Poems on various subjects, religious and moral E-Book

Phillis Wheatley

• Herausgeber: Interactive Media
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Phillis Wheatley's Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral is an exemplary corpus of neoclassical lyrical works that has been hailed as a pioneering achievement in the history of American literature. Wheatley's oeuvre stands out for its nuanced exploration of theological, philosophical, and moral discourses, offering readers an insight into the 18th-century colonial context in which it was crafted.

Leseprobe

Phillis Wheatley

Poems on various subjects, religious and moral

Published by Sovereign

This edition first published in 2023

Copyright © 2023 Sovereign

All Rights Reserve

ISBN: 9781787365551

Contents

TO M AE C E N A S.

O N V I R T U E.

TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, IN NEW-ENGLAND.

TO THE KING’S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY. 1768.

ON BEING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO AMERICA.

ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. DR. SEWELL, 1769.

ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD. 1770.

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY OF FIVE YEARS OF AGE.

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN.

TO A LADY ON THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND.

G O L I A T H O F G A T H.

THOUGHTS ON THE WORKS OF PROVIDENCE.

TO A LADY ON THE DEATH OF THREE RELATIONS.

TO A CLERGYMAN ON THE DEATH OF HIS LADY.

AN HYMN TO THE MORNING

AN HYMN TO THE EVENING.

ISAIAH LXIII. 1-8.

ON RECOLLECTION.

ON IMAGINATION.

A FUNERAL POEM ON THE DEATH OF C. E. AN INFANT OF TWELVE MONTHS.

TO CAPTAIN H———D, OF THE 65TH REGIMENT.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM, EARL OF DARTMOUTH

O D E T O N E P T U N E.

TO A LADY ON HER COMING TO NORTH-AMERICA WITH HER SON, FOR THE RECOVERY OF HER HEALTH.

TO A LADY ON HER REMARKABLE PRESERVATION IN AN HURRICANE IN NORTH-CAROLINA.

TO A LADY AND HER CHILDREN, ON THE DEATH OF HER SON AND THEIR BROTHER.

TO A GENTLEMAN AND LADY ON THE DEATH OF THE LADY’S BROTHER AND SISTER, AND A CHILD OF THE NAME OF AVIS, AGED ONE YEAR.

ON THE DEATH OF DR. SAMUEL MARSHALL. 1771.

TO A GENTLEMAN ON HIS VOYAGE TO GREAT-BRITAIN FOR THE RECOVERY OF HIS HEALTH.

TO THE REV. DR. THOMAS AMORY, ON READING HIS SERMONS ON DAILY DEVOTION, IN WHICH THAT DUTY IS RECOMMENDED AND ASSISTED.

ON THE DEATH OF J. C. AN INFANT.

AN H Y M N TO H U M A N I T Y. TO S. P. G. ESQ;

TO THE HONOURABLE T. H. ESQ; ON THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER.

NIOBE IN DISTRESS FOR HER CHILDREN SLAIN BY APOLLO, FROM OVID’S METAMORPHOSES, BOOK VI. AND FROM A VIEW OF THE PAINTING OF MR. RICHARD WILSON.

TO S. M. A YOUNG AFRICAN PAINTER, ON SEEING HIS WORKS.

TO HIS HONOUR THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR, ON THE DEATH OF HIS LADY. MARCH 24, 1773.

A FAREWEL TO AMERICA. TO MRS. S. W.

A REBUS, BY I. B.

AN ANSWER TO THE REBUS, BY THE AUTHOR OF THESE POEMS.

TO M AE C E N A S.

MAECENAS, you, beneath the myrtle shade,

Read o’er what poets sung, and shepherds play’d.

What felt those poets but you feel the same?

Does not your soul possess the sacred flame?

Their noble strains your equal genius shares

In softer language, and diviner airs.

While Homer paints, lo! circumfus’d in air,

Celestial Gods in mortal forms appear;

Swift as they move hear each recess rebound,

Heav’n quakes, earth trembles, and the shores resound.

