TO Mr. Nicholas Clark. Isaac Watts 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. T82397 K067329.000 Watts, Isaac, 1674-1748. Horæ lyricæ: Poems, chiefly of the lyric kind. In two books. ... By I. Watts. London Printed by S. and D. Bridge, for John Lawrence at the Sign of the Angel in the Poultrey. MDCCVI. 1706 pp. 158-161. [20],267,[1]p.; 8⁰.

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TO Mr. Nicholas Clark . January 1701 / 2. Complaining of Vapors , OR , Disorders of the Head . I. TWAS in a Vale where Osyers grow By murm'ring Streams we told our Woe , And mingled all our Cares : Friendship sat pleas'd in both our Eyes , In both the weeping Dews arise And drop alternate Tears . II . The Vigorous Monarch of the Day Now mounted half his Morning Way Shone with a fainter Bright , Still sickning and decaying still Dimly he wander'd up the Hill With his Expiring Light . III . In dark Eclipse his Chariot roll'd , The Queen of Night obscur'd his Gold Behind her Sable Wheels : Nature grew sad to loose the Day , The Flow'ry Vales in Mourning lay , In Mourning stood the Hills . IV . Such are our Sorrows , CLARK , I cry'd , Clouds of the Brain grow black , and hide Our darkned Souls behind ; In the young Morning of our Years Distempering Fogs have climb'd the Spheres , And Choke the Lab'ring Mind . V. Lo the Gay Planet rears his Head And overlooks the Lofty Shade New-bright'ning all the Skies , But say , Dear Part'ner of my Moan , When will our long Eclipse be gone , Or when our Suns arise ? VI . In vain are potent Herbs apply'd , Harmonious Sounds in vain have try'd To make the Darkness fly . But Drugs would raise the Dead as soon , Or clatt'ring Brass relieve the Moon , When fainting in the Sky . VII . Some friendly Spirit from above , Born of the Light , and nurs't with Love , Assist our feebler Fires ; Force these Invading Glooms away ; Souls should be seen quite thro' their Clay Bright as your Heavenly Choirs . VIII . But if the Fogs must damp the Flame , Gently , kind Death , dissolve our Frame , Release the Prisoner-Mind : Our Souls shall mount at thy Discharge To their bright Source , and shine at large Nor clouded , nor confin'd .