Miscellanies in Prose and Verse By Anna Williams |
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To MYRTILIS. |
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 | Miscellanies in Prose and Verse |  |
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To MYRTILIS.
The New Year's Offring.
Madam,
Long have I look'd my tablets o'er,
And find I've much to thank you for,
Out-standing debts beyond account;
And new—Who knows to what amount?
Tho' small my wealth, not small my soul,
Come then, at once I'll pay the whole.
And find I've much to thank you for,
Out-standing debts beyond account;
And new—Who knows to what amount?
Tho' small my wealth, not small my soul,
Come then, at once I'll pay the whole.
Ye Powers! I'm rich, and will command
The host of slaves that round me stand;
Come, Indian, quick disclose thy store,
And hither bring Peruvian ore:
Let yonder negroe pierce the main
The choicest, largest pearl to gain;
Let all my slaves their arts combine
To make the blushing ruby mine,
From eastern thrones the diamonds bear
To sparkle at her breast and ear.
Swift, Scythian, point th'unerring dart
That strikes the Ermine's little heart,
And search for choicest furs the globe,
To make my Myrtilis a robe.
The host of slaves that round me stand;
Come, Indian, quick disclose thy store,
And hither bring Peruvian ore:
Let yonder negroe pierce the main
The choicest, largest pearl to gain;
Let all my slaves their arts combine
To make the blushing ruby mine,
From eastern thrones the diamonds bear
To sparkle at her breast and ear.
14
That strikes the Ermine's little heart,
And search for choicest furs the globe,
To make my Myrtilis a robe.
Ah, no: Yon Indian will not go,
No Scythian deigns to bend his bow.
No sullen Negroe shoots the flood,
How slaves—Or am I understood!
All, all, my empty power disown,
I turn, and find myself alone;
'Tis fancy's vain illusion all,
Nor Moor nor Scythian waits my call.
Can I command, can I consign;
Alas, what earthly thing is mine!
No Scythian deigns to bend his bow.
No sullen Negroe shoots the flood,
How slaves—Or am I understood!
All, all, my empty power disown,
I turn, and find myself alone;
'Tis fancy's vain illusion all,
Nor Moor nor Scythian waits my call.
Can I command, can I consign;
Alas, what earthly thing is mine!
Come then, my Muse, companion dear
Of poverty, and soul sincere,
Come dictate to my grateful mind
A gift that may acceptance find;
Come, gentle Muse, and with thee bear
An offering worthy thee and her,
And tho' thy presents be but poor
My Myrtilis will ask no more.
An heart that scorns a shameful thing
With love and verse is all I bring,
Of love and verse the gift receive,
'Tis all thy servant has to give.
Of poverty, and soul sincere,
Come dictate to my grateful mind
A gift that may acceptance find;
Come, gentle Muse, and with thee bear
An offering worthy thee and her,
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My Myrtilis will ask no more.
An heart that scorns a shameful thing
With love and verse is all I bring,
Of love and verse the gift receive,
'Tis all thy servant has to give.
If all whate'er my verse has told,
Golconda's gems and Afric's gold,
If all were mine from pole to pole,
How large her share who shares my soul?
But more than these may heaven impart;
Be thine the treasures of the heart,
Be calm, and glad thy future days
With virtue's peace, and virtue's praise.
Let jealous pride, and sleepless care,
And wasting grief, and black despair,
And languor chill, and anguish fell,
For ever shun thy grove and cell;
There only may the happy train,
Of love, and joy, and peace, remain;
May plenty with exhaustless store,
Employ thy hand to feed the poor,
And ever on thy honour'd head
The prayer of gratitude be shed.
Golconda's gems and Afric's gold,
If all were mine from pole to pole,
How large her share who shares my soul?
But more than these may heaven impart;
Be thine the treasures of the heart,
Be calm, and glad thy future days
With virtue's peace, and virtue's praise.
Let jealous pride, and sleepless care,
And wasting grief, and black despair,
And languor chill, and anguish fell,
For ever shun thy grove and cell;
There only may the happy train,
Of love, and joy, and peace, remain;
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Employ thy hand to feed the poor,
And ever on thy honour'd head
The prayer of gratitude be shed.
A happy mother, mayst thou see
Thy smiling, virtuous progeny,
Whose sportful tricks, and airy play,
Fraternal love, and prattle gay,
Or wond'rous tale, or joyful song,
May lure the ling'ring hours along;
Till death arrive unfelt, unseen,
With gentle pace, and placid mien,
And waft thee to that happy shore,
Where wishes can have place no more.
Thy smiling, virtuous progeny,
Whose sportful tricks, and airy play,
Fraternal love, and prattle gay,
Or wond'rous tale, or joyful song,
May lure the ling'ring hours along;
Till death arrive unfelt, unseen,
With gentle pace, and placid mien,
And waft thee to that happy shore,
Where wishes can have place no more.
| Miscellanies in Prose and Verse | |