 | Poems, on various subjects |  |
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LUCY,
A TALE FOR THE LADIES.
When first young Reason lends her ray,
We chearful hail each rising day;
Raptures our guiltless bosoms fill,
Whilst roving o'er the lawn or hill.
The bird, the lamb, the fearful fawn,
The starry night, the breaking dawn,
Dew-drinking cowslip, primrose pale,
Each trifling flow'ret of the vale,
All give us joy, when tender Thought,
With careless innocence is fraught.
The dream is pure, the slumber light,
No fears add horror to the night;
But shelter'd by paternal care,
No forms of future woe appear.
Hail, sacred shades of fondest love,
Where Infancy may safely rove
Unheedful, tho' the distant storm
Destroys a king, or whelms a worm.
We chearful hail each rising day;
Raptures our guiltless bosoms fill,
Whilst roving o'er the lawn or hill.
The bird, the lamb, the fearful fawn,
The starry night, the breaking dawn,
Dew-drinking cowslip, primrose pale,
Each trifling flow'ret of the vale,
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With careless innocence is fraught.
The dream is pure, the slumber light,
No fears add horror to the night;
But shelter'd by paternal care,
No forms of future woe appear.
Hail, sacred shades of fondest love,
Where Infancy may safely rove
Unheedful, tho' the distant storm
Destroys a king, or whelms a worm.
Beneath a Father's rev'rend arms,
Young Lucy slept secure from harms:
On her soft cheek bright Beauty sate,
To melt the frown of surly Fate;
For swift her infant moments waste,
While blushing Youth approach'd in haste;
Bidding her quit the lov'd retreat,
Each self-conducted joy to meet:
Whispers, that Knowledge swells the Great,
That Fortune must the Busy wait;
Yea, more, that Love shall crown her hour,
Nor dark Distrust the blessing sour:
Then adds, that Precept, long possess'd,
From Guilt defends the virtuous breast.
Young Lucy slept secure from harms:
On her soft cheek bright Beauty sate,
To melt the frown of surly Fate;
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While blushing Youth approach'd in haste;
Bidding her quit the lov'd retreat,
Each self-conducted joy to meet:
Whispers, that Knowledge swells the Great,
That Fortune must the Busy wait;
Yea, more, that Love shall crown her hour,
Nor dark Distrust the blessing sour:
Then adds, that Precept, long possess'd,
From Guilt defends the virtuous breast.
New wishes now exulting play;
The doll with scorn is thrown away:
Romance she reads, and gently sighs,
When weak impatient Werter dies.
Deplores Philosophy profan'd,
Religious duties deeper stain'd;
But pities Charlotte, and defends
The Lady 'mid her prudish friends:
Pleads loudly for Platonic Love,
Is sure her bosom ne'er could prove
A passion of less spotless kind,
Than that which sooths the noblest mind.
The doll with scorn is thrown away:
Romance she reads, and gently sighs,
When weak impatient Werter dies.
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Religious duties deeper stain'd;
But pities Charlotte, and defends
The Lady 'mid her prudish friends:
Pleads loudly for Platonic Love,
Is sure her bosom ne'er could prove
A passion of less spotless kind,
Than that which sooths the noblest mind.
Alas, dear Maid, thy gentle soul
Views nought but Virtue thro' the whole;
But coarser wretches will not join,
Their pois'nous breath to pleas like thine.
Views nought but Virtue thro' the whole;
But coarser wretches will not join,
Their pois'nous breath to pleas like thine.
When at the Altar thou hast bow'd,
And Hymen's rites with awe avow'd;
From friendly converse thou must haste,
Tho' ev'ry thought is coldly chaste.
Tho' Lelius proves, from sense refin'd,
That Honour fills his manly mind;
And that each wish from guilt is free,
Yet Malice strikes at him and thee.
And Hymen's rites with awe avow'd;
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Tho' ev'ry thought is coldly chaste.
Tho' Lelius proves, from sense refin'd,
That Honour fills his manly mind;
And that each wish from guilt is free,
Yet Malice strikes at him and thee.
Hard lesson!—Yet, dear girl, 'tis true,
For marriage-rights are very few.
For marriage-rights are very few.
Lelius had bid each passion bend,
In him the richest virtues blend;
And when, at morn or ev'ning pray'r,
Lucy each vagrant sigh would share;
But from the lap of Fortune thrown,
By a stern Father's rigid frown,
He scorn'd that Lucy e'er should share,
With him, the bitter bread of care:
Big Silence swell'd his noble breast,
His eyes, Despair and Love confest;
Yet from his lip no accent flow'd,
That purest Friendship disallow'd:
Hopeless, at length, he sigh'd, adieu,
And o'er the distant hills withdrew.
