In groundless hope, and causeless fear,
Unhappy man! behold thy doom;
Still changing with the changeful year,
The flave of funshine and of gloom.
Tir'd with vain joys, and false alarms,
With mental and corporeal ftrife,
Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,
And screen me from the ills of life.
ON HER GIVING THE AUTHOR A GOLD AND SILK
NET-WORK PURSE OF HER OWN
WEAVING*.
Τ
HOUGH gold and filk their charms unite
To make thy curious web delight,
In vain the varied work would fhine,
If wrought by any hand but thine
Thy hand that knows the fubtler art,
To weave thofe nets that catch the heart.
Spread out by me, the roving coin
Thy nets may catch, but not confine;
Nor can I hope thy filken chain
The glittering vagrants fhall reftrain.
Why, Stella, was it then decreed
The heart once caught should near be freed?
* Printed among Mrs. Williams's Mifcellanies.
To Mifs *****
ON HER PLAYING UPON THE HARPSICHORD IN A ROOM HUNG WITH
FLOWER-PIECES
OF HER OWN PAINTING*.
WH
THEN Stella ftrikes the tuneful ftring
In fcenes of imitated Spring,
Where Beauty lavishes her powers
On beds of never-fading flowers,
And Pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated found;
Ah! think not in the dangerous hour,
The nymph fictitious as the flower;
But fhun, rafh youth, the gay alcove,
Nor tempt the fnares of wily love.
When charms thus prefs on every fense,
What thought of flight, or of defence?
Deceitful hope, and vain defire,
For ever flutter o'er her lyre,
Delighting as the youth draws nigh,
To point the glances of her eye,
And forming with unerring art
New chains to hold the captive heart.
But on thofe regions of delight
Might truth intrude with daring flight,
Could Stella, fprightly, fair, and young,
One moment hear the moral fong,
Inftruction with her flowers might fpring,
And wisdom warble from her string.
* Printed among Mrs. Williams's Mifcellanies.
Mark when from thousand mingled dyes
Thou seeft one pleafing form arise,
How active light, and thoughtful shade,
In greater scenes each other aid..
Mark when the different notes agree
In friendly contrariety,
How paffion's well accorded ftrife
Gives all the harmony of life;
Thy pictures fhall thy conduct frame,
Confiftent ftill, though not the fame ;
Thy musick teach the nobler art,
To tune the regulated heart.
EVENING: an Ode.
To STE L L A.
VENING now from purple wings
E
Sheds the grateful gifts fhe brings;
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
Cooling breezes fhake the reed;
Shake the reed, and curl the stream
Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam;
Near the chequer'd, lonely grove,
Hears, and keeps thy fecrets, Love.
Stella, thither let us ftray,
Lightly o'er the dewy way.
Phoebus drives his burning car,
Hence, my lovely Stella, far;
In his ftead, the queen of night
Round us pours a lambent light;
Light that feems but just to fhow
Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow;
Let us now, in whifper'd joy,
Evening's filent hours employ,
Silence beft, and confcious fhades,
Please the hearts that love invades,
Other pleasures give them pain,
Lovers all but love disdain.
TO THE SAME.
W
HETHER Stella's eyes are found
Fix'd on earth, or glancing round,
If her face with pleasure glow,
If the figh at others woe,
If her easy air express
Confcious worth, or foft diftrefs,
Stella's eyes, and air, and face,
Charm with undiminish'd grace.
If on her we see display'd
Pendant gems, and rich brocade,
If her chintz with less expence
Flows in eafy negligence;
Still the lights the confcious flame,
Still her charms appear the fame;
If she strikes the vocal strings,
If fhe's filent, fpeaks, or fings,
If the fit, or if the move,
Still we love and ftill approve.
Vain the cafual, tranfient glance,
Which alone can please by chance,
Beauty, which depends on art,
Changing with the changing art,
Which demands the toilet's aid,
Pendant gems and rich brocade.
I thofe charms alone can prize,
Which from conftant nature rife,
Which nor circumftance, nor drefs,
E'er can make, or more, or less.
To a FRIEND.
No
O more thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With Avarice painful vigils keep;
Still unenjoy'd the present store,
Still endless fighs are breath'd for more.
O! quit the fhadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys!
To purchase Heaven has gold the power?
Can gold remove the mortal hour?
In life can love be bought with gold?
Are friendship's pleasures to be fold?
No-all that's worth a wifh-a thought,
Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought.
Cease then on trafh thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.
With science tread the wond'rous way,
Or learn the Mufes' moral lay;
In focial hours indulge thy foul,
Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl;
VOL. I
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