Fragmentary Ending Of A Poem I
To the kind powr who taught me how to sing
Thus with the first of all wch he bestowd
Did ancient piety approach the God.
Defended long by prejudice & pride
Ive fancyd love a cant its god defyd
but bravely you assert yr monarchs reign
wound with a look & wth a word inchain
I feel th' enchanting pain wth pleasure bow
& surely fair Aminta none but you
Can slav'ry give yet make it lovely too
poem by Thomas Parnell
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On Platina Prosperus Spiriteus
The Man whose Judgement Joynd with force of Witt
The lives of Popes & lives of Heroes writt
Who sung true Pleasure showd ye Golden mean
And taught Wild Youth to shun ye Lovers pain
Who wrote all this—Who more than this designd
All fine impressions of Celestial mind
That Man that Platina so lately fled
From earth to silent Darkness is not dead
Evn Death is here restraind ye stroke he gives
has killd the man ye Writer ever lives.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Since Bearing Of A Gentle Mind
Since bearing of a Gentle mind
Woud make you perfect be
Dear Celia to your self be kind
By being so to me
Hast to be happy while you can
Time flys and pleasures flow
Nor ere will have the Chance again
To be so long as now
Give me a kiss now give me more
And now another bliss
For Love has such a world in store
We need not dy on this
Twas thus Amintor Celia wood
the Fair expecting lay
He took the hint his point pursud
And blessd the lucky day.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Epigram. On A Ladys Lace Shown For A Favour
As Nelly to a chamber got
To take her leave of Ned
She loosd her lace & Cast a knot
(Ah why unlacd the maid.).
Now pull the further end she cryd
The Youth obeyd commands
And still the knot ye faster tyd
The more they parted hands
This fancy by the lover seen
She gave the silken braid
And with a kiss or two between
The parting posy said
When this you see remember me
And love me more & more
This knot when you at distance drew
Came closer than before.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Young Philomela's Powrfull Dart
Young Philomela's powrfull dart
Two gentle shepheard's hitt
With Beauty touchd Amintors heart
Celadons with witt
The Rivall swains on either side
Their am'rous pangs expressd
Till young Amintor she denyd
Celadon she blessd
The youth who mett a mutuall fire
In pleasure lost his pain
The others hopeless flames expire
Beneath a cold disdain
Ye Priests of love ye Poets tell
What Cupids forces are
If when the suit goes ill or well
No more we serve a fair.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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On A Certain Poets Judgement Between Mr Pope & Mr Philips Don In An Italian Air
Upon a time, and in a place,
With Pan Apollo playd,
Grave Midas sat to Judge ye case,
And Pan ye Victour made.
The Rustick to his Fauns withdrew;
Whilst on ye silver wing
Sweet Phœbus for Parnassus flew
To hear his Homer sing.
Yet ere he went to Midas said,
Ile fitt you for your Jears,
So took two leaves from off his head,
And stuck them in his ears.
Tis hence he thinks the bays his own,
And hence it comes to pass
That as we think his ears are grown
We sooner find the Ass.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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When Ore My Temples Balmy Vapours Rise
When ore my temples balmy vapours rise
Whose soft suffusion dims the sinking eyes
Gay dreams in troops fantastically light
On silent plumes wave down through sable night
Nights sable curtains draw before my eye
gently clears a visionary Sky
the running darkness draws its dusky shade
from off the beautys of a flowry mead
More still more forsakes the lengthening plain
Mounts gray ends it in a sylvan scene.
Poizd & aloft I sail in glittring air
Joy to view my newborn earth so fair
poem by Thomas Parnell
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To A Young Lady, On Her Translation Of The Story Of Phoebus And Daphne, From Ovid
In Phœbus Wit (as Ovid said)
Enchanting Beauty woo'd;
In Daphne Beauty coily fled,
While vainly Wit pursu'd.
But when you trace what Ovid writ,
A diff'rent Turn we view;
Beauty no longer flies from Wit,
Since both are joyn'd in You.
Your Lines the wondrous Change impart,
From whence our Lawrels spring;
In Numbers fram'd to please the Heart,
And merit what they Sing.
Methinks thy Poet's gentle Shade
Its Wreath presents to Thee;
What Daphne owes you as a Maid,
She pays you as a Tree.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Hark The Thundring Drums Inviting
Hark the thundring Drums inviting
All our forward youth to arms
Hark the trumpets sounds exciting
Manly Soules with fierce alarms
Peace affords an Idle pleasure
Glory shines an active flame
Life has but too short a Measure
Strive to make it long by fame.
See the brave by boldly daring
Raises trophys of the slain
See the brave by nothing fearing
Comes in triumph back again
The Men admire the Women love him
Fortune favours all he does
The Powrs that bless the great approve him
Praise & Lawrell crown his brows.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Song II
When thy Beauty appears
In its Graces and Airs,
All bright as an Angel new dropt from the Sky;
At distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my Fears,
So strangely you dazzle my Eye!
But when without Art,
Your kind Thoughts you impart,
When your Love runs in Blushes thro' ev'ry Vein;
When it darts from your Eyes, when it pants in your Heart,
Then I know you're a Woman again.
There's a Passion and Pride
In our Sex, (she reply'd,)
And thus (might I gratify both) I wou'd do:
Still an Angel appear to each Lover beside,
But still be a Woman to you.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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