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28  PHILLIS WHEATLEY'S POEMS.

Recover'd, in due order rang'd we see:
Thy pow'r the long forgotten calls from night,
That sweetly play before the fancy's sight.
Mneme in our nocturnal visions pours
The ample treasure of her secret stores;
Swift from above she wings her silent flight
Through Phœbe's realms, fair regent of the night;
And, in her pomp of images display'd,
To the high raptur'd poet gives her aid,
Through the unbounded regions of the mind,
Diffusing light celestial and refin'd.
The heav'nly phantom paints the actions done
By ev'ry tribe beneath the rolling sun.
 
Mneme, enthron'd within the human breast,
Has vice condemn'd, and ev'ry virtue blest.
How sweet the sound when we her plaudit hear!
Sweeter than music to the ravish'd ear,
Sweeter than Maro's entertaining strains
Resounding through the groves, and hills, and plains.
But how is Mneme dreaded by the race,
Who scorn her warnings and despise her grace?
By her unveil'd each horrid crime appears,
Her awful hand a cup of wormwood bears.
Days, years mispent, O what a hell of woe!
Her's the worst tortures that our souls can know.
 
Now eighteen years their destin'd course have run
In fast succession round the central sun:
How did the follies of that period pass
Unnotic'd but behold them writ in brass!
In Recollection see them fresh return,
And sure 'tis mine to be asham'd, and mourn.
 
O virtue, smiling in immortal green,
Do thou exert thy pow'r, and change the scene;
Be thy employ to guide my future days,
And mine to pay the tribute of my praise.
 
Of Recollection, such the pow'r enthron'd
In ev'ry breast, and thus her pow'r is own'd.
The wretch, who dar'd the vengeance of the skies,
At last awakes in horror and surprize;
By her alarm'd, he sees impending fate,
He howls in anguish, and repents too late.
But, O! what peace, what joys are her's t' impart

    PHILLIS WHEATLEY'S POEMS.  29
To ev'ry holy, ev'ry upright heart!
Thrice blest the man, who, in her sacred shrine,
Feels himself shelter'd from the wrath divine!
   [[image]]
On IMAGINATION.
THY various works, imperial queen, we see,
How bright their forms! how deck'd with pomp by thee!
Thy wond'rous acts is beauteous order stand,
And all attest how potent is thine hand.
 From Helicon's refulgent heights attend,
Ye sacred choir, and my attempts befriend:
 To tell her glories with a faithful tongue,
Ye blooming graces, triumph in my song.
 Now here, now there. the roving Fancy flies,
Till some lov'd object strikes her wand'ring eyes,
Whose silken letters all the senses bind,
And soft captivity involves the mind.
 
Imagination! who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode'
Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God,
We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
And leave the rolling universe behind:
From star to star the mental optics rove,
Measure the skies, and range the realms above.
There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
Or with new world's amaze th' unbounded soul.
Though Winter frowns to Fancy's ruptur'd eyes
The fields may flourish, and gay scenes arise;
The frozen deeps may break their iron bands,
And bid their waters murmur o'er the sands.
Fair Flora may resume her fragrant reign,
And with her flow'ry riches deck the plain;
Sylvanus may diffuse his honors round,
And all the forest mat with leaves be crown'd:
Show'rs may descend, and dews their gems disclose,
And nectar sparkle on the blooming rose.
 
Such is thy pow'r, nor are thine orders vain,
O thou the leader of the mental train:
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[[right margin]] Deborah Talbot's Book [[/right margin]]

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-05-12 11:49:17 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-05-13 22:42:56 Note that f and s look similar in this typeface! ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-05-14 23:29:02 Image: decorative flourish. imperial (spelling)