To Dr. Oliver, Who corrected my Bath Poem. Mary Chandler 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. T63103 Chandler, Mary, 1687-1745. The Description Of Bath. A Poem. Humbly Inscribed To Her Royal Highness the Princess Amelia. By Mrs. Mary Chandler. The Third Edition. To which are added, Several Poems by the same Author [poems only]. London Printed for James Leake, Bookseller in Bath 1736 pp. 21-23. 77p.

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To Dr. Oliver , Who corrected my Bath Poem . While rash , unknowing of Parnassus ' Height , My Virgin Muse attempts th'unequal Flight ; The Croud ill-judging , and her partial Friends Or veil her Faults , or blindly Each commends : While the just Critics silent Censure shew ; Blame this dull Thought , that Diction much too low : Cautious and trembling now she fears to fly , You plume her Wings , and bid her boldly try . Yet blindly wand'ring , when she aims to rise , You clear the Mist of Error from her Eyes ; You smooth her Verse , and blot th'unmeaning Line , Improve the Thought , and aid the lame Design . With Chymic Art the Chaos you divide , Extract the Spirit , bid the Phlegm subside ; Correct , new range , precipitate , confine ; Yours is the Skill , the mean Materials mine You , her Apollo , gave the Muse her Fire , Whene'er she pleases , 'tis when you inspire ; Ev'n Pope approv'd , when you had tun'd her Lyre . The Debt of Honour bid me not conceal ; I'll dare your Friendship , and the Truth reveal . No base Ingratitude shall taint my Name ; I'll keep my Virtue , tho'I lose my Fame . My honest Pride disdains to steal the Bays , Or , like the Moon , to shine with borrow'd Rays . The greatest Merit that my Muse can shew , Is that she stands correct and fair by you . Not only Fame , but Health to you I owe : When my Joints trembled , and my Pulse beat low , When all my Friends had took a parting Sigh , And Tears dropt silent from a Parent's Eye ; Tho' neither Youth nor Beauty was my Friend , Nor Gold nor Fame could tempt , yet you attend . While soft Compassion languish'd in your Eyes , And gently breath'd in sympathetic Sighs , Pure Goodness wing'd your Feet , inspir'd your Tongue ; Soft were your Accents , but your Reas'ning strong . Heav'n bid me live , and you prescribe the Way ; To you , next Heav'n , my grateful Thanks I pay . And now I breathe , and live , and sing anew ; And owe my Breath , and Life , and Song to You