.
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 saint * of old Beyond the flood in sacred annals told, And the great sage, + 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;
* Enoch. + Elijah.
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? Noâall 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 Misryâs eye. Wheneâer the adverse winds were known to blow, When loss to loss * 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,
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