In him the richest virtues blend;
And when, at morn or ev'ning pray'r,
Lucy each vagrant sigh would share;
But from the lap of Fortune thrown,
By a stern Father's rigid frown,
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With him, the bitter bread of care:
Big Silence swell'd his noble breast,
His eyes, Despair and Love confest;
Yet from his lip no accent flow'd,
That purest Friendship disallow'd:
Hopeless, at length, he sigh'd, adieu,
And o'er the distant hills withdrew.
Lucy oft sought the leafy shade;
Her Father sees the pensive maid;
He, from Experience, cold and wise,
Now lightly weigh'd a Lover's sighs;
But in warm youth, for Celia's sake,
Had restless mourn'd whole nights awake.
And ere the midnight bell had rung,
While Philomel yet loudly sung,
That mimic witch, we Fancy call,
Would bear him o'er this gloomy ball,
To where fair Celia sleeping lay,
In dreams of love dissolv'd away:
He heard the sigh, which gently stole,
Scarce-breathing from her gentle soul;
Ran swiftly o'er each graceful charm,
Which can the gen'rous bosom warm;
Then proudly cry'd, “tho' sunk to rest,
I ever fill my Celia's breast.”
Her Father sees the pensive maid;
He, from Experience, cold and wise,
Now lightly weigh'd a Lover's sighs;
But in warm youth, for Celia's sake,
Had restless mourn'd whole nights awake.
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While Philomel yet loudly sung,
That mimic witch, we Fancy call,
Would bear him o'er this gloomy ball,
To where fair Celia sleeping lay,
In dreams of love dissolv'd away:
He heard the sigh, which gently stole,
Scarce-breathing from her gentle soul;
Ran swiftly o'er each graceful charm,
Which can the gen'rous bosom warm;
Then proudly cry'd, “tho' sunk to rest,
I ever fill my Celia's breast.”
'Twas Fancy all, for Celia's heart
Was fix'd on one less wise, but smart;
For him she murmur'd thro' the night,
For him she curst approaching light,
That chas'd his lovely form away,
While hated lectures waste the day.
Nor did her poorest thought e'er fix
On Mevius, but contempt would mix.
He knew his worth,—was mighty sure
That Wisdom must the heart allure;
That thro' her ear he could impart,
A genuine passion to her heart;
Nor once suspects—most women prize
The arrow pointed thro' the eyes.
Was fix'd on one less wise, but smart;
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For him she curst approaching light,
That chas'd his lovely form away,
While hated lectures waste the day.
Nor did her poorest thought e'er fix
On Mevius, but contempt would mix.
He knew his worth,—was mighty sure
That Wisdom must the heart allure;
That thro' her ear he could impart,
A genuine passion to her heart;
Nor once suspects—most women prize
The arrow pointed thro' the eyes.
By Celia scorn'd—he sought the grove,
And liv'd awhile on mental love;
But as her Image left his mind,
Susceptibility declin'd.
He weds,—but holds this frigid rule,
“Who weds for Love, is quite a fool.”
Nat'ral effect! for Age came on,
And all his dear delights were gone:
That glowing Passion, which had fed
His youthful joys, is ever dead:
Nor can it leave a trace behind,
When Av'rice chills the hoary mind.
And liv'd awhile on mental love;
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Susceptibility declin'd.
He weds,—but holds this frigid rule,
“Who weds for Love, is quite a fool.”
Nat'ral effect! for Age came on,
And all his dear delights were gone:
That glowing Passion, which had fed
His youthful joys, is ever dead:
Nor can it leave a trace behind,
When Av'rice chills the hoary mind.
Thus wise, by past infatuation,
He views his daughter with vexation:
Yet independent Love would rise,
In silent wishes to her eyes.
He views his daughter with vexation:
Yet independent Love would rise,
In silent wishes to her eyes.
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Why should it not?—'tis Nature's plea,
And struggles strong with you and me.
And struggles strong with you and me.
But throwing all her hopes aside,
Old Mevius dooms her Cymon's Bride,
A stupid money-loving man,
Whose soul ne'er stretch'd beyond the plan
Of vulgar sense, and customs own'd,
Nor one rich mental joy had found;
She sighs!—yet hopes one day to prove,
The fair, once wed, may learn to love.
Old Mevius dooms her Cymon's Bride,
A stupid money-loving man,
Whose soul ne'er stretch'd beyond the plan
Of vulgar sense, and customs own'd,
Nor one rich mental joy had found;
She sighs!—yet hopes one day to prove,
The fair, once wed, may learn to love.
Heroic thought! dear Self-denial,
Sure proof of Virtue's strongest trial!
May future conflicts ne'er molest
Thy mind, of Honour thus possest!
Sure proof of Virtue's strongest trial!
May future conflicts ne'er molest
Thy mind, of Honour thus possest!
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The joyless hours now slowly roll;
Confin'd Idea swells her soul:
She pants for converse, soft, yet strong,
In vain!—none flows from Cymon's tongue.
They silent sit; he sinks to sleep,
Leaving the choice—to think, or weep.
Ah! fatal leisure, lost in thought;
Of woe she drinks a deeper draught:
She sees her prospects waste and drear,
In anguish paints each coming year.
Confin'd Idea swells her soul:
She pants for converse, soft, yet strong,
In vain!—none flows from Cymon's tongue.
They silent sit; he sinks to sleep,
Leaving the choice—to think, or weep.
Ah! fatal leisure, lost in thought;
Of woe she drinks a deeper draught:
She sees her prospects waste and drear,
In anguish paints each coming year.
Heav'n sympathetic Joy denies,
While Sentiment expressly dies;
Yet oft, with smiles, she strove to cheer
The gath'ring frowns which would appear
On Cymon's brow; the sullen Brute
Can find no joy, but in dispute.
While Sentiment expressly dies;
Yet oft, with smiles, she strove to cheer
The gath'ring frowns which would appear
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Can find no joy, but in dispute.
Soon to his Gothic mansion rude,
Built in the breast of Solitude,
In haste he hies; and near the seat,
Lelius unknown, had hail'd Retreat.
Wealth smiling came, but came too late
To render wish'd-for joy compleat:
Tho' o'er the hills his flocks were spread,
And Ceres strew'd th'extensive mead.
The golden harvest, fleecy tribes,
Refulgent store which Av'rice bribes,
Eve's gentle hour, or blushing morn,
Ne'er sooth, for he was doom'd to mourn:
Books gave relief, to those he flew;
While Virtue nourish'd, strongly grew.
Built in the breast of Solitude,
In haste he hies; and near the seat,
Lelius unknown, had hail'd Retreat.
Wealth smiling came, but came too late
To render wish'd-for joy compleat:
Tho' o'er the hills his flocks were spread,
And Ceres strew'd th'extensive mead.
The golden harvest, fleecy tribes,
Refulgent store which Av'rice bribes,
Eve's gentle hour, or blushing morn,
Ne'er sooth, for he was doom'd to mourn:
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While Virtue nourish'd, strongly grew.
Cymon retir'd, no joy can find;
His best support, a vacant mind:
His gentler neighbour soon addrest,
And Lelius was his chosen guest.
His best support, a vacant mind:
His gentler neighbour soon addrest,
And Lelius was his chosen guest.
When Husbands choose a pleasing friend,
Much, sure, must on the Wife depend;
Yet surly tyrants ne'er will own,
Platonic Love exists alone.
In this the Men are fairly out,
For Sterling Virtue solves the doubt.
Much, sure, must on the Wife depend;
Yet surly tyrants ne'er will own,
Platonic Love exists alone.
In this the Men are fairly out,
For Sterling Virtue solves the doubt.
Lelius on Lucy six'd his eyes,
But check'd the painful, vain surprise.
A fix'd despair was now his own,
Whilst Honour bade him stand unknown:
From his wan cheek fair Health was fled;
Resistless Languor o'er him spread;
And oft the deep-laid sigh would start,
Unbidden from his burden'd heart:
Yet the soft converse pleas'd he hears,
When Cymon's wife the story shares:
And when the charming pleader ends,
He ev'ry moral proof defends.
Congenial Sentiment appears,
In all he sees, in all he hears.
The gentle balm sooths ev'ry grief,
Granting a poor, a short relief;
For still a prey to latent Woe,
Death's stride was sure, tho' seeming slow.
But check'd the painful, vain surprise.
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Whilst Honour bade him stand unknown:
From his wan cheek fair Health was fled;
Resistless Languor o'er him spread;
And oft the deep-laid sigh would start,
Unbidden from his burden'd heart:
Yet the soft converse pleas'd he hears,
When Cymon's wife the story shares:
And when the charming pleader ends,
He ev'ry moral proof defends.
Congenial Sentiment appears,
In all he sees, in all he hears.
The gentle balm sooths ev'ry grief,
Granting a poor, a short relief;
For still a prey to latent Woe,
Death's stride was sure, tho' seeming slow.
