The Poems of Robert Bloomfield In Three Volumes |
I. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
II. |
A WORD
TO
TWO YOUNG LADIES. |
III. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | ||
105
A WORD TO TWO YOUNG LADIES.
I
When tender Rose-trees first receive,On half-expanded Leaves, the Shower;
Hope's gayest pictures we believe,
And anxious watch each coming flower.
II
Then, if beneath the genial SunThat spreads abroad the full-blown May,
Two infant Stems the rest out-run,
Their buds the first to meet the day,
106
III
With joy their op'ning tints we view,While morning's precious moments fly.
My pretty Maids, 'tis thus with you,
The fond admiring gazer, I.
IV
Preserve, sweet Buds, where'er you be,The richest gem that decks a Wife;
The charm of female modesty;
And let sweet Music give it life.
V
Still may the favoring Muse be found:Still circumspect the paths ye tread:
Plant moral truths in Fancy's ground;
And meet old Age without a dread.
107
VI
Yet, ere that comes, while yet ye quaffThe cup of Health without a pain,
I'll shake my grey hairs when you laugh,
And, when you sing, be young again.
Both the young Ladies had addressed to me a few complimentary lines, (and I am sorry that those of the elder sister were never in my possession;) in return for which I sent the above. It was received on the day on which the younger completed her ninth year. Surely it cannot be ascribed to vanity, if, in gratitude to a most amiable family, I here preserve verbatim an effort of a child nine years old. I have the more pleasure in doing it, because I know them to be her own.—R. B.
“Accept, dear Bard, the Muse's genuine thought,
“And take not ill the tribute of my heart:—
“For thee the laureate wreath of praise I'll bind;
“None that have read thy commendable mind
“Can let it pass unnotic'd—nor can I—
“For by thy lays I know thy sympathy.”
“And take not ill the tribute of my heart:—
“For thee the laureate wreath of praise I'll bind;
“None that have read thy commendable mind
“Can let it pass unnotic'd—nor can I—
“For by thy lays I know thy sympathy.”
F. P
The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | ||