 | The Poems of St. George Tucker of Williamsburg, Virginia 1752-1827 |  |
38
The Belles of Williamsburg
Wilt thou, adventurous pen, describe,
The gay, delightful, silken tribe,
That maddens all our city;
Nor dread, lest while you foolish claim,
A near approach to beauty's flame,
Icarus' fate may hit ye!
The gay, delightful, silken tribe,
That maddens all our city;
Nor dread, lest while you foolish claim,
A near approach to beauty's flame,
Icarus' fate may hit ye!
With singed pinions tumbling down,
The scorn and laughter of the town,
Thou'lt rue thy daring flight,
While every miss, with cool contempt,
Affronted by the bold attempt,
Will tittering, view thy plight.
The scorn and laughter of the town,
Thou'lt rue thy daring flight,
While every miss, with cool contempt,
Affronted by the bold attempt,
Will tittering, view thy plight.
Yet girls, to you devoted ever,
The object still of our endeavor,
Is somehow to amuse ye;
And if, instead of higher praise,
You only laugh at these rude lays,
We'll willing excuse ye.
The object still of our endeavor,
Is somehow to amuse ye;
And if, instead of higher praise,
You only laugh at these rude lays,
We'll willing excuse ye.
Advance then, each illustrious maid,
In order bright, to our parade,
With beauty's ensigns gay!
And first two nymphs who rural plains
Forsook, disdaining rustic swains,
And here exert their sway.
In order bright, to our parade,
With beauty's ensigns gay!
And first two nymphs who rural plains
Forsook, disdaining rustic swains,
And here exert their sway.
Myrtilla's beauties, who can paint!
The well-turned form, the glowing taint,
May deck a common creature;
But who can make the expressive soul,
With lively sense inform the whole,
And light up every feature?
The well-turned form, the glowing taint,
May deck a common creature;
But who can make the expressive soul,
With lively sense inform the whole,
And light up every feature?
39
At church Myrtilla lowly kneels,
No passion but devotion feels,
No smiles her looks environ;
But let her thoughts to pleasure fly.
The basilisk is in her eye,
And on her tongue the siren.
No passion but devotion feels,
No smiles her looks environ;
But let her thoughts to pleasure fly.
The basilisk is in her eye,
And on her tongue the siren.
Fond youth! no longer gaze—beware,
Lest once enclosed, the dangerous fair,
May leave you in the lurch:
The god who poets makes his case,
I supplicate, that I may ne'er
Behold her—but at church.
Lest once enclosed, the dangerous fair,
May leave you in the lurch:
The god who poets makes his case,
I supplicate, that I may ne'er
Behold her—but at church.
More vivid beauty, fresher bloom,
With taints from nature's richest loom,
In Sylvia's features glow:
Would she Myrtilla's arts apply,
And catch the magic of her eye.
She'd rule the world below.
With taints from nature's richest loom,
In Sylvia's features glow:
Would she Myrtilla's arts apply,
And catch the magic of her eye.
She'd rule the world below.
See Laura, sprightly nymph, advance,
Thro' all the mazes of the dance,
With light, fantastic toe!
See laughter sparkling in her eyes!
At her approach new joys arise,
New fires within us glow.
Thro' all the mazes of the dance,
With light, fantastic toe!
See laughter sparkling in her eyes!
At her approach new joys arise,
New fires within us glow.
40
Such sweetness in her look is seen,
Such brilliant elegance of mien,
So jaunty and so airy;
Her image in our fancy reigns,
All night she gallops thru' our brains,
Like little Mab, the fairy.
Such brilliant elegance of mien,
So jaunty and so airy;
Her image in our fancy reigns,
All night she gallops thru' our brains,
Like little Mab, the fairy.
Aspasia next, with kindred soul,
Disdains the passions that control
Each gently pleasing art:
Her sportive wit, her frolic lays,
And graceful form attract our praise,
And steal away the heart.
Disdains the passions that control
Each gently pleasing art:
Her sportive wit, her frolic lays,
And graceful form attract our praise,
And steal away the heart.
We see in gentle Delia's face,
Expressed by every melting grace,
The sweet complacent mind
While hovering round her, soft desires
And hope, gay smiling fan their fires,
Each shepherd thinks her kind.
Expressed by every melting grace,
The sweet complacent mind
While hovering round her, soft desires
And hope, gay smiling fan their fires,
Each shepherd thinks her kind.
The god of love mistook the maid
For his own Psyche, and 'tis said
He still remains her slave:
And when the boy directs her eyes,
To pierce where every passion lies,
Not age itself can save!
For his own Psyche, and 'tis said
He still remains her slave:
And when the boy directs her eyes,
To pierce where every passion lies,
Not age itself can save!
With pensive look, and head reclined,
Sweet emblems of the purest mind,
Lo! where Cordelia sits;
On Dion's image dwells the fair,
Dion, the thunderbolt of war,
The prince of modern wits!
Sweet emblems of the purest mind,
Lo! where Cordelia sits;
On Dion's image dwells the fair,
Dion, the thunderbolt of war,
The prince of modern wits!
Not far removed from her side
Statira sits in beauty's pride,
And rolls about her eyes:
Thrice happy for the unwary heart,
That affection blunts the dart,
Which from her quiver flies.
Statira sits in beauty's pride,
And rolls about her eyes:
Thrice happy for the unwary heart,
That affection blunts the dart,
Which from her quiver flies.
41
Whence does that beam of beauty dawn?
What luster overspreads the lawn?
What suns those rays dispense?
From Artemisia's brow they came;
From Artemisia's eyes the flame;
That dazzles every sense.
What luster overspreads the lawn?
What suns those rays dispense?
From Artemisia's brow they came;
From Artemisia's eyes the flame;
That dazzles every sense.
But who is she, whose massy chain
A motley tribe of youths sustain
And frisk and dance around her?
Like Cerberus they guard the fair,
With triple clamors fill the air,
And with the din confound her.
A motley tribe of youths sustain
And frisk and dance around her?
Like Cerberus they guard the fair,
With triple clamors fill the air,
And with the din confound her.
'Tis Melissandra, matchless fair!
The widowed prey to black despair
By Damon's loss oppressed,
Whom neither fond attempts to gain,
Nor antic gambols in her chain
Can banish from her breast.
The widowed prey to black despair
By Damon's loss oppressed,
Whom neither fond attempts to gain,
Nor antic gambols in her chain
Can banish from her breast.
Thrice happy Damon, that you died,
Where sepulture is ne'er denied,
To any pious swain!
For if, on this side of the Styx,
You wandered still, such curious tricks
Might bring you back again.
Where sepulture is ne'er denied,
To any pious swain!
For if, on this side of the Styx,
You wandered still, such curious tricks
Might bring you back again.
At length fatigued with beauty's blaze
The feeble muse no more essays
Her picture to complete,
The promised charms of younger girls,
When nature the gay scene unfurls,
Some happier bard shall treat.
The feeble muse no more essays
Her picture to complete,
The promised charms of younger girls,
When nature the gay scene unfurls,
Some happier bard shall treat.
1777.
| The Poems of St. George Tucker of Williamsburg, Virginia 1752-1827 | |