ADDRESS TO MISS J. GALE ON HER MARRIAGE WITH THE REV. F. GRAHAM, RECTOR OF ARTHURET. Susanna Blamire Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Blamire, Susanna, 1747-1794. The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire “The muse of Cumberland.” Now for the first time collected by Henry Lonsdale, M.D. with a preface, memoir, and notes by Patrick Maxwell, ... Edinburgh John Menzies, 61 Princes Street; R. Tyas, London; D. Robertson, Glasgow; and C. Thurnam, Carlisle. MDCCCXLII. 1842 pp. 141-144.

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

Typography, spelling, capitalization, and punctuation have been cautiously modernized. The source of the text is given and all significant editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. This text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
ADDRESS TO MISS J. GALE ON HER MARRIAGE WITH THE REV. F. GRAHAM , RECTOR OF ARTHURET . ONCE Clotho on an April day Was seen to throw her rock away ; The fatal rock was nearly spun , And the sad task was nearly done , The other sisters wound the clew , And heavy in the hand it grew ; Atropos' scissors open wide , And seem just ready to divide ; " Enough , enough , " the Spinster cried , Threw down the weary rock , and sigh'd ; " Let us in April's flowery loom See how she weaves her earliest bloom , And , as the infant buds appear , Drop in their eye a lucid tear . The frame is wove of slender thread , And oft the floweret hangs its head ; The bending stalk too oft gives way , And many a blossom fades ere May . But Spring her carpet-work begins , And every flower now cards and spins ; Let us this jocund time of year Take some small joy in looking there ; The process fair must sure delight , For sweetly blend the red and white , And sweetly life begins to dawn , And sweetly blooms the painted lawn ; The flowers spring up , of every dye , That blush to meet th' observant eye , But soon a withering blight descends , And all this short-liv'd beauty ends . " " Alas ! " the sisters all exclaim , " Spring's work and ours are just the same ; Alike the fairest buds we show That never once get leave to blow ; Alas ! the task we must renew , And the small thread must break in two . " Thalia snatch'd the rock and flew To where none but the Graces knew ; The Fates to Jove complaints preferr'd , And Jove the Fates has ever heard . By Styx , the awful thunderer swore , He ne'er would see the Graces more ; No more on Ida should they stray , Nor with the heavenly Muses play ; Nor to Apollo's sprightly reed The mazy dance in circles lead , Unless the distaff back they'd win , Or teach some mortal nymph to spin , Whose love of all the human kind Should form the texture of the mind , And , twisting and entwining there , Spin the fine feelings like a hair ; Then , gliding through Affection's loom , The veil of tenderness become ; The weaver shall the wearer be , Or else bring back the rock to me . The Graces joy'd at this behest , For long they'd known a nymph possess'd Of all that Jove had fix'd on here , Who the soft veil would win and wear . But first her hand must learn to twine The long small thread with finger fine ; That foot be taught , the Graces lent , The engine to revolve intent . The veil was wove , I saw the loom , I saw the changeful colours come ; I saw the white , I saw the red , The feelings all mix with the thread ; I saw the Virtues wreathe it round The nymph the happy Graces found . To Jove Thalia smiling said ; — " At length , great Sire , I've found the maid , Fair as the lily , on whose cheek Her softest shades grow sweetly meek ; The veil of Tenderness she's worn E'er since the dawn of life's young morn , And nought so well becomes the fair , For 'tis the veil the Virtues wear . Now let the Fates their trade forego , Nor hither bring their web of woe ; O ! let the thread of life be spun By one more easily , gently won ; Who lengthening out the slender line Shall smoothly run and softly twine , Whilst Health and Happiness shall hail The Spinster fair — Johanna Gale ! "