Poems to Thespia :: :: University of Virginia Library

It is not strange, that in my Thespia's eye
Amaze and anger should appear, when told
That gentle Doris had, without a sigh,
Resign'd her charms to age, for worthless gold.

In all her features delicacy reign'd;
What bright, transparent tints her cheeks o'erspread!
The snow beneath (as it that veil disdain'd)
With softest swell seem'd vanquishing the red.

Mild were her glances as the ray of eve,
When the lark sits and meditates his flight;
Her voice might anguish of it's sting bereave,
Or smoothe, like Philomel, the frowns of night.

Her sentiments proclaim'd a spotless heart,
Where dwelt the nicest sense of praise and shame
Nature's disciple, undisguised by art,
She seem'd as born for love's and friendship's flame.

No wonder thou, my Thespia, should'st the tale
Astonisht hear: more skill'd in human-kind,
Versed in their failings, I myself turn'd pale,
Such youth, such beauty, such deceit to find.

Thou see'st how avarice may her serpent face
Amid the flowers of female sweetness hide;
How thinking we behold each female grace,
We view the complicated mask of pride.

Hapless! who thus around Love's soaring wing
Can bind the glittering, ignominious chain;
Stop nature's current, taint her limpid spring,
And prostitute, thro choice, their souls for gain!

On these, who boast a woman's form alone,
Let not my Thespia waste a single thought!
Hers be the robe of honour, virtue's zone,
And fame, and generous love, and charms unbought!

Should Youth the most adorn'd, with wealth combine,
My soul at ease, would not a rival dread;
For constancy hath fix'd with rosy twine
The never-fading chaplet on her head.

Should Fate a decent competence supply,
Redundant treasure would to her be given;
Should it (while love was granted) that deny,
For it's best gift her thanks would rise to Heaven.

The mean, my Fair, and abject of thy sex
Yield not the faintest light to judge of thee;
My settled faith no jarring doubts perplex,
Thy hopes, thy fears are center'd all in me.

E'en beneath poverty's incumbent load,
Our hearts would glow with unextinguish'd fire;
While we together trod the uneven road,
A groan would not be heard, a sigh transpire.

Should I be doom'd another's flock to tend,
Without regret the change I see thee bear;
To duty's humblest step, serene descend,
My love the full reward of every care.

With what reluctance, at the break of day,
Bid we adieu! How oft reverts my sight!
How do we chide the tardy sun's delay!
And with what rapture hail the approach of night!

While temperance pleased surveys our homely fare,
Our slender beverage while content supplies,
Let festive luxury cull her viands rare,
Grateful we sit, and uninvidious rise.

Then, e'er with fondness we retire to rest,
Conversing bland, life's mingled scenes we view;
From these delight gay-beaming warms our breast,
And those impearl our cheeks with pity's dew.

Or not forsaken by the tuneful Nine,
With sweetest descant I the time beguile,
Mark how my Thespia's eyes with transport shine,
Nor covet aught, but her approving smile.

The rural matron, and the grey-hair'd sire
Devoutly wish their children's lot the same;
Thy prudence, meekness, neatness of attire,
My industry, and love, their precepts frame.

Oh Thespia! not the wealth of worlds could buy
From thee a link of our soul-bracing chain;
And should affliction, should misfortune try
To break it's union, they would strive in vain.

Thou know'st to value love; how incomplete
Without his aid, how small is pleasure's store;
Without his aid, how wretched are the great,
Favour'd by him, what joys may bless the poor.