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ON READING THE FOREGOING TO THE SAME,
ON HER DRESS.
BY MISS C
An envious robe! to frustrate Heaven's intent, Au! Dorimant, victim to love,
Concealing beauty from the eye of day; Too fatally caught in his wiles, Beauty to man by gracious Nature sent
Can you in fair Laura approve To cheer the wand'rer on his lonesome way. Those diffusive, those general smiles ? One pow'r who wak'd Aurora's smiling light If inconstancy dwells with that fire Gave skies their azure, and gave vales their Which the Sun-beams of Asia impart green,
Can a daughter of Europe desire Form'd the quick sense for wonder and delight, To change with your Laura a heart? Made eyes to see, and Laura to be seen.
No!-happier the temp'rate mind, Curs'd be th' eclipse that plunges morn in night, Which, fix'd to one object alone,
And jealous clouds that shade the landscape's i To one tender passion contin'd, On envious robes severer curses light, (scene; Breathes no wishes, no sighs, but for one.
That veil the beanties of my summer's queen! Such bliss has the maid of the plain, Ah Laura! cruel Laura! why constrain,
Tho' secluded she lives in a cot; In art's fantastic drapery, Nature's ease? Yet, rich in the love of her swain, Why, form’d to empire, empire's arts disdain ? She's contented, and blesses her lot. Why, born for pleasure, still refuse to please ?
Ah ! say, if deserving thy heart, Nor yet these folds on fulds, this load of dress, The too undistinguishing fair, Shall bar approaches to poetic love;
Who to thousands can raptures impart, No--where the graces sport in sweet recess, And the raptures of thousands can share? 'Tis fancy, bold intruder's joy to rove.
Ah! say, does she merit thosc lays? Fancy, pursuing where my Laura fies,
Those lays which trne passion define? With wanton gales forbidden charms reveals, No unworthy the fair of thy praise, Betrays her slumbers, and with eager eyes Who can listen to any but thine,
The panting breast, devouring, dreams it feels.
Shows where,sequester'd from the sultry bcam, REPLY TO MISS G
Sarpuo, while your Muse of fire,
Listening to the vocal spheres,
Airs divine for mortal ears:
Viewing higher orbs that glow,
Ever constant, ever true, While smiles, winning smiles you impart;
Still she dreams to find below Indulgence but nurses desire,
Perfect forms, as Heaven and you I sigh for that treasure, your heart.
Blame not Asia's fair, who glances Yes, take, too presumptuous, she cries,
Random smiles in heedless ease, All that virtue can wish to receive;
Shifts at will her wayward fancies, Yes, take all that virtue can grant,
Pleasing all, whom all can please; A heart I had never to give.
Blame her not-no envied treasure The maid of the north, like the lake,
Is the tender, feeling heart, That sleeps by her peaceable cot,
Bosoms quick to keener pleasure Ton languishing lives but !or one,
Beat alas ! as quick to smart. Forgetting the world, and forgot.
Who with eyes that eyer languish, But born where my Ganges expands,
Still to deserts sighs alone? To no partial channels confin'd,
Who consumes her youth in anguish Unix'd to no olject, I flow
- She who keeps an heart for one. With innocent smiles on mankind.
Tender love repaid with treason, Our Asia's bright daines, like their sun,
Fortune's frowns, parental power, Cheer all with benevolent reign,
Blast her in the vernal season, Cuy moons, Europe's daughters, but light
Bend her, unsupported flower. A single disconsolate swain.
Happier she, with pliant nature
Fleeting, fickle as the wind;
Turns to meet another kind.
What can Asia's fair pursue?
Like the traitor, treacherous too.
SONG...LAURA'S ANSWER... TO MISS G... TO LAURA.
TO MISS G
Why should faith, obsequious duty,
Sooth an eastern tyrant's scorn? Who but rifles joyless beauty
Steals the honey, leaves the thorn.
How can echo cheer the vale?
What but grief and horrour's tale?
What but shouts that murder sleep? There the struggling, fainting fair;
There—but see my Sappho weep! Change the strain ! this mournful measure
Melts, oppresses virtuous heartsSappho, wake thy lyre of pleasure !
Sing of Europe's happier arts ! Sing of all the mingled blessing
Reason, tempering passion, knows; All the transport of possessing
Unplock'd beauty's willing rose! Sing of that refin'd sensation
Mutual melting bosoms prove, Souls exchang'd, sweet emanation,
Separate being lost in love! Rapture's tears, voluptuous stream!
Languor stealing sorrow's sighs ! Sing of love-thyself the theme !
Sing of love-thyself the prize!
A, leave, you cry, the harp unstrung,
For fortune shifts her fickle wind :, Resume thy lyre, on willows hung,
To sing the fair, no longer kind. No-nearer view my alter'd state,
Por fear 100 high, for hope too low;
Yet far above the captive's woe.
On reason's lap I lay me down :
Appears it just to meet their frown?
Admire the glare of youthful day,
From shades of autumn fleet away.
Disdain my breast, disdain to sigh! To these the fair, the rivals those,
The son of Jove's be my reply: “ Ah why desert th’Olympic games?
Aspire to victory !" Philip cries : “ I come," young Ammon fierce exclaims,
“If kings my rivals, thrones the prize." Yes, letter'd maid ! my soul approve,
The seat no more of vain desires : Extinguish'd there the flame of love,
Extinguish'd there ambition's fires ! To save from vice, from folly save,
What aid can beauty, power afford? Unworthy love to call thee slave,
Unworthy crowds to call thee lord ! Pure reason, yes; pure truth—but why,
Ah why! rebellious heart declare, With flattering pulse and stiffed sigh,
That other tenants harbour there? Go-tranquil Hope, by turns to dwell,
Expelling reason pleasure's court, Expelling passion wisdom's cell:
Go-reason's, passion's mutual sport. Vain dreamer!-rather both revere,
But neither's solc dominion own: When Heaven assign'd to each their sphere,
It never meant excluding one: Excluding which ?-_objections wait
On vain pretensions either forms; Alike to life's salubrious state
Ye both are fatal-calms and storms.
Sign to winds thy notes forlorn;
Float the wrecking tempest's scorn. Sprightly sounds no more it raises,
Such as Laura's smiles approve; Laura scorns her poet's praises,
Calls his artless friendship love: Calls it love, that spurning duty,
Spurning Nature's chastest ties, Mocks thy tears, dejected beauty,
Sports with fallen virtue's sighs. Call it love, no more profaning
Truth with dark suspicion's wound; Or, my fair, the term retaining,
Change the sense, preserve the sound. Yes, 'tis love-that name is given,
Angels, to your purest flames: Such a love as merits Heaven,
Heaven's divinest image claims.
Now he writes to the fair, with what fervour he | When you vary your charms with your patches,
To me 'tis a weightier affair,
Or sits in the president's chair.
When, by nature and art form’d to please, Deceiver thyself, or deceiv'd!
You sing, and you talk, and you laugh,
To dream of the chamberlain's staff?
Ascend in pure spirit above ? [below I trust the state vessel shall ride: Ah ! analyse better, as blendeel they glow To Bute let the rudder be given, The flames of religion and love.
Or Pitt be permitted to guide. Quit the teacher, my fair one, and listen to me,
At Almack's, when the turtle's well drest, A doctor less grave and severe !
Must I know the cook's country, or starre? Who eternity's joys for the virtuous can see
And when George gives us liberty's feast,
Not taste 'uill Newcastle shall carve?
With no sober system in view;
Applied to Great Britain and you. Know,the virtue it cherishes Heaven will reward, There, I reverence our bright constitution, But attend to no blasphemous tales,
Not heeding what calurony raves, That the blaze of the Deity shines unimpair'd,
Yet wish for a new revolution, Though human infirmity fails.
Should rulers treat subjects as slaves. Know your God as he is, wise, good, beyond Here, the doctrine of boundless dominion, No tyrant in horrours array'd, (measure,
Of boundless obedience is mine; Bnt a father, who smiles on the innocent pleasure Ah! my fair, to cure schism in opinion, Of amiable creatures he made !
Confess non-resistance is thine.
Still enrapture the heart and the ear!
Their breezes watt bealth to the mind, What our reason but labours, vain toil! to disarm, Far from the silent vale of peace and love? By virtue and song are refin'd.
On fluttering insects lavish waste perfume, Ah ! listen to me, in whose patural school
Or deck the tickle wreath that folly wove? Religion leads truth by the hand !-.
And yet the fragrance of thy evening hour, Who regulates faith by a mystical rule,
Ambrosial odours, yet to me refuse? But builds his foundation on sand !
To me, who pay thy sweets, ungrateful flower ! By the winds of unreconcil'd principles driven,
With rich returus of incense from the Muse ?-Still fluctuates the methodist's plan;
Who but the Muse transplants ther, short-lir'd Now he wishes you chaste for the glory of Ilcaven, From mortal regions to celestial seats ? (rose ! ---Now frail--for the pleasure of man.
By memory's fountain, where thy buds discloso
Eternal beauties, with eternal sweets.
SONG TO * * *
What! bid me seek another fair
In untry'd paths of female wiles ? But breathe the sweet language of love. And posies weave of other hair, What is party?-a zeal without science,
And bask secure in other smiles ? A bubble of popular faine,
Thy friendly stars no longer prize, In nature and virtue's defiance,
And light my course by other eyes? "T'is reason enslav'd to a name.
Ah no! my dying lips shall close, Tis the language of madness, or fashion,
Unalter'd love, as faith professing ; Where knaves only guess what they mean;
Nor praising him who life bestows, Tis a cloak to conceal private passion,
Forget who makes that gift a blessing, To induige, with applause, private spleen.
My last address to Heav'n is due;
to you. Can I, plıc'd by my Laura, inquire,
If poison or clarei put out Our Churchill's satyrical fire,
If Wilkes lives with ears or without?
FAREWELL TO THE HOS 6.
TO A YOUNG LADY...ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Lost every function, vanish'd every sense : ON MEN BEING DEPRIVED, FROM CUSTOM AND
Is this thy lot, divine benevolence? DELICACY, OF ENJOYING SOCIAL FRIEND Approach no more, such bitter anguish, near SHIP WITH THE FAIR SEX,
So soft a bösnm ; flow alone the tear,
That dew of Heaven, O maid ! to Heaven allied, HAD soft Aspasia's sex been man,
Thy great Redeemer shed for man and died. What friendship's holy chains
Good angels mourn creation's glories lost, Had link'd our beings, fortune's plan,
And mourning please, reseinble him the most ; Our pleasures and our pains ?
Flow then thy tear, ordain'd by Heaven's decree, Alike our ruder, milder sports,
For bliss to others, sweeter bliss to thee ! Our studies too the same,
With pity's pangs her dear sensations feel; Companions both in shades and courts,
The shaft that wounds thee, drops a balm to heal. In paths of love or fame.
Thy soul expanding, like a vernal flower,
Shall glow the brighter in affiction's shower By bright collision, patriot beams
For every tear to suffring virtue given, Had flush'd from soul to soul,
Itself approving, and approv'd by Heaven. And war baul seen, in union's streams,
Weep then, but weep anuther's fate alone ; Our tide of glory roll.
Let smiles be still attendant on thy own. There fate, that strikes the noblest breast,
Had surely reverenc'd thine ; The thirsty lance I then had blest
ON THE DEATH OF AN INPANT. For only wounding mine. But ah ! my sweeter downy hours,
How blest is he whum nature's gentle hand Had I been chang'd, not you;
Has snatch'd from human life and human woes,
Ev'n in his childish days, ere yet he knew
Or sin, or pain, or youthful passion's force !
In earth's soft lap, beneath the flowery turf, Made each the other's softer care,
His peaceful ashes sleep; to Heaven ascends One table then had fed,
Th’unspotted soul, declar'd by voice divine One chamber lodg'd the faithful pair,
A guest well pleasing—Then no longer mourn, Ah do not blush !-one bed.
Thou drooping parent, nor bewail him lost Both sitting at one busy loom
In life's first bloom, when infant reason dawn'd, In nature's vernal bow'r,
And the young mind, unfolding every power, Had rivall’d nature's vernal bloom,
Gave promise fair of manhood, transport fillid Creating both one flow'r.
The mother's hosom, pondering every word
And action there. She now lamenting loud Both screen'd from summer's sultry view, Deplores him, from her vain embraces torn In shades by haunted stream,
By unrelenting fate, and fierce disease ; Had own'd the moral vision true
Like eastern storms that blast the opening year.
Yet bending o'er the brook,
TO MISS NM,
WRITTEN AT BRIGHTHELMSTON. And felt our mixing souls refine
Lovely N-n! rise, and see In purer wisdom's ray,
Modest morn resemble thee ! The being virtue's friend and thine
Ocean siniles with your repose, Had clear'd our mists away.
Come to seas, where Venus rose ! My morning incense, ev'ning pray'r,
Bathing, Dr. Pool observes, With thine, bad soar'd above,
Braces all the optic nerves. With thine ascending sweeter there
“ Hearens,” she cries, “ what idle whim! On wings of song and love.
Youthful eyes are seldom dim ; Vain dreains ! for customn's lars, combin'd
Mine can mark the distant sail, With virtue's stern decree,
Or lowing herds in Sussex' vale;
Scarce a spire or cottage smoke,
Or cloud embracing mountain oak ;
True-but eyes that distant roam,
Frequent fail for scenes at home.
Let example make ine clearer, PAINTING AT THE NEWS OF HER FRIEND'S MIS- Place yourself at Shergold's mirror !
Every mild reflected grace,
That angel form, that angel face, Au! maid too gentle, while thy tears deplore
A world of wonders all can view, The virtuous exile on a foreign shore,
Envy only blind and you. 'Thy pulse forgets to beat, thy cheek to glow, Dim the bright eye, fix'd monument of woe,
And turn no more the giddy rounds
Of pleasure's wanton chace,
But range beyond material bounds,
Eternity, and space! -
Who deck'd with N-'s name a feeble page ; Explain the cause that guides,
Has arm'd no bitter stings of Satan's rage. Precipitates the tides.
For shameless folly dips ber shafts in gall; Their laws, their measure, scan,
The dews of praise, a precious ointment, fall. And liberty, and man !
In every grace, beneath your sweet control; Like him, the bird of Jove!
-"What waste," she cries, “in such pursuit,
Let Newton sail the sky !
Permitted to your guidance-come and share To drink the liquid light,
In angry seas and night.
Your hymn of triumph— tis no sorg of mine; Amid fresh dews and flowers !
The sober lesson ours,
What humbler regions give!
Let others soar to fall and die!
'Tis ours to creep, and live.”
[roar; He lanch'd the bark, and brav'd the tempest's
ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING He trusted here the faith of simple swains,
No more let science tempt thy searching eyes One shepherd wander'd on the lonely hill,
Beyond the bounds prescribd to mortal sight, One village-maid explor'd the distant rill. No more advent'rous mount the lofty skies, But mark the glittering scenes succeeding these;
And daring, penetrate the realms of light. See peopled all the shores, and healing seas; With humble mind go trace thy Maker's hand Yet, friend to Britain, flows alike the wave
In every smiling valley, fertile plain; With India's treasures, and defrauds the grave.
Adore his bounty in the cultur'd land, Had fate now plac'd him on this fairy land,
Revere his wisdom in the stormy main ! The thoughtless Charles had linger'd on the Nor thoughtless view the vast tremendous sea,
strand, Nor danger chill'd, nor high ambition fir'd Whose course impetuous power divine res That wanton bosom, by the loves inspird :
[cree, His languid sails the monarch here had furld,
Whose rushing tide, control'd by Heaven's deHad gain'd a Nn's smile, and lost the world.
Forbears to violate the flow'ry plains.
While splendid gems the face of Heav'n adom;
Nor heedless view the radiant lamps of night,
Nor heedless view the Sun that gilds the morn: FROM BRIGHTHELMSTONE. Come, Stella, let us climb the heights
But tum with praise to Him who reigns above,
Supreme o'er works that speak almighty Where purer spirits flow,
power; And upward point our mental flights,
0! turn a grateful bosom breathing love, And mock the scenes below.
And learn the noblest lesson-to adore, 1 Matthew XXY.
a Charles the IId. after the battle of Worces. ter, escaped to France in a fishing-boat, from Brigithelmstone.
BY MISS G