University of Virginia Library

On the Widow Scarf, Goddess of the Three-Tuns at Cambridge.

Shall Bradgate's name adorn the poet's verse,
And not one muse Lenora's praise rehearse?
Whose melting looks resistless force impart,
To charm the fight, and captivate the heart;
Whom nature form'd so virtuous, and so fair,
As kindles love, and yet creates despair;

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Tho' warm as wanton Venus, when she strove
On Ida's mount to win the prize of love.
Forbear, rash youth, to trust your wand'ring eyes,
Conceal'd in beauty's smiles perdition lies:
Thus mortals gaze upon the lightning's blast,
Tho' sure to perish in the flame at last.

Fair Queen of Delos, tender thoughts inspire,
Which melt the yielding soul to soft desire!
Let all the Graces hover on the wing,
And aid my fancy, while her charms I sing!
Who borrows blushes from Aurora's dawn,
And breathes more fragrant than the rosy morn;
Like the first scene of opening paradise,
E're nature's beauty was deform'd by vice:

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Whose converse e'en philosophers approve,
And rigid Stoics languish into love:
The wither'd sages, and the blooming young
Attentive listen to the syren's song,
Who knows with skill the mortal part to hit,
And make each coxcomb wonder at her wit.
Tho' courted, humble; tho' admir'd, not vain;
The boasted pride of Granta's female train:
But, cease my muse, nor in too languid lays
Detract from merit, which you mean to praise.