Great Sire of verse, before my mortal eyes,

The lightnings blaze across the vaulted skies,

And, as the thunder shakes the heav’nly plains,

A deep felt horror thrills through all my veins.

When gentler strains demand thy graceful song,

The length’ning line moves languishing along.

When great Patroclus courts Achilles’ aid,

The grateful tribute of my tears is paid;

Prone on the shore he feels the pangs of love,

And stern Pelides tend’rest passions move.

Great Maro’s strain in heav’nly numbers flows,

The Nine inspire, and all the bosom glows.

O could I rival thine and Virgil’s page,

Or claim the Muses with the Mantuan Sage;

Soon the same beauties should my mind adorn,

And the same ardors in my soul should burn:

Then should my song in bolder notes arise,

And all my numbers pleasingly surprise;

But here I sit, and mourn a grov’ling mind,

That fain would mount, and ride upon the wind.

Not you, my friend, these plaintive strains become,

Not you, whose bosom is the Muses home;

When they from tow’ring Helicon retire,

They fan in you the bright immortal fire,

But I less happy, cannot raise the song,

The fault’ring music dies upon my tongue.

The happier Terence* all the choir inspir’d,

His soul replenish’d, and his bosom fir’d;

But say, ye Muses, why this partial grace,

To one alone of Afric’s sable race;

From age to age transmitting thus his name

With the finest glory in the rolls of fame?

Thy virtues, great Maecenas! shall be sung

In praise of him, from whom those virtues sprung:

While blooming wreaths around thy temples spread,

I’ll snatch a laurel from thine honour’d head,

While you indulgent smile upon the deed.

*He was an African by birth.

As long as Thames in streams majestic flows,

Or Naiads in their oozy beds repose

While Phoebus reigns above the starry train

While bright Aurora purples o’er the main,

So long, great Sir, the muse thy praise shall sing,

So long thy praise shal’ make Parnassus ring:

Then grant, Maecenas, thy paternal rays,

Hear me propitious, and defend my lays.

O N V I R T U E.

O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive

To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare

Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.

I cease to wonder, and no more attempt

Thine height t’ explore, or fathom thy profound.

But, O my soul, sink not into despair,

Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand

Would now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head.

Fain would the heav’n-born soul with her converse,

Then seek, then court her for her promis’d bliss.

Auspicious queen, thine heav’nly pinions spread,

And lead celestial Chastity along;

Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,

Array’d in glory from the orbs above.

Attend me, Virtue, thro’ my youthful years!

O leave me not to the false joys of time!

But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.

Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,

To give me an higher appellation still,

Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,

O thou, enthron’d with Cherubs in the realms of day.

TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, IN NEW-ENGLAND.

WHILE an intrinsic ardor prompts to write,

The muses promise to assist my pen;

’Twas not long since I left my native shore

The land of errors, and Egyptian gloom:

Father of mercy, ’twas thy gracious hand

Brought me in safety from those dark abodes.

Students, to you ’tis giv’n to scan the heights

Above, to traverse the ethereal space,

And mark the systems of revolving worlds.

Still more, ye sons of science ye receive

The blissful news by messengers from heav’n,

How Jesus’ blood for your redemption flows.

See him with hands out-stretcht upon the cross;

Immense compassion in his bosom glows;

He hears revilers, nor resents their scorn:

What matchless mercy in the Son of God!

When the whole human race by sin had fall’n,

He deign’d to die that they might rise again,

And share with him in the sublimest skies,

Life without death, and glory without end.

Improve your privileges while they stay,

Ye pupils, and each hour redeem, that bears

Or good or bad report of you to heav’n.

Let sin, that baneful evil to the soul,

By you be shun’d, nor once remit your guard;

Suppress the deadly serpent in its egg.

Ye blooming plants of human race divine,

An Ethiop tells you ’tis your greatest foe;

Its transient sweetness turns to endless pain,

And in immense perdition sinks the soul.