 | A Collection Of Poems |  |
142
To a Young LADY in the Country.
Thou happy Stranger to thy Sexes Arts,
And each dear Toy that cleaves to Female Hearts,
Whose Soul such heav'nly Qualities displays,
An Angel's form, is an inferior Praise.
Shine on in silent State, like hidden Ore,
Conceal'd till piercing Eyes thy worth explore;
Till the Heav'n favour'd Man by Pallas' aid
Behind the Cloud discerns the Goddess laid.
While Fops, like Hamlet's Mother, wond'ring stare,
In vain with aiding Glasses seek the Fair;
To Eyes of Fools invisible as Air.
Love lays his Golden Arrows at thy Feet
To pierce the Wise, the Virtuous, and the Great,
Resigns the Quiver, whose unerring aim,
Pierc'd Eleonora, never dying Name.
Who with strong Passion more than Woman dar'd,
Nor by black Death, nor Danger's Form deterr'd,
She suck'd the Poison, and restor'd her Lord.
And each dear Toy that cleaves to Female Hearts,
Whose Soul such heav'nly Qualities displays,
An Angel's form, is an inferior Praise.
Shine on in silent State, like hidden Ore,
Conceal'd till piercing Eyes thy worth explore;
Till the Heav'n favour'd Man by Pallas' aid
Behind the Cloud discerns the Goddess laid.
While Fops, like Hamlet's Mother, wond'ring stare,
In vain with aiding Glasses seek the Fair;
To Eyes of Fools invisible as Air.
143
To pierce the Wise, the Virtuous, and the Great,
Resigns the Quiver, whose unerring aim,
Pierc'd Eleonora, never dying Name.
Who with strong Passion more than Woman dar'd,
Nor by black Death, nor Danger's Form deterr'd,
She suck'd the Poison, and restor'd her Lord.
The God with Leaden Darts in cruel sport
Rules at the Playhouse, Masquerade, and Court.
Hence the unequal Pair, the sighing Bride,
Trembling her Hand, the holy Knot is tied;
Slow from her Tongue (as if some dreadful Curse
Cleav'd to the Sound) th'unwilling Accent bursts.
Ten thousand Plagues, a Heart for Life to bleed,
Eternal discord, an unnatural Bed,
All in one comprehensive Word decreed.
Rules at the Playhouse, Masquerade, and Court.
Hence the unequal Pair, the sighing Bride,
Trembling her Hand, the holy Knot is tied;
Slow from her Tongue (as if some dreadful Curse
Cleav'd to the Sound) th'unwilling Accent bursts.
Ten thousand Plagues, a Heart for Life to bleed,
Eternal discord, an unnatural Bed,
All in one comprehensive Word decreed.
Where e're thy Arrows light, good Humour reigns,
And sweet complacence heals the Lover's Pains;
Wing'd with soft Innocence they cut the Air,
Tipp'd with a Gentle, but undying Fire;
Pure as what Vesta's pale Ey'd Virgins guide,
Snatch'd from some Spartan Dame's unspotted Side,
Or from the Heart of Lucreece when she dy'd.
The same which made Rome's stubborn Patriot's melt,
By Portia kindled, and by Brutus felt;
Whose Fires eternal Burn, nor know decay,
Till with Life's fading lamp they Die away.
And sweet complacence heals the Lover's Pains;
144
Tipp'd with a Gentle, but undying Fire;
Pure as what Vesta's pale Ey'd Virgins guide,
Snatch'd from some Spartan Dame's unspotted Side,
Or from the Heart of Lucreece when she dy'd.
The same which made Rome's stubborn Patriot's melt,
By Portia kindled, and by Brutus felt;
Whose Fires eternal Burn, nor know decay,
Till with Life's fading lamp they Die away.
| A Collection Of Poems | |