 | The Harp of Erin |  |
197
ADVICE TO TWO ADOPTED SISTERS.
Dear girls, in youth and beauty's prime
Despise not friendship's graver rhyme;
Friendship, that marks your early bloom
Perfection's brightest tints assume.
The tints of modest worth divine,
When sense and harmless wit combine,
Prompt each low passion to control,
Or bind in rosy chains the soul.
Oh, ever-charming! let not Pride,
Usurper bold, your breasts divide,
Nor fashion beauteous nature hide;
Assur'd your soft eyes' radiant hue
Can heal, disturb, and conquer too;
Oh! let not Affectation, queen
Of the nice lisp, the mincing mien,
And studied glance, obscure their rays,
Blighting the bloomy wreath of praise.
Despise not friendship's graver rhyme;
Friendship, that marks your early bloom
Perfection's brightest tints assume.
The tints of modest worth divine,
When sense and harmless wit combine,
Prompt each low passion to control,
Or bind in rosy chains the soul.
Oh, ever-charming! let not Pride,
Usurper bold, your breasts divide,
Nor fashion beauteous nature hide;
Assur'd your soft eyes' radiant hue
Can heal, disturb, and conquer too;
Oh! let not Affectation, queen
Of the nice lisp, the mincing mien,
And studied glance, obscure their rays,
Blighting the bloomy wreath of praise.
Yet, sure, this idly-moral strain
Is both presumptuous and vain;
For well your tender hearts I know;
Hearts formed to melt at every woe,
Virtue to soothe, vice to chastise,
And shine in bounteous pity wise.—
Yet num'rous is the tinsel race
That hover round a lovely face,
As round the candle's beamy blaze
Their brother-insect wildly plays.
When by those ideot suitors prest,
'Mid the gay flatt'rers falsely blest,
Ador'd, and borne by sighs, you move
On the frail, floating, clouds of love;
When fell Deceit, in angel guise,
True demon, plans the pleasing lies;
Look round, and if you haply see
No honest face—oh! think on me.
Is both presumptuous and vain;
198
Hearts formed to melt at every woe,
Virtue to soothe, vice to chastise,
And shine in bounteous pity wise.—
Yet num'rous is the tinsel race
That hover round a lovely face,
As round the candle's beamy blaze
Their brother-insect wildly plays.
When by those ideot suitors prest,
'Mid the gay flatt'rers falsely blest,
Ador'd, and borne by sighs, you move
On the frail, floating, clouds of love;
When fell Deceit, in angel guise,
True demon, plans the pleasing lies;
Look round, and if you haply see
No honest face—oh! think on me.
| The Harp of Erin | |