Thenot and Colinet
illustrations to thornton’s pastorals of virgil
William Blake PALLAS ATHENE
through the intervention of his last major patron, the painter John Linnell, Blake was commissioned in around 1821 to produce a set of illustrations for a schoolbook edition of the Pastorals of Virgil, as reimagined by the early eighteenthcentury poet Ambrose Philips (whose nickname gave us the word ‘namby-pamby’). They are Blake’s only wood-engravings. The publisher-editor, Dr. Thornton, was unhappy with the roughness of Blake’s images, and was in the process of having the blocks recut, until he was persuaded to reconsider by the protests of Linnell, together with those of the painters James Ward and Sir Thomas Lawrence. Thornton’s own doubts are expressed by the disclaimer he printed under the frontispiece to the set (opposite). The engravings became Blake’s most influential work, much admired by artists from Palmer onwards. They are reproduced here at their original size.
colinet
Tho’ soft their Notes, not so my wayward Fate, Nor Lark would sing, nor Linnet in my State:
Each Creature to his proper Task is born; As they to Mirth and Musick, I to mourn: Waking at Midnight I my Woes renew, And with my Tears increase the falling Dew.
thenot
Can lusty Youth have Reason to complain? Or who the Weight of Age cou’d e’er sustain,
Thenot and Colinet
Why do thy cloudy Looks thus melt in Tears Unseemly, now all Heav’n so blithe appears?
Why in this mournful manner art thou found, Unthankful Lad, when all things smile around?
Hark how the Lark and Linnet jointly sing, Their Notes Soft-warbling to the gladsom Spring.
thenot
colinet
Tho’ soft their Notes, not so my wayward Fate, Nor Lark would sing, nor Linnet in my State:
Each Creature to his proper Task is born; As they to Mirth and Musick, I to mourn: Waking at Midnight I my Woes renew, And with my Tears increase the falling Dew.
thenot
Can lusty Youth have Reason to complain? Or who the Weight of Age cou’d e’er sustain,
If, as our waning Forces daily cease, The tiresome Burthen doubles its Increase?
Yet, tho’ with Years my Body downward tend,
As Trees beneath their Fruit in Autumn bend, My Mind a chearful Temper still retains, Spite of my snowy Head and icy Veins:
For why shou’d Man at cross Mis-haps repine,
Sour all his Sweet, and mix with Tears his Wine?
But speak, for much it may relieve thy Woe,
To let a Friend thy inward Ailment know.
colinet
’Twill idly waste thee, Thenot, a whole Day, Should’st thou give Ear to all my Grief can say: Thy Ews will wander, and thy heedless Lambs With Bleatings loud require their absent Dams.
thenot
There’s Lightfoot, he shall tend them close, and I ’Twixt whiles a-cross the Plain will glance mine Eye.