"I've try'd all Arts my Passion to controul, / And still the giddy Tumult of my Soul; / But all in vain, no Charm has Strength to bind, / In lasting Chains, my wild disorder'd Mind."
— Thompson, Isaac (1703-1776)
Author
Place of Publication
Newcastle upon Tyne
Publisher
Printed by John White
Date
1731
Metaphor
"I've try'd all Arts my Passion to controul, / And still the giddy Tumult of my Soul; / But all in vain, no Charm has Strength to bind, / In lasting Chains, my wild disorder'd Mind."
Metaphor in Context
I've try'd all Arts my Passion to controul,
And still the giddy Tumult of my Soul;
But all in vain, no Charm has Strength to bind,
In lasting Chains, my wild disorder'd Mind;
Soon my weak-guarded Breast is touch'd a-new,
And all my Heart is full of Love and you;
The fiery Sparks begin to glow again
In ev'ry Pulse, and leap in ev'ry Vein.
Nor think, O Prince! so mean a Thought of me,
That my Heart swells to share a Throne with thee;
When with your Love compar'd, my Thoughts despise
The Pomp of Courts, and Empire's gawdy Joys:
Lay me but nearest to the Man I love,
I would not change to be the Wife of Jove.
When you a Swain, and trod behind the Plough,
I lov'd you then as dear, as much as now;
Then, you would press my Hand, and smiling own,
My Charms were such as might adorn a Throne:
O had you still that lovely Shepherd been,
And I remain'd your joyous rural Queen!
O had you ne'er of Grecian Beauties heard,
Nor wanton Venus' tempting gift prefer'd!
Still o'er these Lawns you'd rov'd a blissful Swain,
Nor I had Reason, justly to complain;
Then, yet your Flute had warbl'd thro' the Shade,
And Birds hung list'ning to the Tunes you play'd:
For while you watch'd your fleecy Wantons here,
And rais'd the various Products of the Year;
No Swain like you, could Charm with so much Ease,
Nor had that nat'ral Elegance to please;
Your Song, your Dance, the Virgins Bosoms fir'd,
While Shepherds gaz'd, and envy'd, and admir'd.
Alas! your Soul to-greater State was born,
Than range the Fields, or pipe beneath a Thorn;
And yet more blest those Fields might prove to you,
If you the Fate which threatens near, pursue.
For think not, Paris! that the Grecian Lord
Will stay his Vengeance, or restrain his Sword;
Ere long, his Wrongs shall tumult in Alarms,
And Troy behold all Greece approach in Arms.
(pp. 61-3)
And still the giddy Tumult of my Soul;
But all in vain, no Charm has Strength to bind,
In lasting Chains, my wild disorder'd Mind;
Soon my weak-guarded Breast is touch'd a-new,
And all my Heart is full of Love and you;
The fiery Sparks begin to glow again
In ev'ry Pulse, and leap in ev'ry Vein.
Nor think, O Prince! so mean a Thought of me,
That my Heart swells to share a Throne with thee;
When with your Love compar'd, my Thoughts despise
The Pomp of Courts, and Empire's gawdy Joys:
Lay me but nearest to the Man I love,
I would not change to be the Wife of Jove.
When you a Swain, and trod behind the Plough,
I lov'd you then as dear, as much as now;
Then, you would press my Hand, and smiling own,
My Charms were such as might adorn a Throne:
O had you still that lovely Shepherd been,
And I remain'd your joyous rural Queen!
O had you ne'er of Grecian Beauties heard,
Nor wanton Venus' tempting gift prefer'd!
Still o'er these Lawns you'd rov'd a blissful Swain,
Nor I had Reason, justly to complain;
Then, yet your Flute had warbl'd thro' the Shade,
And Birds hung list'ning to the Tunes you play'd:
For while you watch'd your fleecy Wantons here,
And rais'd the various Products of the Year;
No Swain like you, could Charm with so much Ease,
Nor had that nat'ral Elegance to please;
Your Song, your Dance, the Virgins Bosoms fir'd,
While Shepherds gaz'd, and envy'd, and admir'd.
Alas! your Soul to-greater State was born,
Than range the Fields, or pipe beneath a Thorn;
And yet more blest those Fields might prove to you,
If you the Fate which threatens near, pursue.
For think not, Paris! that the Grecian Lord
Will stay his Vengeance, or restrain his Sword;
Ere long, his Wrongs shall tumult in Alarms,
And Troy behold all Greece approach in Arms.
(pp. 61-3)
Categories
Provenance
Searching "mind" and "chain" in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
Only 1 entry in ESTC (1731).
Isaac Thomson, A Collection of Poems, Occasionally Writ On Several Subjects. By Isaac Thompson (Newcastle upon Tyne: Printed by John White, 1731). <Link to ESTC><Link to Hathi Trust> <Link to Google Books>
Isaac Thomson, A Collection of Poems, Occasionally Writ On Several Subjects. By Isaac Thompson (Newcastle upon Tyne: Printed by John White, 1731). <Link to ESTC><Link to Hathi Trust> <Link to Google Books>
Date of Entry
07/19/2011
