Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON MRS. MONTAGU, by ANN YEARSLEY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON MRS. MONTAGU, by                    
First Line: Why boast, o arrogant, imperious man
Last Line: Which breathes its thanks in rough, but timid strains.
Alternate Author Name(s): Cromartie, Ann
Subject(s): Montagu, Elizabeth (1720-1800); Women - Writers


Why boast, O arrogant, imperious man,
Perfection so exclusive! are thy powers
Nearer approaching Deity? canst thou solve
Questions which high Infinity propounds,
Soar nobler flights, or dare immortal deeds,
Unknown to woman, if she greatly dares
To use the powers assigned her? Active strength,
The boast of animals, is clearly thine;
By this upheld, thou think'st the lesson rare
That female virtues teach; and poor the height
Which female wit obtains. The theme unfolds
Its ample maze, for Montagu befriends
The puzzled thought, and, blazing in the eye
Of boldest opposition, straight presents
The soul's best energies, her keenest powers,
Clear, vigorous, enlightened; with firm wing
Swift she o'ertakes his Muse, which spread afar
Its brightest glories in the days of yore;
Lo! where she, mounting, spurns the steadfast earth,
And, sailing on the cloud of science, bears
The banner of Perfection. --
Ask Gallia's mimic sons how strong her powers,
Whom, flushed with plunder from her Shakespeare's page,
She swift detects amid their dark retreats
(Horrid as Cacus in their thievish dens);
Regains the trophies, bears in triumph back
The pilfered glories to a wondering world.
So Stella boasts, from her the tale I learned;
With pride she told it, I with rapture heard.

O, Montagu! forgive me, if I sing
Thy wisdom tempered with the milder ray
Of soft humanity, with kindness bland:
So wide its influence, that the bright beams
Reach the low vale where mists of ignorance lodge,
Strike on the innate spark which lay immersed,
Thick-clogged, and almost quenched in total night --
On me it fell, and cheered my joyless heart.

Unwelcome is the first bright dawn of light
To the dark soul; impatient, she rejects,
And fain would push the heavenly stranger back;
She loathes the cranny which admits the day;
Confused, afraid of the intruding guest;
Disturbed, unwilling to receive the beam,
Which to herself her native darkness shows.

The effort rude to quench the cheering flame
Was mine, and e'en on Stella could I gaze
With sullen envy, and admiring pride,
Till, doubly roused by Montagu, the pair
Conspire to clear my dull, imprisoned sense,
And chase the mists which dimmed my visual beam.

Oft as I trod my native wilds alone,
Strong gusts of thought would rise, but rise to die;
The portals of the swelling soul ne'er oped
By liberal converse, rude ideas strove
Awhile for vent, but found it not, and died.
Thus rust the mind's best powers. Yon starry orbs,
Majestic ocean, flowery vales, gay groves,
Eye-wasting lawns, and heaven-attempting hills,
Which bound the horizon, and which curb the view;
All those, with beauteous imagery, awaked
My ravish'd soul to ecstasy untaught,
To all the transport the rapt sense can bear;
But all expired, for want of powers to speak;
All perish'd in the mind as soon as born,
Eras'd more quick than ciphers on the shore,
O'er which the cruel waves unheedful roll.

Such timid rapture as young Edwin seized,
When his lone footsteps on the Sage obtrude,
Whose noble precept charmed his wondering
Such rapture filled Lactilla's vacant soul,
When the bright Moralist, in softness dressed,
Opes all the glories of the mental world,
Deigns to direct the infant thought, to prune
The budding sentiment, uprear the stalk
Of feeble fancy, bid idea live,
Woo the abstracted spirit from its cares,
And gently guide her to the scenes of peace.
Mine was that balm, and mine the grateful heart,
Which breathes its thanks in rough, but timid strains.




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