WHEN THE SUNBEAMS OF JOY. 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 p. 181.

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;
WHEN THE SUNBEAMS OF JOY . WHEN the sunbeams of joy gild the morn of our days , And the soft heart is warm'd both with hope and with praise , New pleasures , new prospects , still burst on the view , And the phantom of bliss in our walks we pursue : What tho' tangl'd in brakes , or withheld by the thorn , Such sorrows of youth are but pearls of the morn ; As they " gem the light leaf " in the fervour of day , The warmth of the season dissolves them away . In the noon-tide of life , though not robb'd of their fire , The warm wishes abate , and the spirits retire ; Thus pictures less glowing give equal delight , When reason just tints them with shades of the night ; Reflection's slow shadow steals down the gay hill , Though as yet you may shun the soft shade as you will , And on hope fix your eye , till the brightness , so clear , Shall hang on its lid a dim trembling tear . Next , the shades of mild evening close gently around , And lengthen'd reflection must stalk o'er the ground ; Through her lantern of magic past pleasures are seen , And we then only know what our day-dreams have been : On the painted illusion we gaze while we can , Though we often exclaim , What a bauble is man ! — In youth but a gewgaw — in age but a toy — The same empty trifle as man and as boy !