"But if my Soul, / To this gross Clay confin'd, flutters on Earth / With less ambitious Wing; unskill'd to range / From Orb to Orb, where Newton leads the Way; / And view with piercing Eye the grand Machine, / Worlds above Worlds; subservient to his Voice, / Who, veil'd in clouded Majesty, alone / Gives Light to all; bids the great System move, / And changeful Seasons in their Turns advance, / Unmov'd, unchang'd himself."
— Somervile, William (1675-1742)
Work Title
Date
1735
Metaphor
"But if my Soul, / To this gross Clay confin'd, flutters on Earth / With less ambitious Wing; unskill'd to range / From Orb to Orb, where Newton leads the Way; / And view with piercing Eye the grand Machine, / Worlds above Worlds; subservient to his Voice, / Who, veil'd in clouded Majesty, alone / Gives Light to all; bids the great System move, / And changeful Seasons in their Turns advance, / Unmov'd, unchang'd himself."
Metaphor in Context
Ye guardian Pow'rs, who make Mankind your Care,
Give me to know wise Nature's hidden Depths,
Trace each mysterious Cause, with Judgment read
Th' expanded Volume, and submiss adore
That great creative Will, who, at a Word
Spoke forth the wond'rous Scene. But if my Soul,
To this gross Clay confin'd, flutters on Earth
With less ambitious Wing; unskill'd to range
From Orb to Orb, where Newton leads the Way;
And view with piercing Eye the grand Machine,
Worlds above Worlds; subservient to his Voice,
Who, veil'd in clouded Majesty, alone
Gives Light to all; bids the great System move,
And changeful Seasons in their Turns advance,
Unmov'd, unchang'd himself. Yet this, at least,
Grant me propitious, an inglorious Life,
Calm and serene, nor lost in false Pursuits
Of Wealth or Honours; but enough to raise
My drooping Friends, preventing modest Want,
That dares not ask. And if, to crown my Joys,
Ye grant me Health, that, ruddy in my Cheeks,
Blooms in my Life's Decline; Fields, Woods, and Streams,
Each tow'ring Hill, each humble Vale below,
Shall hear my chearing Voice, my Hounds shall wake
The lazy Morn, and glad th' Horizon round.
(Bk. IV, ll. 511-535, pp. 102-3)
Give me to know wise Nature's hidden Depths,
Trace each mysterious Cause, with Judgment read
Th' expanded Volume, and submiss adore
That great creative Will, who, at a Word
Spoke forth the wond'rous Scene. But if my Soul,
To this gross Clay confin'd, flutters on Earth
With less ambitious Wing; unskill'd to range
From Orb to Orb, where Newton leads the Way;
And view with piercing Eye the grand Machine,
Worlds above Worlds; subservient to his Voice,
Who, veil'd in clouded Majesty, alone
Gives Light to all; bids the great System move,
And changeful Seasons in their Turns advance,
Unmov'd, unchang'd himself. Yet this, at least,
Grant me propitious, an inglorious Life,
Calm and serene, nor lost in false Pursuits
Of Wealth or Honours; but enough to raise
My drooping Friends, preventing modest Want,
That dares not ask. And if, to crown my Joys,
Ye grant me Health, that, ruddy in my Cheeks,
Blooms in my Life's Decline; Fields, Woods, and Streams,
Each tow'ring Hill, each humble Vale below,
Shall hear my chearing Voice, my Hounds shall wake
The lazy Morn, and glad th' Horizon round.
(Bk. IV, ll. 511-535, pp. 102-3)
Categories
Provenance
Searching in LION
Citation
22 entries in ESTC (1735, 1743, 1749, 1755, 1757, 1758, 1766, 1767, 1768, 1773, 1786, 1796, 1799, 1800).
Text from The Chace. A Poem. To Which Is Added, Hobbinol, or the Rural Games: a Burlesque Poem, in Blank Verse. By William Somervile, Esq. 4th ed. (London: Printed for G. Hawkins, and sold by M. Cooper at the Globe in Pater-Noster-Row, 1749). <Link to ESTC><Link to ECCO>
See also The Chace. A Poem. By William Somervile, Esq. (London: Printed for G. Hawkins, and sold by T. Cooper, 1735). <Link to 3rd ed. of 1735 in ECCO>
Text from The Chace. A Poem. To Which Is Added, Hobbinol, or the Rural Games: a Burlesque Poem, in Blank Verse. By William Somervile, Esq. 4th ed. (London: Printed for G. Hawkins, and sold by M. Cooper at the Globe in Pater-Noster-Row, 1749). <Link to ESTC><Link to ECCO>
See also The Chace. A Poem. By William Somervile, Esq. (London: Printed for G. Hawkins, and sold by T. Cooper, 1735). <Link to 3rd ed. of 1735 in ECCO>
Date of Entry
10/25/2013
