 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
70
To a young Lady on her performing upon the Harpsichord.
The Muse who sung thy dawning Praise,Now welcomes thy Meridian Rays;
The Beauties of thy early Prime
First fledg'd her Wings for Flights sublime;
She saw thee shine like op'ning Day,
Along the Tracts of Heav'n's Highway:
The Muse, prophetic, saw thee there,
Still bright'ning in thy lucid Sphere.
Now far unequal in her Flight,
And lost in Beams of daz'ling Light,
On raptur'd Wing she hails thy Noon,
As soaring Eagles seek the Sun:
But, O! what Numbers can she find,
To sing the Beauties of thy Mind,
Where ev'ry Virtue Heav'n bestows,
And ev'ry Grace from Heav'n that flows!
A hallow'd Treasure all combine
Within that spotless Ark divine,
Which beaming forth so oft declare,
That God vouchsafes to visit there.
To deck thee with distinguish'd Love
He took from ev'ry Saint above
Ideas of the purest Kind,
And mixing all, compos'd thy Mind;
Then lodg'd it in the fairest Mold,
That should a Soul so rich infold,
A Mold with fairest Forms to vie
In finish'd Shape and Symmetry;
71
Inspiring Joy and soft Delight,
Inchanting all to instant Love,
Who hear thy Voice, or see thee move:
But when the tuneful Keys you press,
And Musick's inmost Pow'rs express,
What melting Strains extatic rise;
How ev'ry raptur'd Hearer dies.
See Love his purple Wings expand,
And flutter o'er the snowy Hand;
From ev'ry Finger flies a Dart,
In ev'ry Note he wounds a Heart;
Whilst conscious Blushes still confess'
Your kind Concern for our Distress;
And yet by height'ning ev'ry Grace,
The Pain they would relieve, increase:
For as in Paintings Shadows lie
To raise the Picture to the Eye;
Thy Blushes thus but more reveal
The modest Worth they would conceal.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |