Such Truths the Muse receiv'd from You, Oh, sacred proofs! by Heav'n bestow'd And never has his Soul known fear, 'Tis yours to speak his Virtue still; O then, since you so true, so well, The history of his Heart can tell; Can all its sterling powers unfold, More worth than Pens or Mines of Gold; You who, in every trial, found The Heart he gave to you was sound; The The Muse has dar'd, in mirror bright, And ah! may Heav'n allow the prayer, That you that Triumph proud may share! Then, though some wayward shafts of WoeThe common Lot of all below May reach, as now, thy tender heart, TO MISS VANCOUVER, ON RECEIVING FROM HER A BOUQUET OF WINTER FLOWERS. THE fragrant Present you have made And when stern Winter, like a thief, TO A LADY, WHO ASKED THE AUTHOR, WHAT SHE SHOULD DO TO DESERVE THE CHARACTER OF AN INDUSTRIOUS WOMAN? Ir, while ten thousand eye-lids close, If you have sent the day's relief; Or, Or, close embox'd in curtain'd chair, You, fearless, court the wint'ry sky, If your warm heart, ne'er chill'd by snow, While all the minutes cheerly move: If thus by Wisdom's reck'nings clear- Tell me, while you this course pursue, Who so Industrious as You* ? STANZAS The lady to whom the above lines are addressed is Mrs. Jeffrys, of Bath, sister to the late celebrated John Wilkes, whose wit, spirit, politeness and affability she inherits. She displays to an innumerable circle of friends all those splendid natural gifts and acquirements, at a very advanced period of life, in a degree almost beyond belief: to which she superadds the effusions of a generous heart, that beats unceasingly to the comfort or accommodation of all who truly know her. Her hour of rising is four in the morning, winter and summer; and without disturbing the repose STANZAS ΤΟ THE NEW MOON. EMBLEM too just of all that's Beauteous here! Though changing ev'ry moment with thy birth! What though thy wasted rays were quench'd in show'rs,, And wint❜ry torrents swell thy summer stream; If softness grace thy renovating pow'rs, Still shall thy bounty be Britannia's theme: On thy new birth let cloudless azure shine, For not her delug'd flowers alone decay, Her Garlands these, and these unwept might die; But, ah! her fostering food if swept away, In one vast ruin Man's chief hope must lie: Oh, then, let Plenty fill thy rising horn, So still shall genial beams thy Harvest-moon adorn! repose of the family, she employs herself in a thousand occupations, amusive to her own mind, or useful to a long train of her daily pensioners. She constantly sits and even sleeps with the windows open; and when the rain blows, or the snow drifts into her apartment, she has it removed in the morning. In a word, it is known to innumerable persons, that, whatever be the defect of the verses inscribed to her, they faithfully record a simple fact in every line. STANZAS, |