Poems, on various subjects by Ann Yearsley ... being her second work |
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To Mr. V---, On his pronouncing the Author to be in Love, when she wrote the preceding. |
 | Poems, on various subjects |  |
31
To Mr. V---, On his pronouncing the Author to be in Love, when she wrote the preceding.
On the axis of Love, wheels the Universe round,
In rotation continued, and thrifty;
While some tender minds at fifteen feel the wound,
And some hold it out till they're fifty.
In rotation continued, and thrifty;
While some tender minds at fifteen feel the wound,
And some hold it out till they're fifty.
O ye Gods, then defend me from fifty, in love,
When that language has left the bright eye,
Which speaks to the soul, tho' our tongues never move,
And shall conquer, when accent must die.
When that language has left the bright eye,
Which speaks to the soul, tho' our tongues never move,
And shall conquer, when accent must die.
32
Love was ever the touchstone to try the fine mind,
Sterling Virtue 'twill never debase;
No alloy can we know, from a passion refin'd,
But to Beauty it still adds a grace.
Sterling Virtue 'twill never debase;
No alloy can we know, from a passion refin'd,
But to Beauty it still adds a grace.
Corrosive, curst Av'rice, still preys on the heart;
Ambition high stretches the mind;
Loud Fame may awhile her false transport impart,
Yet all leave their torment behind.
Ambition high stretches the mind;
Loud Fame may awhile her false transport impart,
Yet all leave their torment behind.
But to love, and be lov'd, does the soul ask for more?
No; here to her summit she's rais'd:
With scorn she looks down on old mammon's bright store,
She's bless'd, and her Maker is prais'd.
No; here to her summit she's rais'd:
With scorn she looks down on old mammon's bright store,
She's bless'd, and her Maker is prais'd.
33
And now, my good friend, your conclusion to prove,
(Perhaps, too, I hint it in spite)
From Precept, write Sermons; from Nature write Love;
And then you'll be sure to do right.
(Perhaps, too, I hint it in spite)
From Precept, write Sermons; from Nature write Love;
And then you'll be sure to do right.
Yet, say, if on Love I most aptly define,
By that, can you fathom my soul?
No passion shall ever my spirit confine,
Independent, I smile at controul.
By that, can you fathom my soul?
No passion shall ever my spirit confine,
Independent, I smile at controul.
While a bosom like yours, soft emotions perplex,
When bright objects strike full on your eye;
And may Love's transitions continue to vex,
'Till in age ev'ry rapture must die.
When bright objects strike full on your eye;
And may Love's transitions continue to vex,
'Till in age ev'ry rapture must die.
| Poems, on various subjects | |