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200
LINES, WRITTEN AT A FRIEND'S NEAR THE CELEBRATED NURSERY-GARDENS, IN THE KING'S-ROAD CHELSEA.
Where smiling Chelsea spreads the cultur'd lands,
Sacred to Flora a Pavilion stands,
And yet a second Temple, neighb'ring near,
Nurses the fragrance of the various year;
Of Davy this, of Colville that, the care,
While both the favor of the Goddess share.
Sacred to Flora a Pavilion stands,
And yet a second Temple, neighb'ring near,
Nurses the fragrance of the various year;
Of Davy this, of Colville that, the care,
While both the favor of the Goddess share.
But not for her,—the Deity of Flowers,—
Alone the incense breathes, still higher Powers:—
Fair Venus marks each Temple for her own,
And Fashion sits upon a blossom'd Throne.
She, pow'r supreme! bids vanquish'd Flora kneel,
And drags proud Beauty at her chariot-wheel.
The Cyprian Queen admits her loftier sway,
And blushing rivals with a smile obey.
Alone the incense breathes, still higher Powers:—
Fair Venus marks each Temple for her own,
And Fashion sits upon a blossom'd Throne.
She, pow'r supreme! bids vanquish'd Flora kneel,
And drags proud Beauty at her chariot-wheel.
The Cyprian Queen admits her loftier sway,
And blushing rivals with a smile obey.
201
At Fashion's shrine unnumber'd suppliants bow,
And to their Idol chaunt the sacred vow.
And to their Idol chaunt the sacred vow.
A thousand Eves, each as their mother fair,
To these gay Edens every hour repair:
And tho' the Wreaths boast but a fleeting Bloom,
And often press at eve a twilight tomb;
Still, as by Magic we behold each morn
A fresh supply the pillag'd scenes adorn;
And tho' the lovely Plunderers bear away
The fairy sweets that open'd with the day;
Tho' one fair Paradise is lost each night,
Another blooms with the returning light.
Thus, strange to tell! near London you behold,
The age of Fashion, Beauty, and of Gold.
To these gay Edens every hour repair:
And tho' the Wreaths boast but a fleeting Bloom,
And often press at eve a twilight tomb;
Still, as by Magic we behold each morn
A fresh supply the pillag'd scenes adorn;
And tho' the lovely Plunderers bear away
The fairy sweets that open'd with the day;
Tho' one fair Paradise is lost each night,
Another blooms with the returning light.
Thus, strange to tell! near London you behold,
The age of Fashion, Beauty, and of Gold.
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