The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop ... To Which are Prefixed, Memoirs of the Life of the Author By the Rev. Thomas Clare |
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 | The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop |  |
42
TO THE SAME,
ON ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY OF THE SAME DAY, WITH A SILVER TEA-POT, AND OTHER PLATE.
Affection, which in humbler Toys,
Has oft expressed it's annual joys,
Boasts no increase, assumes no state,
In these more gaudy gifts of Plate:
Small odds their previous price procures,
Their Worth commences, when they 're Yours:
And Love so just as mine before,
Was never less—nor can be more.
Has oft expressed it's annual joys,
Boasts no increase, assumes no state,
In these more gaudy gifts of Plate:
Small odds their previous price procures,
Their Worth commences, when they 're Yours:
And Love so just as mine before,
Was never less—nor can be more.
I knew you amiably great,
When hallow'd Union join'd our fate;
Whatever part esteem inspir'd,
Or duty taught, or need requir'd,
Took from your Spirit double force;
'Twas good—and it was yours, of course;
Or, vice versâ understood,
Was yours—and therefore it was good.
When hallow'd Union join'd our fate;
43
Or duty taught, or need requir'd,
Took from your Spirit double force;
'Twas good—and it was yours, of course;
Or, vice versâ understood,
Was yours—and therefore it was good.
Imagin'd powers, if fiction drew,
Your real powers made fiction true:
If praise indulged a loftier tone,
'Twas praise of manners—like your own.
Your real powers made fiction true:
If praise indulged a loftier tone,
'Twas praise of manners—like your own.
Years following years disclos'd to sight,
The same dear merit in new light;
Merit, that every light could bear,
More varied, but to seem more fair.
Th' Address, that made my fondest hope,
The centre of it's earlier scope,
With equal latitude still shares
Th' acute excess of all my cares;—
Now, drooping nature to sustain,
Smiles Comfort on the bed of pain:—
Now, shows me on how sure a base,
Temper and Sense build Taste and Grace;—
Now, adds a plume to Fancy's flight:—
Now, points my views to nobler Height.
The same dear merit in new light;
Merit, that every light could bear,
More varied, but to seem more fair.
Th' Address, that made my fondest hope,
The centre of it's earlier scope,
With equal latitude still shares
Th' acute excess of all my cares;—
44
Smiles Comfort on the bed of pain:—
Now, shows me on how sure a base,
Temper and Sense build Taste and Grace;—
Now, adds a plume to Fancy's flight:—
Now, points my views to nobler Height.
Meanwhile, thus cheer'd, assisted, blest,
I ('tis the most I can) attest
My grateful heart's applausive truth,
With paltry Plate, and Rhymes—forsooth!
I ('tis the most I can) attest
My grateful heart's applausive truth,
With paltry Plate, and Rhymes—forsooth!
Yet take 'em, Girl, as meant to prove
Tokens, not measures, of my Love:
If value, more than that, they plead,
They're miserably short indeed!
No Verse can make my feelings known,
While Verse consists of words alone:
No Silver give you half your due,
Till Silver is as pure as You!
Tokens, not measures, of my Love:
If value, more than that, they plead,
They're miserably short indeed!
No Verse can make my feelings known,
While Verse consists of words alone:
No Silver give you half your due,
Till Silver is as pure as You!
| The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop | |