MISS A. W.
[A very Young Lady.]
I WOULD tell thee, thou art fair;
But the pleasing tale, I fear,
Might deceive thy tender ear,
Make thee fancy beauty more
Than thou'lt find the faithless store;
Faithless as the dream of night,
Flitting with returning light;
Just as sure as Summer seas,
When behind th' inviting breeze
Storms and thunders loitering wait,
Soon to give the wretch his fate.
Let the Muse then send her song To thy mind, thy mind yet young, Yet as pure and free from stain
As the snow driven o'er the plain :
But how nice th' instructive lay!
Yet the Muse has bid me say,
Thou hast ask'd, and she'll obey.
Gentle Maid, to whose kind heart
Friendly Nature doth impart
(Choicest of the gifts she brings)
Soft good temper, first of things;
May that temper be thy guide,
May she still with thee reside,
Free from passion, free from pride;
Pride that aims the deadliest dart
At the growing Virgin's heart!
Once its poison enter'd there,
Nought can cure the wounded Fair.
Pride like Venus does not move,
Graces at her side, and Love;
But the fierce Desire of Power,
And dull Ignorance, march before;
Affectation, Vanity,
Saucy Sneer and Calumny,
Cruelty and high Disdain,
Form her virtue-killing train.
Shun then Flattery's tainting breath,
Self-opinion shun like Death.
Next, my Fair, with curious quest, Search the garden of thy breast, Underneath th' enliven'd clay,
'Midst the streams that through it stray,
Clay as fine as Nature makes,
Streams yet cool in vestal lakes;
Search, I say, with nicest heed,
And, if found, destroy the weed;
Fruitless, baneful, and unkind,
(Fond yet of the female mind)
If base Avarice you spy,
Pluck it forth, and bid it die ;
See! thy parents praise the deed,
Loathing the pernicious weed,
And with pleasure bid thee tread
On the snow-cold poison's head.
The observing Muse believe, Nothing can your bliss deceive, If in noble scorn you hold
Thirst of power, and love of gold.
Quell'd these passions, thou shalt find Virtue easy, soft, and kind.
These two dangers canst thou shun,
More than half Life's task is done.
When thy breast thus clear'd you see,
When the soil from weeds is free,
When no more the thistle grows,
Nor the thorn surrounds the rose,
Thou shalt then employ thy hours,
Gathering sweets, and culling flowers.
All that Virtue has to give
Thou shalt to thy breast receive.
Under thy commanding eye,
White rob'd Purity shall lie ;
And thy altering cheek her throne
Rose-red Modesty shall own;
Still at thy extended hand
Glowing Charity shall stand;
And upon thy lips shall dwell
Truths as pure as Angels tell.
Thus my fair one, may you shine, Till some youth, by fate divine, Scorn'd the light fantastic crew, Rests his happiness on you; And you pour into his breast Joys like what thy sire confest, When in Hymen's happy band He receiv'd Eliza's hand.
Он, born to bless some youth unknown,
FANNY, thy beauties all will own;
Yet all who know you will confess
Your beauty than your merit less.
One who deserves you, would you choose?
Accept this offering of my Muse:
She paints-ah, hardly paints from life,-
Him, who alone should call you wife,
That dear, dear name in which are join'd
All that can charm or sooth the mind.
Let me, my Fair, direct your choice,
For that alone is my advice.
Rules for behaviour I'll not give,
Those from an abler hand receive,
For them to Lyttleton attend,
He, tho' a poet, is a friend,
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