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To Lucy oft he'd faintly read,
Athwart the lawn and dewy mead;
Or gaze, reflecting on the stream,
Emblem of life's too fleeting dream;
On which Event is borne away,
Scorning with fool, or sage, to stay;
But when the thunders roll'd around,
While Nature trembled at the sound;
He rais'd her timid Fancy higher,
To catch the pale electric fire.
Athwart the lawn and dewy mead;
Or gaze, reflecting on the stream,
Emblem of life's too fleeting dream;
On which Event is borne away,
Scorning with fool, or sage, to stay;
But when the thunders roll'd around,
While Nature trembled at the sound;
He rais'd her timid Fancy higher,
To catch the pale electric fire.
Hark, Lucy! Censure lifts her tongue;
On its fell point thy name is hung.
Now striding o'er the villa's near,
Nor thee, nor Lelius, will she spare;
But breathing strong the venom'd blast,
Fame's brighter trophies down are cast.
On its fell point thy name is hung.
Now striding o'er the villa's near,
Nor thee, nor Lelius, will she spare;
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Fame's brighter trophies down are cast.
Good Wives, whose wishes ne'er were try'd,
And therefore on the surest side;
Who ne'er could dare e'en Friendship's ray,
Lest weak Resolve should melt away;
Now meet, and whilst the dish goes round,
Their darling topic loudly sound:
Religion, Politics, they hate;
Their early faults they throw on Fate:
But Scandal! dear delightful strain,
Sounds thro' the roof—nor sounds in vain.
And therefore on the surest side;
Who ne'er could dare e'en Friendship's ray,
Lest weak Resolve should melt away;
Now meet, and whilst the dish goes round,
Their darling topic loudly sound:
Religion, Politics, they hate;
Their early faults they throw on Fate:
But Scandal! dear delightful strain,
Sounds thro' the roof—nor sounds in vain.
To Cymon's ear it wings its flight;
He, conscious of a husband's right,
Stares full on Lucy with vexation,
Talks loudly of lost Reputation;
Swears he'll no British husband prove,
And coarsely rails at Wives and Love.
He, conscious of a husband's right,
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Talks loudly of lost Reputation;
Swears he'll no British husband prove,
And coarsely rails at Wives and Love.
With cold contempt, the fair one hears
Her husband's threats and jealous fears;
Yet the weak sigh, or tear, restrains,
For real Virtue ne'er complains.
A chillness o'er her bosom stole,
While blank Indiff'rence fill'd her soul:
But Cymon ne'er knew how to prove,
The languid spark of dying love;
He snatch'd from Duty's with'ring hand,
Pale Joy, which shrunk from stern command.
Her husband's threats and jealous fears;
Yet the weak sigh, or tear, restrains,
For real Virtue ne'er complains.
A chillness o'er her bosom stole,
While blank Indiff'rence fill'd her soul:
But Cymon ne'er knew how to prove,
The languid spark of dying love;
He snatch'd from Duty's with'ring hand,
Pale Joy, which shrunk from stern command.
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To Lelius flew the line severe,
Enrich'd with Lucy's silent tear:
The mandate rous'd his fainting thought,
Which back each guiltless pleasure brought.
Conscious of injur'd Fame, he tries
His rectitude of soul, but flies
The task—for public Fame he knew,
To secret Virtue ne'er was true.
Enrich'd with Lucy's silent tear:
The mandate rous'd his fainting thought,
Which back each guiltless pleasure brought.
Conscious of injur'd Fame, he tries
His rectitude of soul, but flies
The task—for public Fame he knew,
To secret Virtue ne'er was true.
To heav'n he cast his mournful eyes;
All joyless seem'd the earth and skies:
“It's past,” he cry'd, “Friendship's no more;
Nor dare I murmur, or implore.
Oh! stubborn Honour, fix'd on thee,
Th'immortal spirit dares be free:
'Tis thou canst bid my soul ascend,
Far o'er the weak or guilty friend.
And when my shorten'd voyage is past,
Thy bright reflection still shall last.”
All joyless seem'd the earth and skies:
“It's past,” he cry'd, “Friendship's no more;
Nor dare I murmur, or implore.
Oh! stubborn Honour, fix'd on thee,
Th'immortal spirit dares be free:
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Far o'er the weak or guilty friend.
And when my shorten'd voyage is past,
Thy bright reflection still shall last.”
More languid grown; his heaving breast,
By pond'rous death, is closely prest:
He gives the struggle o'er, and cries,
“A last adieu,”—then groans, and dies.
By pond'rous death, is closely prest:
He gives the struggle o'er, and cries,
“A last adieu,”—then groans, and dies.
Now stab his Mem'ry! ye that quote
Cold lines from slighted prudes, by rote;
Or ye, who preach in language faint,
Of early dupe, since made a saint;
Be this your task: for well you know,
Quick to convert our bliss to woe;
Be't yours to blast Life's purest joy,
And Friendship's dear delights destroy.
Cold lines from slighted prudes, by rote;
Or ye, who preach in language faint,
Of early dupe, since made a saint;
Be this your task: for well you know,
Quick to convert our bliss to woe;
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And Friendship's dear delights destroy.
The Parthian thus from conflict flies;
Yet flying still, the foe defies.
He backward shoots the random dart,
And wounds a more deserving heart.
Yet flying still, the foe defies.
He backward shoots the random dart,
And wounds a more deserving heart.
“Our flight is conquest;”—true, my friends,
When Vict'ry's wreath on flight depends:
But when the glory must be won,
By conflict, or the mind undone;
Then, dare you conquer? Dare you own
Poor Virtue for herself alone?
No; 'tis not your illiberal souls,
The angel on her list enrolls.
When Vict'ry's wreath on flight depends:
But when the glory must be won,
By conflict, or the mind undone;
Then, dare you conquer? Dare you own
Poor Virtue for herself alone?
No; 'tis not your illiberal souls,
The angel on her list enrolls.
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Lelius is gone; sad Lucy hears
His passing bell at morning pray'rs;
Her spirit faints; Devotion fled
Before the Image of the dead;
Lelius usurps the vacant seat,
Bidding e'en charming Faith retreat.
His passing bell at morning pray'rs;
Her spirit faints; Devotion fled
Before the Image of the dead;
Lelius usurps the vacant seat,
Bidding e'en charming Faith retreat.
Ah, unavailing Mem'ry, cease!
Nor thus intrude on wounded peace;
But bid thy tints of pleasure last!
Ah, animate the joy that's past!
Ne'er let thy Pencil fainter grow,
But give to Time thy richest glow:
Then shall thy Images delight,
And Fancy sooth the wretches' night.
Nor thus intrude on wounded peace;
But bid thy tints of pleasure last!
Ah, animate the joy that's past!
Ne'er let thy Pencil fainter grow,
But give to Time thy richest glow:
Then shall thy Images delight,
And Fancy sooth the wretches' night.
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Intent on present grief, the mind
Ne'er heeds her hoard of bliss behind:
Or taught by freezing precept, deems
Her once-lov'd pleasures, fleeting dreams;
Ye Sages say, which should we mourn,
Those valu'd joys that ne'er return?
Or ills, which passing swell the store,
Of hated sorrow gone before?
Ne'er heeds her hoard of bliss behind:
Or taught by freezing precept, deems
Her once-lov'd pleasures, fleeting dreams;
Ye Sages say, which should we mourn,
Those valu'd joys that ne'er return?
Or ills, which passing swell the store,
Of hated sorrow gone before?
To me, thy joys, dear Mem'ry give!
For while thy purer transports live,
Anguish shall fade at Friendship's name,
Till Death's fell dews shall quench her flame.
For while thy purer transports live,
Anguish shall fade at Friendship's name,
Till Death's fell dews shall quench her flame.
Now Lucy joyless spends the hour,
Still Cymon grew more stern and sour:
She reads, and o'er her prospect mourns;
He burns her book, her mildness scorns.
Still Cymon grew more stern and sour:
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He burns her book, her mildness scorns.
Repeated insult wounds her mind;
Too swift her lovely form declin'd.
Bright wit in languid silence dies;
The pointed rapture leaves her eyes;
Her heart with deep affliction heaves,
Whose pang soft sympathy relieves;
But wanting that congenial tear,
Ne'er hails the gross or vulgar ear.
Too swift her lovely form declin'd.
Bright wit in languid silence dies;
The pointed rapture leaves her eyes;
Her heart with deep affliction heaves,
Whose pang soft sympathy relieves;
But wanting that congenial tear,
Ne'er hails the gross or vulgar ear.
She dies! and Cymon's poignant grief,
Is finely wrought in bas-relief.
To prove he does his wife lament,
How grand, superb, her monument:
There weeping angels cut in stone,
The rose snapt off ere fully blown,
The empty urn—must surely prove,
Cymon's deep sorrow, and his love.
Is finely wrought in bas-relief.
To prove he does his wife lament,
How grand, superb, her monument:
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The rose snapt off ere fully blown,
The empty urn—must surely prove,
Cymon's deep sorrow, and his love.
| Poems, on various subjects | |