 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
An Epistle to a young Lady.
How shall the muse exert the poet's art,
To speak each strong emotion of the heart;
Each tender sentiment thy looks inspire,
When nature languishes to soft desire;
When all the faculties to Venus yield,
And Pallas quits the long disputed field?
To speak each strong emotion of the heart;
Each tender sentiment thy looks inspire,
When nature languishes to soft desire;
When all the faculties to Venus yield,
And Pallas quits the long disputed field?
246
'Tis not the lustre of a sparkling eye,
Or rosy cheek, that prompts the frequent sigh;
Each feature glowing in the bloom of youth,
That captivates like innocence and truth:
But when a pleasing form, like yours, we find
United to the virtues of the mind;
From such prevailing charms to guard the will
Exceeds the weaker pow'r of human skill.
How hard is the condition of your fate,
For loving form'd, yet taught mankind to hate?
If the soft passion in your bosom burns,
Stern honour will admit no kind returns;
But like a rigid parent's hand denies
Each seeming good, from which your pleasures rise.
Why should that tyrant custom so prevail,
As to indulge our sex in being frail?
Yet, if weak woman chance to go astray,
In paths of bliss, where nature leads the way;
Eternal infamy shall blot her name,
From the bright register of female fame.
Or rosy cheek, that prompts the frequent sigh;
Each feature glowing in the bloom of youth,
That captivates like innocence and truth:
But when a pleasing form, like yours, we find
United to the virtues of the mind;
From such prevailing charms to guard the will
Exceeds the weaker pow'r of human skill.
How hard is the condition of your fate,
For loving form'd, yet taught mankind to hate?
If the soft passion in your bosom burns,
Stern honour will admit no kind returns;
But like a rigid parent's hand denies
Each seeming good, from which your pleasures rise.
Why should that tyrant custom so prevail,
As to indulge our sex in being frail?
247
In paths of bliss, where nature leads the way;
Eternal infamy shall blot her name,
From the bright register of female fame.
When my soul pants with rapture to enjoy
Those pleasures, which in you would never cloy;
Had I the language of persuasive love,
With sympathetic force, your heart to move:
Such ill presaging thoughts of future harms
Would curse me, while I revell'd in your arms;
Lest any pregnant sign of guilt appear,
To cloud each feature with a falling tear;
To cast a veil of sorrow o'er your eyes,
And make your bosom heave with plaintive sighs.
How could I bear to see a lovely maid
To the world's bleak contempt by me betray'd,
Where female malice points the hand of scorn,
To brand with infamy the fair forlorn?
Such thoughts as these in easy numbers roll,
When your dear image charms my ravish'd soul:
Each sanguine hope, and every tender fear,
As in my faithful heart, is painted here.
What calm philosophy can teach the mind
In such a doubtful state to be resign'd?
To bear the rapture of a burning kiss,
Yet shudder at the thought of greater bliss;
To gaze with transport on the blooming fair,
Yet languish for her sake in cold despair?
If such a conduct merit some regard,
Let your kind wishes be my just reward!
Those pleasures, which in you would never cloy;
Had I the language of persuasive love,
With sympathetic force, your heart to move:
Such ill presaging thoughts of future harms
Would curse me, while I revell'd in your arms;
Lest any pregnant sign of guilt appear,
To cloud each feature with a falling tear;
To cast a veil of sorrow o'er your eyes,
And make your bosom heave with plaintive sighs.
248
To the world's bleak contempt by me betray'd,
Where female malice points the hand of scorn,
To brand with infamy the fair forlorn?
Such thoughts as these in easy numbers roll,
When your dear image charms my ravish'd soul:
Each sanguine hope, and every tender fear,
As in my faithful heart, is painted here.
What calm philosophy can teach the mind
In such a doubtful state to be resign'd?
To bear the rapture of a burning kiss,
Yet shudder at the thought of greater bliss;
To gaze with transport on the blooming fair,
Yet languish for her sake in cold despair?
If such a conduct merit some regard,
Let your kind wishes be my just reward!
| Poems on Several Occasions | |