University of Virginia Library

EPISTLE TO A YOUNG LADY,

After many years absence.

Tax'd with neglect, in me no common crime,
I raise to justice the indignant rhyme;
And while, through absence self thine eyes effuse
Their wonted sweetness, court no fabled Muse;
That sympathetic influence can beguile
The dreary interval of many a mile;
Gleam through the tempest, cross the dang'rous main,
And smooth its liquid mountains to a plain.
The genial gale, that wakes the infant spring,
Such transport throws not from its purple wing;
Studded with stars, the blue expanse of night,
Beams not a softer, a serener light;
Than feels my heart, when ev'ry fibre glows
With the fond eulogy thy lyre bestows!
When first, too weak to grasp the laurel-bough,
I wove a rosy chaplet for thy brow;
And, in its various hues, would idly trace,
Some flowery semblance of thy charming face;
Oft would the sweet seduction of thy smile,
Attune my numbers, and enrich my style;
Whate'er of fair or perfect, I design'd,
Was merely copied from thy form or mind;
Nor, fondly could the subject fail to warm,
All softness was thy mind, all symmetry thy form!
How oft have I beheld, in rapt'rous trance,
Thy graceful steps adorn the sprightly dance;
Or, fancy-fix'd th' angelic choir among,
Caught the mellifluous magic of thy song;
But transient these, to the exalt'd pow'r
Of serious converse o'er the social hour,
Ambrosial words, from ruby lips that flow'd,
Bashfully wise, a banquet for a god!
Come then, bewitching as thou art, illume
My glowing numbers with immortal bloom;
Nor only, on my glowing numbers shine,
Let my bold spirit brighten with the line;
Hoarded, with pious care, within my breast,
Oh! ever let thy dear idea rest;
There fix'd, the silent, secret object be,
Of my poetical idolatry!
So, shall each verse be exquisitely fraught
With more luxurious tenderness of thought;
So, weaning for awhile from heav'n his ear,
And sedulous such rival theme to hear,
Waller once more may see his Sidney's name,
Reviv'd in song, superior, and the same;
The same in beauty, that thy least pretence,
In feeling far superior, and in sense.
Oh! that as once, to Surry's anxious sight,
The magic mirrors dim, fallacious light;
Gave the fair face of lovesick Geraldine,
So might I for a moment dwell on thine,
That shadowy spell each vanish'd bliss would raise,
And all my grief be lost in one voluptuous gaze.
Cruel! with cold indifference, to defame
That bosom-shrine, where Friendship's holy flame
Burns, like the vestal lamp, with lasting fire,
Still fed by hope, and ever-young desire,
Such saintly fire, perchance, as seraphs feel,
Who round th' eternal throne their radiant cohorts wheel;
Or, martyr'd souls, ascending from the blaze,
In murmurs of unutterable praise;
Or, such as light the phœnix' fun'ral nest,
With fragrant fume, in Araby the blest.
Sole angel of that orb! couldst thou profane
So pure an altar with so deep a stain,
Fair truth, for grim ingratitude, remove,
And lift that dæmon on the wreck of love?
The vow is vain:—for who, indeed, would fly
To gloomy dungeons, from the golden sky?
Who Hebe's nectar'd bowl would, madly, slight
For venom'd draughts, all satiate of delight?—
But when those exquisite illusions fade,
Ah! once in richest pageantry array'd;
Which stream'd o'er youth's gay dawn their orient dies,
Now doom'd, in vision only, to arise;
When, like the transient Iris' humid ray,
Dissolv'd, those fascinating forms decay,
Celestial forms! so delicately faint,
Which rapture's fairy-pencil loves to paint;
May mem'ry from my vacant brain depart,
Lost be my fancy, lost my tuneful art;
And that no gleam may cheer the lonely waste,
Last be thy image utterly effac'd.