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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
TO THE COUNTESS OF EXETER, by MATTHEW PRIOR Poet's Biography First Line: What charms you have, from what high race you sprung Last Line: Nor could he burn so fast, as thou could'st build. Subject(s): Charm; Nero, Roman Emperor (37-68 A.d.); Praise; Rome, Italy; Women | |||
WHAT charms you have, from what high race you sprung, Have been the pleasing subjects of my song: Unskilled and young, yet something still I writ, Of Ca'ndish beauty joined to Cecil's wit. But when you please to show the labouring Muse What greater theme your music can produce, My babbling praises I repeat no more, But hear, rejoice, stand silent, and adore. The Persians thus, first gazing on the sun, Admired how high 'twas placed, how bright it shone; But, as his power was known, their thoughts were raised; And soon they worshipped, what at first they praised. Eliza's glory lives in Spenser's song; And Cowley's verse keeps fair Orinda young. That as in birth, in beauty you excel, The Muse might dictate, and the Poet tell: Your art no other art can speak; and you, To show how well you play, must play anew: Your music's power your music must disclose; For what light is, 'tis only light that shows. Strange force of harmony, that thus controls Our thoughts, and turns and sanctifies our souls; While with its utmost art your sex could move Our wonder only, or at best our love: You far above both these your God did place, That your high power might worldly thoughts destroy; That with your numbers you our zeal might raise, And, like himself, communicate your joy. When to your native Heaven you shall repair, And with your presence crown the blessings there, Your lute may wind its strings but little higher, To tune their notes to that immortal choir. Your art is perfect here; your numbers do, More than our books, make the rude atheist know, That there's a Heaven, by what he hears below. As in some piece, while Luke his skill expressed, A cunning angel came, and drew the rest: So, when you play, some godhead does impart Harmonious aid, divinity helps art; Some cherub finishes what you begun, And to a miracle improves a tune. To burning Rome when frantic Nero played, Viewing that face, no more he had surveyed The raging flames; but, struck with strange surprise, Confessed them less than those of Anna's eyes: But, had he heard thy lute, he soon had found His rage eluded, and his crime atoned: Thine, like Amphion's hand, had waked the stone, And from destruction called the rising town: Malice to Music had been forced to yield; Nor could he burn so fast, as thou could'st build. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ARISTOTLE TO PHYLLIS by JOHN HOLLANDER A WOMAN'S DELUSION by SUSAN HOWE JULIA TUTWILER STATE PRISON FOR WOMEN by ANDREW HUDGINS THE WOMEN ON CYTHAERON by ROBINSON JEFFERS TOMORROW by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD LADIES FOR DINNER, SAIPAN by KENNETH KOCH GOODBYE TO TOLERANCE by DENISE LEVERTOV A BETTER ANSWER (TO CHLOE JEALOUS) by MATTHEW PRIOR A DUTCH PROVERB by MATTHEW PRIOR A LETTER TO LADY [MISS] MARGARET-CAVANDISH-HOLLES-HARLEY, WHEN A CHILD by MATTHEW PRIOR |
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