 | Poems |  |
Mrs. WELLS.
Come hither, ye sculptors, and catch every grace,
That Fate interwove in a heaven-form'd face;
Come hither, ye pencil-deck'd artists, and seek
Those tints, with which Beauty has soften'd her cheek;
Come hither, ye minstrels, who charm the wild throng,
And list to the tones which sublime her meek song;
For 'tis Wells, the resistless, who bursts on the sight,
To wed infant Rapture, and strengthen Delight.—
When she smiles, Youth and Valour their trophies resign;
When she laughs, she enslaves, for that laugh is divine.
Those wreaths of fresh myrtle which circle her brows,
Were affix'd there by Wit when he issued his vows;
As omnipotent Love rais'd the theme by his sallies,
And Melody bless'd her from Arno's rich vallies;
How piteous this nymph should quit decency's rule,
And, like Helen, be scoff'd for a Fop and a Fool;
With the mien of an angel she bids tumult cease,
And moves like the halcyon sister of Peace,
As her port by the influence of Fear seems restricted,
And she looks like that Modesty Guido depicted.—
Her moist pulpy lips wear a lovelier hue,
Than cherries new dipp'd in Aurora's bright dew;
Her Jove-killing charms could call Wrath from his deed,
Re-humanize Timon, and fetter the Swede;
Meet the hope of Spain's Charles, from a diadem driven,
And by opening her bosom—receive him in heaven.
That Fate interwove in a heaven-form'd face;
Come hither, ye pencil-deck'd artists, and seek
Those tints, with which Beauty has soften'd her cheek;
191
And list to the tones which sublime her meek song;
For 'tis Wells, the resistless, who bursts on the sight,
To wed infant Rapture, and strengthen Delight.—
When she smiles, Youth and Valour their trophies resign;
When she laughs, she enslaves, for that laugh is divine.
Those wreaths of fresh myrtle which circle her brows,
Were affix'd there by Wit when he issued his vows;
As omnipotent Love rais'd the theme by his sallies,
And Melody bless'd her from Arno's rich vallies;
How piteous this nymph should quit decency's rule,
And, like Helen, be scoff'd for a Fop and a Fool;
With the mien of an angel she bids tumult cease,
And moves like the halcyon sister of Peace,
As her port by the influence of Fear seems restricted,
And she looks like that Modesty Guido depicted.—
Her moist pulpy lips wear a lovelier hue,
Than cherries new dipp'd in Aurora's bright dew;
192
Re-humanize Timon, and fetter the Swede;
Meet the hope of Spain's Charles, from a diadem driven,
And by opening her bosom—receive him in heaven.
Tho' her mind with no rage of intemperance burns.
And the arts of false blandishment Nature inurns,
Yet her noon-tide of life has been warm'd by fair praise,
And she feels Approbation's meridian rays,
Which thaw her cold dreads by their genial heat,
And impell shrinking worth to a laudable feat:
The village-bred maid by base lovers distress'd,
Or the emblems of thought by its sorrows depress'd,
Suit her pensive capacity, fitted to give
Those traits where the delicate images live.—
When I speak of her Cowslip in terms of probation,
I speak of an act that defies emulation.
All her innocent wonders are touch'd with nice skill,
As she harbours resentment, unconscious of ill;
'Tis nature and knowledge most cunningly blended,
And the author's ideas are brighten'd and mended;
Like Trajan's fam'd column it equals desire,
And the more we behold it, the more we admire.—
In her Maud we survey a delectable union
Of Truth and Simplicity, met in communion;
And the strong combination of meekness and honor,
Seem habitual marks, and sit easy upon her;
The plaudits of Judgment she's sure to obtain,
As 'tis colour'd with neatness, and play'd—without pain.—
Her Bridget is every thing Sense can request,
'Tis diminutive vanity ably exprest;
Where vulgar Ambition on Decency treads,
Where base Apprehension a consequence dreads;
'Tis a brilliant example of imbecile art,
Where the moral by Folly's expung'd from the heart.
If Envy pursues this applause-listed dame,
The pursuit but implies she's an inmate of Fame;
—How hideous is Obloquy, lame and base-born,
To obscure Desert, like a fog in the morn;
With an indirect vision she looks at men's deeds,
And sows, as she wanders, Contumely's seeds;
Approves the heart's wish, when the heart goes astray,
And journies with Hatred to gladden her way:
To the virtuous she mutters a ruin-stamp'd curse,
And the half-fashion'd vicious she makes ten times worse;
Adheres to no point, but the wish to do ill,
And clings with fierce zeal to the credulous will;
Deprives Honor's martial descendants of life,
And gives hapless Love—to the murdering knife;
Offers Peace to hell's god as a bleeding oblation,
And smiles at the ravings of hot Desparation;
Grows pale and perturbed, when Merit is prais'd,
And pulls down that monument—Gratitude rais'd.
And the arts of false blandishment Nature inurns,
Yet her noon-tide of life has been warm'd by fair praise,
And she feels Approbation's meridian rays,
Which thaw her cold dreads by their genial heat,
And impell shrinking worth to a laudable feat:
The village-bred maid by base lovers distress'd,
Or the emblems of thought by its sorrows depress'd,
Suit her pensive capacity, fitted to give
Those traits where the delicate images live.—
When I speak of her Cowslip in terms of probation,
I speak of an act that defies emulation.
All her innocent wonders are touch'd with nice skill,
As she harbours resentment, unconscious of ill;
'Tis nature and knowledge most cunningly blended,
And the author's ideas are brighten'd and mended;
Like Trajan's fam'd column it equals desire,
And the more we behold it, the more we admire.—
In her Maud we survey a delectable union
Of Truth and Simplicity, met in communion;
And the strong combination of meekness and honor,
Seem habitual marks, and sit easy upon her;
193
As 'tis colour'd with neatness, and play'd—without pain.—
Her Bridget is every thing Sense can request,
'Tis diminutive vanity ably exprest;
Where vulgar Ambition on Decency treads,
Where base Apprehension a consequence dreads;
'Tis a brilliant example of imbecile art,
Where the moral by Folly's expung'd from the heart.
If Envy pursues this applause-listed dame,
The pursuit but implies she's an inmate of Fame;
—How hideous is Obloquy, lame and base-born,
To obscure Desert, like a fog in the morn;
With an indirect vision she looks at men's deeds,
And sows, as she wanders, Contumely's seeds;
Approves the heart's wish, when the heart goes astray,
And journies with Hatred to gladden her way:
To the virtuous she mutters a ruin-stamp'd curse,
And the half-fashion'd vicious she makes ten times worse;
Adheres to no point, but the wish to do ill,
And clings with fierce zeal to the credulous will;
Deprives Honor's martial descendants of life,
And gives hapless Love—to the murdering knife;
Offers Peace to hell's god as a bleeding oblation,
And smiles at the ravings of hot Desparation;
Grows pale and perturbed, when Merit is prais'd,
And pulls down that monument—Gratitude rais'd.
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