PHILEMON. (Mary) Matilda Betham Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T143264 Betham, Mary Matilda, 1776-1852. Elegies and Other Small Poems, by Matilda Betham. Ipswich Printed by W. Burrell, and sold by Longman, Paternoster-Row, and Jermyn and Forster, Ipswich 1797 pp. [49]-55.

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The following was suggested by reading a whimsical description , given by Scarron , of the deformity of his person , contrasted with its former elegance , in Curiosities of Literature , vol. 2 , page 247.

PHILEMON . YE blooming youth , possest of every grace , Which can delight the eye , or please the ear , Who boast a polish'd mind and faultless face , Awhile the councils of Philemon hear ! Let not pride lift the thoughtless head too high , Temerity arch o'er the scornful brow , Contemptuous glances arm the sparkling eye , Or the high heart with self-complacence glow ! Alas ! full soon the eve of life arrives , Though pale Disease's train approach not nigh ; Short is the summer of the happiest lives , If no rude storm disturbs the smiling sky . This wretched body , bending to the earth , Once , on the wings of health , alert and gay , Shone forth the foremost in the train of mirth , And cloudless skies announc'd a beauteous day . My parents oft , with fond complacence view'd , The elegance of my external form ; And thought my mind with excellence endued , Bright as my genius , as my fancy warm . There was a time , poor as I now appear , I admiration met in every look ; And , harsh as now my words may grate your ear , Each tongue was silent when Philemon spoke . Once could this voice make every bosom thrill , As it pour'd forth the light or plaintive lay ; And once these fingers , with superior skill , Upon the lute could eloquently play . By partial friendship sooth'd , by flattery fann'd , I learnt with conscious grace the dance to lead , To guide the Phaeton with careless hand , And rules with flowing rein , the prancing steed . Sick with the glory of a trifler's fame , By folly nurtur'd , I was proud and vain ; Till Chastisement in kindest mercy came , Though then her just decrees I dar'd arraign . The form that sought so late the public view , That glow'd with transport , as the world admir'd , Fill'd with false shame , from every eye withdrew , And to the shades of solitude retir'd . Consum'd by fevers , spiritless , forlorn , Blasted by apoplexy's dreadful rage , My bleeding heart by keen remembrance torn , I past my prime in premature old age . I heard my parent's ill-suppressed sighs , And wish'd myself upon the peaceful bier ; I saw the anguish of their sleepless eyes , The smile dissembled , and the secret tear . Oft , with a kind of gratifying woe , I recollected every former charm , And , with the spleen of a malicious foe , Delighted still to keep my sorrows warm . " Where is the lustre of the gladsome eye , " The airy smile , the animated mien , " The rounding lip of liveliest crimson dye , " So lately envied , now no longer seen . " I too have gloried in my waving hair , " No ringlets now remain to raise my pride ; " Nor can I now lay the white forebead bare , " And push the too luxuriant locks aside . " Thus , like a child , I sigh'd for pleasures past , And lost my hours in a delusive dream ; But Reason op'd my blinded eyes at last , And clear'd each mist by her refulgent beam . I saw futurity before me spread , A scourge or sceptre offer'd to my view , Alarm'd , from Folly's erring mazes fled , And to my God with humble rev'rence drew . I bow'd , submissive , at the holy shrine , His mercy with warm gratitude confest , Which had reveal'd the spark of life divine , That slumber'd in my earth-enamoured breast . Had I , as friendship and self-love desir'd , Still suck'd delirium at the fane of praise , I might , my conscience lull'd and passions fir'd , Have lost my soul in the bewitching blaze . Dear rising train , let not my words offend ! Nor the pure dictates of my love despise ; To one , late like yourselves , attention lend , And , taught by his experience , be wise ! Ah ! banish from your eye the fiend Disdain ; Let fair simplicity supply its place ; Nor longer let conceit the bosom stain ; The child of weakness , follow'd by disgrace . Should time from you each glowing beauty wrest , You will not then those self-reproaches feel , Which every eye awaken'd in my breast , And twenty winters scarce suffic'd to heel . Nor will your friends observe each faded charm , Since still your countenance its smile retains , And the same lov'd companion , kind and warm , With unassuming manners , yet remains .              SEPT. 8 , 1795.