Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MAN THE MONARCH, by MARY LEAPOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MAN THE MONARCH, by             Poem Explanation         Poet's Biography
First Line: Amazed we read of nature's early throes
Last Line: A long succession of domestic kings.
Subject(s): Eden; Mankind; Human Race


AMAZED we read of Nature's early throes,
How the fair heavens and ponderous earth arose;
How blooming trees unplanted first began;
And beasts submissive to their tyrant, man:
To man, invested with despotic sway,
While his mute brethren tremble and obey;
Till heaven beheld him insolently vain,
And checked the limits of his haughty reign.
Then from their lord the rude deserters fly,
And, grinning back, his fruitless rage defy;
Pards, tigers, wolves to gloomy shades retire,
And mountain-goats in purer gales respire.
To humble valleys, where soft flowers blow,
And fattening streams in chrystal mazes flow,
Full of new life, the untamed coursers run,
And roll and wanton in the cheerful sun;
Round their gay hearts in dancing spirits rise,
And rouse the lightnings in their rolling eyes:
To craggy rocks destructive serpents glide,
Whose mossy crannies hide their speckled pride;
And monstrous whales on foamy billows ride.
Then joyful birds ascend their native sky:
But where! ah, where shall helpless woman fly?

Here smiling Nature brought her choicest stores,
And roseate beauty on her favourite pours:
Pleased with her labour, the officious dame
Withheld no grace would deck the rising frame.
Then viewed her work, and viewed and smiled again,
And kindly whispered, 'Daughter, live and reign.'
But now the matron mourns her latest care,
And sees the sorrows of her darling fair;
Beholds a wretch, whom she designed a queen,
And weeps that e'er she formed the meak machine.
In vain she boasts her lip of scarlet dyes,
Cheeks like the morning, and far-beaming eyes;
Her neck refulgent, fair and feeble arms --
A set of useless and neglected charms.
She suffers hardship with afflictive moans:
Small tasks of labour suit her slender bones.
Beneath a load her weary shoulders yield,
Nor can her fingers grasp the sounding shield;
She sees and trembles at approaching harms,
And fear and grief destroy her fading charms.
Then her pale lips no pearly teeth disclose,
And time's rude sickle cuts the yielding rose.
Thus wretched woman's shortlived merit dies:
In vain to Wisdom's sacred help she flies,
Or sparkling Wit but lends a feeble aid:
'Tis all delirium from a wrinkled maid.

A tattling dame, no matter where or who --
Me it concerns not, and it need not you --
Once told this story to the listening Muse,
Which we, as now it serves our turn, shall use.

When our grandsire named the feathered kind,
Pondering their natures in his careful mind,
'Twas then, if on our author we rely,
He viewed his consort with an envious eye;
Greedy of power, he hugged the tottering throne,
Pleased with the homage, and would reign alone;
And, better to secure his doubtful rule,
Rolled his wise eyeballs, and pronounced her fool.
The regal blood to distant ages runs:
Sires, brothers, husbands, and commanding sons,
The sceptre claim; and every cottage brings
A long succession of domestic kings.





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