The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Accept, fair Nymph! the strains thy merits claim
Nor spurn a Bardling, little known to fame;
Who, tho' ne'er nurs'd in Courts, or Camps, can see,
With warmth, Attractions, which distinguish Thee!
For dull's the visual nerve, that ne'er discerns,
How bright, o'er twinkling tapers, Phœbus burns;
And dull the Soul which piety inspires
With no kind feelings, no congenial fires.

No views of interest tempt a sordid lay—
No traitorous Passion tracks so sweet a prey—
No specious Flattery forms insidious lure,
To trap a form so fair, a heart so pure;
Nor proud Ambition stalks its way to fame,
Seduc'd by visions hovering round a Name.

A simple Swain presumes to touch the string,
Of obvious virtues, vivid charms, to sing,
Yet scorns to chaunt one note before the shrine,
Of fading forms, alone, ev'n one like Thine.
The subtlest mischiefs often lurking lie,
In leaves, and flow'rs, and fruits, of richest dye;
The fairest features, like the Laurel's shine,
May lucid looks with venom'd Vice combine—
The roseate cheek, and bosom's snow-drop veil,
May Envy's shades, and sharpest Hate conceal,
And sable eyes that beam perpetual smile,
May, like the Nightshade's berries, oft beguile;
But figs, and grapes, of Piety, adorn
No thriftless Thistle, and no thankless Thorn.

What eye, unflush'd with rapture, could behold
Bright Murray, form'd in Nature's finish'd mould,
Recline that finish'd Form towards humble Earth,
To thank the God that gave those beauties birth.
While other Fair, with far inferior charms,
Whose wayward bosoms wild ambition warms,
In weak pursuits the sacred moments waste,
To deck external charms that cannot last;
Or vex intention, with uncertain aim,
To chace a shadow, or to purchase shame;
But banefully neglect the better parts,
Well-regulated heads, and gracious hearts.

By futile tricks of Art they strive to gain,
What Providence, in Thee, has render'd vain,
Has built a structure Art can ne'er assume,
And spread around the rose and lily's bloom;
And shewn the path where Peace, and Pleasure stray,
By proving pious Love must lead the way.

Then, peerless Nymph! with wonted smiles, attend
The heartfelt dictates of a humble Friend;
Who aims not, thus, to win thy gentle ear,

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By whispering baneful Vice, or Folly, there;
But fain would fix Thee in thy virtuous track,
Lest Flattery, Fame, or Fortune, turn Thee back.

Would'st Thou preserve thy native charms, divine?
Still let their splendour, unaffected shine—
Still unsophisticated Form, and Face,
Avouch their origin of heavenly race.
Who e'er attempts to raise the Rose's glow?
Or add a whiteness to the virgin Snow?
Tells the straight Poplar to erect its head?
Or sprinkles perfumes on the Violet's bed?
Who can prefer clipp'd Yews, or formal Box
To waving Woods or Willow's dangling locks?
The mimic phrases of the chattering Jay,
To tuneful warblings from the vernal spray?
Or think the Turkey struts, with finer mien,
Than Swan, smooth sailing o'er the watery scene.

If this short Life such energies requires,
To catch its shadows, fill its fond desires—
Such constant labour, and such care, deserves,
To climb its mountains, and to trace its curves;
While copying Fashion's, following Custom's laws,
To gain Man's graceless smiles, and frail applause—
Perform whate'er its fickle Friendship asks,
Its idle studies, and its endless tasks;
Endeavouring, daily, its rewards to win,
With Virtue's loss, and hourly loads of Sin.
To please the Body, pamper every Sense,
The price of health and peace and Soul's expence,
Incurring every curse by every crime,
For transient pleasures scatter'd round by Time.
If hopes, like these, provoke thy prompt, pursuits,
Earth's deleterious flow'rs, and deadly fruits—
If such vain objects thy exertions claim,
In giddy quest to seek precarious game—
Such weak amusements captivate thy Will,
The World's mad maxims fondly to fulfil;
How much more anxious diligence is due,
To practise duties this short journey through;
And, when its trials, and its troubles, end,
Find Heav'n a safe retreat, and God a Friend.
Such deathless objects claim intenser care,
Too lightly valued by the Young and Fair!
If days of shadowy joy demand a thought,
How much immortal, boundless, blessings ought!
If dying charms impose half Life's employ,
Then what is due to those that never die!
If earthly Station stamps its owner Great,
How far superior ranks celestial State!
If transitory Wealth yields high Renown,
How nobler shines a never-fading Crown!
If titled Names are thought such valued things
How great's the Bride of Heav'n's King of Kings!

Fear not such pure pursuits, thou matchless Maid!
Thy face can tarnish, or thy form degrade,
The Candidate for Heav'n will stand erect,
Nor Body's beauties more than Soul's neglect,
Considering both bestow'd by Heav'n, in trust,
To keep from all Impurity, and Lust,
Till the bless'd Lender summons back the Loan,
To shine in bliss before th' eternal throne.
Meanwhile pure Morals with Religion join,
To make the frame, and every feature, shine—
Wisdom adds Lustre to the brightest eyes—
The best cosmetics Purity supplies;
While Piety diffuses fuller light,
To charm each Soul, and ravish every Sight!
But Pride and Passion spoil the fairest face,
Distort the Body, and the Soul debase;
While Vice and Folly more the Mind degrade,
And give complexions pure the grossest shade.

Did Reynolds paint a Cherub, he would chuse
The lovely Subject of my rustic Muse,
When her exalted eyes so meekly swam,
Before the altar of the bleeding Lamb;
Or her seraphic soul, and tuneful tongue,
Sigh'd the soft prayer, or swell'd the solemn song;
Demonstrating the mental pow'rs imbued
With pious Love, and holy Gratitude!

Let Libertines, or envious Vestals, blame—
Their praise is satire; their detraction fame:
Sublimer spirits must such acts admire;
And whilst their influence checks impure desire,
The pious pattern gentler Minds will move,
Virgins to imitate, and Youths to love!

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Pursue, distinguish'd Nymph! the narrow path,
Nor let Earth's phantoms lead thy steps to wrath,
Then all is thine that, here, deserves regard,
In Heav'n thy God's ineffable reward!
For, maugre all that Fools and Madmen say,
Pain—sickness—misery—mark the wider way;
While holy Faith and Hope, and heavenly Love,
Yield constant comforts here, and endless bliss above.

Long may thy charms enchant each wondering eye
Ere hymning Angels hail Thee to the sky,
Ere Thou, prepar'd by every gift and grace,
Beside thy Sister find thy blissful place—
And may those charms oft bless thy Bard the while,
And over-pay his Song with one approving Smile.
But ere the Muse her thrilling theme can quit,
So void of learning, elegance, or wit!
Let her, for all her bold, obtrusive, lays,
Expect thy pardon, tho' not hope thy praise—
Yet should she for forgiveness hope in vain,
She never can repent her pious strain,
While with her lays she labours to controul,
The follies that so strongly sway the Soul—
To counteract the Passions, and the Pride,
That make Religion vain, and Morals void—
That fix base views on vanities below,
The source of every want, and every woe:
Nor can my Soul forego the glorious cause,
Of Christ's redeeming Love, and righteous Laws;
Nor feel, nor fear, male scoff, or female scorn,
To highest earthly hopes, and noblest birth-right born.