The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop ... To Which are Prefixed, Memoirs of the Life of the Author By the Rev. Thomas Clare |
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 | The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop |  |
59
TO THE SAME,
ON ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY OF THE SAME DAY. WITH A SPINNING-WHEEL.
'Tis a long list of happy days,
Since first I triumph'd in your praise;
And still in all you did, or said,
Some new, some dear distinction read.
Since first I triumph'd in your praise;
And still in all you did, or said,
Some new, some dear distinction read.
This truth, by various gifts confest
Perpetual inmate of my breast,
A Spinning-Wheel must now allege—
Affection's poor, but cordial pledge.
Accept it, Girl; and with it, take
My reasons for the choice I make.
Perpetual inmate of my breast,
A Spinning-Wheel must now allege—
Affection's poor, but cordial pledge.
Accept it, Girl; and with it, take
My reasons for the choice I make.
60
First, then, (howe'er unlike my trim,)
For Fashion's sake indulge the whim:
'Twill be but charitable zeal,
If, while you ply the modish Wheel,
You follow Taste, a step or two,
Till Taste may learn to follow you!
For Fashion's sake indulge the whim:
'Twill be but charitable zeal,
If, while you ply the modish Wheel,
You follow Taste, a step or two,
Till Taste may learn to follow you!
In your own sex's general name,
Your bland acceptance, next, I claim.
Can Fancy's self a feature trace,
Your animation would not grace?—
Does Duty any task propose,
To which your spirit never rose?—
Has Sense a sanction it procures
From acts or thoughts, more just than yours!
—In active merit so complete,
What else could you adorn?—Retreat!—
There shall this Wheel of mine attest,
“Your leisure knows no useless rest;”—
And on that fact another found,
“That Female Genius has no bound;”—
While with alert address you fill
Each interval of nobler skill;
From higher aims, to humbler, fall,—
Still equal to yourself, in All!
Your bland acceptance, next, I claim.
Can Fancy's self a feature trace,
Your animation would not grace?—
Does Duty any task propose,
To which your spirit never rose?—
Has Sense a sanction it procures
From acts or thoughts, more just than yours!
—In active merit so complete,
What else could you adorn?—Retreat!—
There shall this Wheel of mine attest,
“Your leisure knows no useless rest;”—
61
“That Female Genius has no bound;”—
While with alert address you fill
Each interval of nobler skill;
From higher aims, to humbler, fall,—
Still equal to yourself, in All!
When for my Wheel I intercede,
The cause of all your Friends, I plead:
For while your total virtue's height
Puts competition out of sight,
To them, your slighest works will stand,
Proofs of that virtue's vast demand;
Will make your mere amusements tell,
Each character you bear, born well;
And every web your Wheel supplies,
A relique for esteem to prize.
The cause of all your Friends, I plead:
For while your total virtue's height
Puts competition out of sight,
To them, your slighest works will stand,
Proofs of that virtue's vast demand;
Will make your mere amusements tell,
Each character you bear, born well;
And every web your Wheel supplies,
A relique for esteem to prize.
Last, for myself, let me intreat,
My Wheel may prompt acceptance meet;—
Myself!—whose fondest hope and care
Are centred in this single prayer,—
“That while you twine the ductile threads,
“Her treasures while Reflection spreads,
“Recalls to each applauded part,
“The suffrage of your conscious heart,
“And raises from your feelings past
“The glow, that will endear your last,
“Some soft remembrance you'll devote,
“To Him, who sings this annual note;
“Proud, when the festive Morn calls forth,
“His tribute to one Woman's worth:
“Who loveliest of the lovely, stood,
“Because still best, among the good!”
My Wheel may prompt acceptance meet;—
62
Are centred in this single prayer,—
“That while you twine the ductile threads,
“Her treasures while Reflection spreads,
“Recalls to each applauded part,
“The suffrage of your conscious heart,
“And raises from your feelings past
“The glow, that will endear your last,
“Some soft remembrance you'll devote,
“To Him, who sings this annual note;
“Proud, when the festive Morn calls forth,
“His tribute to one Woman's worth:
“Who loveliest of the lovely, stood,
“Because still best, among the good!”
| The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop | |