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"Here's rubbish enough,till my homeward return,
TO A LADY.
YES; wedlock's sweet bands were too blest, in
If virtue her likeness could find,
Yet more of thyself in the daughter still trace,
Such bliss rivals Heaven-yet what grief, what
Were riot's low follower thy lot,
Were he whose loud pleasures are wine and the
Still calling the tear of reproach to thy eye,
Would soft macaronies have judgment to prize,
Who learnt every virtue and art to despise,
ON AN ASIATIC LADY.
O YOU who sail on India's wealthy wave,
Of gems and gold who spoil the radiant east;
Roll the blue languish of their humid eye;
Would wealth's drowsy heir, without spark of Less yielding souls confess this eastern fair,
Enshrin'd in his dulness completely,
Yet rev'rence his image below?
Would slaves to a court, or to faction's banditti,
'Plato's fable is, that man and woman originally were one being, divided afterwards by Jupiter for their punishment; that each part, in perpetual search of the other, never recovers happiness till their reunion.
And lightning melts the heart that milder fires
Of gods, enamour'd with a mortal dame,
Sublimer sense, and sprightlier wit to please,
That Phoebus gave; he gave the voice and lyre, That warble sweeter than the spicy breeze,
He gave what charms meridian suns inspire; What precious rays from light's pure fountain stream,
What warm the diamond's blaze and ruby's flam ing beam.
TO THE SAME,
ON HER DRESS.
An envious robe! to frustrate Heaven's intent, Concealing beauty from the eye of day; Beauty to man by gracious Nature sent
To cheer the wand'rer on his lonesome way. One pow'r who wak'd Aurora's smiling light Gave skies their azure, and gave vales their green,
Form'd the quick sense for wonder and delight, Made eyes to see, and Laura to be seen. Curs'd be th' eclipse that plunges morn in night, And jealous clouds that shade the landscape's On envious robes severer curses light, [scene; That veil the beauties of my summer's queen! Ah Laura! cruel Laura! why constrain,
In art's fantastic drapery, Nature's ease? Why, form'd to empire, empire's arts disdain? Why, born for pleasure, still refuse to please?
Nor yet these folds on folds, this load of dress,
With wanton gales forbidden charms reveals, Betrays her slumbers, and with eager eyes
The panting breast, devouring, dreams it feels. Fancy indulgent to her votary's prayer,
Shows where, sequester'd from the sultry beam, The limpid wave but ill conceal'd the fair, With virgins sporting in her Ganges' stream.
TO THE SAME.
AH Laura! while graces and songs,
While smiles, winning smiles you impart; Indulgence but nurses desire,
I sigh for that treasure, your heart.
The maid of the north, like the lake,
Forgetting the world, and forgot.
With innocent smiles on mankind. Our Asia's bright dames, like their sun, Cheer all with benevolent reign, Coy moons, Europe's daughters, but light A single disconsolate swain.
ON READING THE FOREGOING
BY MISS G
AH! Dorimant, victim to love,
Those diffusive, those general smiles?
To change with your Laura a heart?
Tho' secluded she lives in a cot;
Ah! say, if deserving thy heart,
The too undistinguishing fair, Who to thousands can raptures impart, And the raptures of thousands can share? Ah! say, does she merit those lays? Those lays which true passion define ?— No-unworthy the fair of thy praise, Who can listen to any but thine.
REPLY TO MISS G SAPPHO, while your Muse of fire, Listening to the vocal spheres, Sits and tempers to her lyre
Airs divine for mortal ears: Viewing higher orbs that glow, Ever constant, ever true, Still she dreams to find below
Perfect forms, as Heaven and you, Blame not Asia's fair, who glances
Random smiles in heedless ease, Shifts at will her wayward fancies. Pleasing all, whom all can please; Blame her not-no envied treasure Is the tender, feeling heart, Bosoms quick to keener pleasure
Beat alas! as quick to smart. Who with eyes that ever languish,
Still to deserts sighs alone? Who consumes her youth in anguish -She who keeps an heart for one. Tender love repaid with treason, Fortune's frowns, parental power, Blast her in the vernal season, Bend her, unsupported flower. Happier she, with pliant nature Fleeting, fickle as the wind; She, who proving one a traitor, Turns to meet another kind. Blame her not-with Asian rovers What can Asia's fair pursue? What? but lessons taught by lovers, Like the traitor, treacherous too.
SONG...LAURA'S ANSWER...TO MISS G....TO LAURA.
Why should faith, obsequious duty,
Sooth an eastern tyrant's scorn?
Steals the honey, leaves the thorn.
What but shouts that murder sleep?
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 Unpluck'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!
HANG my lyre upon the willow,
Float the wrecking tempest's scorn.
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.
BY MISS G
Soox be thy lyre to winds consign'd,
Or Laura's friendship-ends in love,
TO MISS G
Au 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,
Yet far above the captive's woe.
On reason's lap I lay me down:
Admire the glare of youthful day,
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 stifled 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 sole 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.
ON HER RECEIVING A MYSTERIOUS LETTER FROM A
THE doctor wakes early-half drest in his cassoc,
To lengthen the trance of her night.
Now he writes to the fair, with what fervour he
Quit the teacher, my fair one, and listen to me,
Still reverence, I preach, those endearing relations
Yet I blame not your relish for slighter sensations
Know, the virtue it cherishes Heaven will reward,
Know your God as he is, wise, good, beyond
Of amiable creatures he made!—
Still please, and pursue his benevolent ends,
I can swear for myself, and believe for my friends,
If the passions are waken'd by harmony's charm, Their breezes waft health to the mind,
What our reason but labours, vain toil! to disarm,
Ah! listen to me, in whose natural school
By the winds of unreconcil'd principles driven,
TO THE SAME.
FROM moments so precious to life,
But breathe the sweet language of love. What is party?-a zeal without science, A bubble of popular fame, In nature and virtue's defiance, "Tis reason enslav'd to a name. 'Tis the language of madness, or fashion, Where knaves only guess what they mean; "Tis a cloak to conceal private passion,
To indulge, with applause, private spleen. Can 1, plac'd by my Laura, inquire, If poison or claret put out
Our Churchill's satyrical fire,
If Wilkes lives with ears or without?
When you vary your charms with your patches,
To dream of the chamberlain's staff?
Secure under Brunswick and Heaven,
I trust the state vessel shall ride:
At Almack's, when the turtle's well drest,
With no sober system in view;
Should rulers treat subjects as slaves.
Confess non-resistance is thine.
SONG TO*** WHAT! bid me seek another fair In untry'd paths of female wiles? And posies weave of other hair,
And bask secure in other smiles? Thy friendly stars no longer prize, And light my course by other eyes? Ah no! my dying lips shall close,
Unalter'd love, as faith professing; Nor praising him who life bestows,
Forget who makes that gift a blessing, My last address to Heav'n is due; The last but one is all-to you.
TO A YOUNG LADY...ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
ON MEN BEING DEPRIVED, FROM CUSTOM AND
SHIP WITH THE FAIR SEX.
HAD Soft Aspasia's sex been man,
Lost every function, vanish'd every sense:
DELICACY, OF ENJOYING SOCIAL FRIEND Approach no more, such bitter anguish, near
Our studies too the same,
By bright collision, patriot beams
And war had seen, in union's streams,
Our tide of glory roll.
There fate, that strikes the noblest breast,
Had surely reverenc'd thine;
The thirsty lance I then had blest
For only wounding mine.
But ah! my sweeter downy hours,
Made each the other's softer care,
One chamber lodg'd the faithful pair,
Both sitting at one busy loom
In nature's vernal bow'r,
Had rivall'd nature's vernal bloom,
Both screen'd from summer's sultry view,
In shades by haunted stream,
Sweet wisdom, couch'd in mystic rhyme,
And felt our mixing souls refine
The being virtue's friend and thine
Had clear'd our mists away.
Vain dreams! for custom's laws, combin'd
With virtue's stern decree,
Divide the beings nature join'd,
Divide my fair from me.
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT,
TO MISS NM,
WRITTEN AT BRIGHTHELMSTON,
LOVELY N-m! rise, and see
"Heavens," she cries, "what idle whim!