"My heart throbs high, as if 'twould burst its cell."

— Williams, John [pseud. Anthony Pasquin] (1754-1818)

Place of Publication
Printed by M. Swinney
"My heart throbs high, as if 'twould burst its cell."
Metaphor in Context
As blythe Valentinois, with choicest flowers,
Bedeckt the chosen seat of Anet's bowers,
To cheer her faithful but unhappy king,
Of whom we ponder and the minstrels sing;
E'en thus will I my crested Harry greet,
And strew the rose, to hail his war-worn feet;
Then seize my warrior to my aching breast,
Wipe off the dust, and teach him to be blest,
My eager lips shall gather dew from thine,
And all the rage of extacy be mine--
Oh! wayward fancy, why will you create
Such florid scenes to mock my wretched state?
No sportive frail ideas should restore,
Those joys, those revels, which, alas! are o'er;
That hope's deceas'd who gave my youth command,
The quivering pen forsakes my palsied hand;
Thick vapours circumvolve the vision's ray,
And Desperation vitiates my day:
My bosom bleeds, th' associate of Desire,
My thought is madd'ning, and my brain's on fire!
Oh Henry pity Gabrielle's distress,
Take heaven's example and be pleas'd to bless!
Tho' thus your adamantine will I prove,
Come, and receive the amnesty of Love!--
The last sad tears that glisten in my eye,
Expression's strugglings, and my final sigh,
I give most chearfully to Faith and You,
But come, ah come, and own thy Gabrielle's true!
Assuage the horrors of afflictive death,
Chear my last pang, and cheat me of my breath:
Then as I lay a lifeless heap of dust,
Bereft of being, to my fame be just;
Place my cold head upon your steel-clad knee,
And bathe with tears, that nymph who died for thee:
Hark! hark! what means that tumult in the field,
What mean those coursers, do the rebels yield?
See the meek dove, her milk-white wings expand,
Bearing her olive, o'er a woe-rent land;
The babbling trumpet rends its brazen throat,
And Echo hangs upon the martial note!
Such rapturous accents brought the ear delight,
When the Creator gave this planet light;
My fancy swims before the airy spell,
My heart throbs high, as if 'twould burst its cell.
Has Henry conquer'd, sure it cannot be,
Is he victorious, does he live--'tis he!
Be joyant Nature, let high Phoebus sing,
I see, I know the super-human king!
He comes, he comes, with more than mortal charms,
I feel, I faint, my God, I'm in his arms!
(cf. p. 32 in 1788 printing)
Searching "heart" and "cell" in HDIS (Poetry); confirmed in ECCO
Only 1 entry in ESTC (1788).

See A Poetic Epistle, from Gabrielle D'estrees, to Henry the Fourth. By Anthony Pasquin, Esq. (Birmingham: Printed by M. Swinney; for G. G. & J. Robinson, and J. Strahan, Strand, London. (entered at Stationer's-Hall.), [1788?]). <Link to ESTC>

Text from Poems: By Anthony Pasquin. 2nd edition (London and Edinburgh: Printed for J. Strahan ... and the Author; W. Creech, 1789).
Date of Entry

The Mind is a Metaphor is authored by Brad Pasanek, Assistant Professor of English, University of Virginia.