THOUGH BACCHUS MAY BOAST. 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. 178-179.

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THOUGH BACCHUS MAY BOAST . THOUGH Bacchus may boast of his care-killing bowl , And folly in thought-drowning revels delight , Such worship , alas ! has no charms for the soul When softer devotions the senses invite . To the arrow of fate , or the canker of care , His potion oblivious a balm may bestow ; But to fancy that feeds on the charms of the fair The death of reflection's the birth of all woe . What soul that's possess'd of a dream so divine With riot would bid the sweet vision be gone ? For the tear that bedews sensibility's shrine Is a drop of more worth than all Bacchus's tun ! The tender excess which enamours the heart To few is imparted , to millions denied ; Of those exquisite feelings , that please tho' we smart , Let fools make their jest , for them sages have died . Each change and excess have thro' life been my doom , And well can I speak of its joy and its strife ; The bottle affords us a glimpse through the gloom , But Love's the true sunshine that gladdens our life . Come , then , rosy Venus , and spread o'er my sight The magic illusions that ravish the soul ! Awake in my breast the soft dream of delight , And drop from thy myrtle one leaf in my bowl ! Then deep will I drink of the nectar divine , Nor e'er , jolly god , from thy banquet remove ; Each throb of my heart shall accord with the wine That's mellow'd by friendship and sweeten'd by love ! And now , my gay comrades , the myrtle and vine Shall united their blessings the choicest impart ; Let reason , not riot , the garland entwine — The result must be pleasure and peace to the heart .