Miscellanies (1785) :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE enchanting Copies of Verses which follow, by Mrs. Sheridan and another Lady, were deservedly admired by the public at the time of their appearance, and struck the Author of these Miscellanies so forcibly, that he soon after wrote the replies which are added to each; and as they were all re-published in most of the periodical and diurnal prints together, it is hoped the writers of the Poems, will excuse the liberty he has taken of prefixing them to the answers in this Collection.

115

MRS. SHERIDAN ON HER BROTHER'S LYRE.

“Sweet instrument of him for whom I mourn,
“Tuneful companion of my Lycid's hours!
“How liest thou neglected and forlorn,
“What skilful hand shall now call forth thy powers!

“Ah! none like his can reach those liquid notes,
“So soft, so sweet, so eloquently clear,
“To live beyond the touch, and gently float
“In dying modulations on the ear.”

116

Thus o'er my Lycid's lyre as I complain'd,
And kiss'd the strings where he was wont to play,
While yet in pensive sadness I remain'd,
Methought it sigh'd, and sighing seem'd to say,

‘Ah! me, forlorn, forsaken, now no more
Shall fame and just applause around me wait;
No power my gentle master can restore,
And I, alas! will share his hapless fate.

“Fled is that spirit, chill'd that youthful fire,
Which taught those strains with harmony replete,
And cold that hand which only can inspire
My senseless form to utter sounds so sweet.

“Those sounds melodious ne'er again shall please,
No tuneful strain from me shall ever flow;
Save o'er my trembling strings a sighing breeze,
To call one sad, soft note of tender woe.

117

“Else, ah! for ever mute let me remain,
Unstrung, untun'd, forgotten let me be;
Guard me from curious eye, and touch prophane,
And let me rest in mournful sympathy!

“One fate, with thee, dear Master, let me share
Like thee in silent darkness let me lie!
My frame without thee is not worth my care,
With thee alone it liv'd, with thee shall die!”

HER BROTHER's LYRE

TO MRS. SHERIDAN.

This said—a solemn silence breath'd around,
Cecilia wept upon her Lycid's lyre,
The pensive breeze then gave a sighing sound,
And the strings seem'd to tremble and expire.

One hollow murmur, like the dying moan,
Was heard to vibrate then, with pauses slow,
From the sad instrument, when thus the tone
Gave modulations of a softer woe.

118

“Cease, beauteous mourner! partner of my grief!
Tuneful associate of my last despair,
Thou, only thou, can'st bring this breast relief;
Thy sympathy alone can soothe my care.

“What though—ah, stroke severe! our Lycid's dead,
No more, alas! can ravish mortal ear;
What though the soul of melody is fled,
His blest attendant to th' harmonious sphere,

“Struck by Cecilia's hand I yet may live;
Her magick touch again can tune my frame;
Her cherub voice my spirit yet revive,
And sounds of heavenly sorrow grace my fame.

“But should nor dulcet song, nor music's art,
Nor social sighs, which mourn the youth we love,
Have power to heal the sister's wounded heart,
Nor to these chords forlorn a solace prove:

119

“Ah! still together let our sorrows join,
And this sad form yet boast thy gentle aid;
Lycid's companion sure should still be thine;
Still should'st thou kiss the strings where he has play'd.”

LINES,

BY A LADY, ON SEEING SOME WHITE HAIRS ON HER LOVER'S HEAD.

Thou to whose pow'r reluctantly we bend,
Foe to life's fairy dreams relentless time,
Alike the dread of lover and of friend;
Why stamp thy seal on manhood's rosy prime,
Already twining 'midst my Thyrsis' hair,
The snowy wreaths of age, the monuments of care.

120

Thro' all her forms tho' nature owns thy sway,
That boasted sway thou'lt here exert in vain
To the last beam of life's declining day;
Thyrsis shall view unmov'd thy potent reign,
Secure to please while goodness knows to charm,
Fancy and taste delight, and sense and truth inform.

Tyrant, when from that lip of crimson glow,
Swept by thy chilling wing the rose shall fly;
When thy rude scythe indents his polish'd brow,
And quench'd is all the lustre of his eye:
When ruthless age disperses ev'ry grace,
Each smile that beams from that enchanting face.

Then thro' her stores shall active mem'ry rove,
Teaching her various charms to bloom anew,
And still the raptur'd eye of hopeless love
Shall bend on Thyrsis its delighted view;
Still shall he triumph with resistless pow'r,
Still rule the conquer'd heart to life's remotest hour.

121

TIME's ANSWER.

Sweet flow thy numbers, Oh! ingrateful fair,
And tuneful error marks thy polish'd rhyme
But know tho' mine to give the silver hair,
'Twas thy own Thyrsis, beg'd the boon of time;
Thyrsis high glowing yet in manhood's hour,
Who prematurely sought an earnest of my pow'r,

Mov'd by his pray'r those wintry wreaths I wove,
Twisting my snow-drops with the rose of youth;
But still 'twas Thyrsis's gentle fraud to prove,
His Daphne's friendship, and his Daphnes truth:
“Oh! strew thy partial whitness (thus he said)
“Oh let thy snowy symbols strait invest my head!

122

“So shall I see, if chill'd by thy advance,
“She with life's summer moment's shall recede;
“So shall I see, if with youth's fleeting glance,
“From age's menace, Daphne too shall speed;
“So shall I triumph if I find the fair,
“Defy the snowy wreaths, the monuments of Care.”

Then wherefore tyrant? Fair ingrate 'tis mine,
When falls man's short-liv'd blossom of an hour
To touch affection with a bloom divine,
And proud expand truth's never-dying flower,
To lift fair constancy to seats sublime,
E'en 'bove myself, above the pow'rs of time,

Ah! then let mem'ry and the Muses know,
Thou lovely satyrist shouldst bless my reign;
My pow'rs alone could deathless charms bestow,
Which prov'd the fondness that inspir'd thy strain;
Since but for those white omens of my sway,
The world had wanted Daphne's faithful lay.