Humbly Inscribed to the Honourable
Printed and sold by G. Gitton.
Sold also by
Messrs. Robinsons, Paternoster Row,
- Honourable Lord Viscount Tracy, 6 copies
- Honourable Miss Leigh, 6 ditto
- Miss Acton, Bridgnorth
- Mr. Adolphus, 43d. Regiment
- Rev. Mr. Alban, Ludlow
- Mr. Andrew, Staines
- Miss Angeworth, Hay
- Mrs. d’Avenant, Drayton
- Mrs. Arden, ditto
- Mrs. Ashwin, Bridgnorth
- Mr. Baker, Bridgnorth Mrs. Bang- vi π3v vi
- Mrs. Bangham, ditto
- Mrs. Bangham, ditto
- Mr. Barver, Envill
- Miss Backhouse, Aston
- Mr. Barnet, Wenlock
- Mr. Barrat, London
- Mrs. Barrat, ditto
- Miss Bate, Bridgnorth
- Miss A. Bate, ditto
- Mrs. Beck, Ilesworth
- Miss Biddle, London
- Miss E. Biddle, ditto
- Mrs. Bowdler, Eardington
- Mr. Bowen, Ludlow
- Honourable Mrs. Boscawen
- Mrs. I. Bishton, Kilsall, 3 copies
- Mrs. Buckeridge, Tong
- Mrs. Butt, Bridgnorth
- Miss Butt, ditto
- Rev. G. Braithwaite, ditto
- Mrs. Bell, ditto
- Mr. J. A. Burney, ditto
- Mrs. Bromwich, Wyken
- I. H. Browne, Esq. M. P. 6 copies
- Mrs. Browne, 6 ditto Mrs. Wylde vii π4r vii
- Mrs. Wylde Browne, Caughley
- Rev. S. Byam, Clapham
- Mrs. Byam, Fyfield, Berks.
- Miss Byam, London
- Mrs. Brasier, Drayton
- Mr. H. Byne, Shrewsbury, 6 copies
- Mrs. Byne, ditto, 3 ditto
- Miss Byne, ditto, 3 ditto
- Honourable Lord Carysfort, 6 copies
- Mr. Coles, Bath
- Mrs. E. Castor
- T. Colman, Esq.Ludlow
- Mrs. Childe, Bridgnorth
- Mr. G. Childe, Chorley
- Mr. G. Clarke, Bewdley
- Miss Clayton
- Rev. J. Cooke, Birmingham
- Mrs. Cooke, ditto
- Miss Coore, Streatham, Surrey
- Honourable Miss Coventry
- Honourable Miss G. Coventry
- Miss Conellan, Streatham Rev viii π4v viii
- Rev. W. Corser, Bridgnorth
- Mr. R. Corbett, ditto
- Miss Collins, Wenlock
- Miss Crowther, Bridgnorth
- Miss Crump, ditto
- W. Cruse, Esq.Streatham
- Rev. E. Dana, Shrewsbury
- Miss Davis, London
- Mrs. Davis, Smithy
- Miss Davis, Drayton
- Rev. R. Davis, Streatham, 6 copies
- Mrs. Davenport, Davenport-House
- Mrs. Davenport, Drayton
- Right Hon. Viscountess Deerhurst
- Miss Derry
- Rev. T. Dethick, Bridgnorth
- Miss Dethick, ditto
- Miss Dicken, Brentford
- Mrs. Dickenson, Streatham
- Miss Dickenson
- Miss Dukes, Bridgnorth
- Mrs. Dutten, London
- Rev. Mr. Eastwick
- Mrs. Eastwick
- Mrs. Edmonds
- Rev. E. Embry, London, 3 copies
- Mrs. Embry, Ilesworth
- Mr. E. Embry
- Miss Eliot, Streatham
- Mr. Evans, Morvill
- Mr. Evans, Bridgnorth
- Mrs. Evans, Wenlock
- Miss Eykyn
- Right Hon. Earl Fitzwilliam, 6 copies
- Mrs. Felton, Clapham, 2 ditto
- Rev. C. Fewtrell, Bridgnorth
- Mr. I. Flemming
- Mr. Foster, Wolverhampton
- Mrs. Gatacre, Gatacre a Miss x a1v x
- Mrs. Goddard, London
- Mrs. Gillard, ditto
- Mr. Glover, Brentford
- Miss Grainger, Wenlock
- Mr. E. Guest
- Miss Guest
- Miss Gwynn, Ludlow
- Miss Harrison
- Miss C. Harrison
- Mr. J. G. Hall, Bridgnorth
- Rev. J. Harding, ditto
- Miss Harding, ditto
- Mrs. Harding, Callaughton
- Mrs. Harding, Shifnal
- Rev. G. Haslewood, Bridgnorth
- Rev. I. D. Haslewood, ditto
- Mrs. Haslewood, ditto
- Mr. W. Haslewood, ditto
- Mrs. Haslewood, ditto
- Miss Haslewood, ditto
- Miss Haslewood, Severn Hall
- ―― Hamilton Esq. London Mr. xi a2r xi
- Mr. E. Harper, Broseley
- Mr. W. Hardwick, Badger
- Miss Hemming
- Mr. Hemming
- Lady Herries
- Mrs. Hilditch, Oswestry, 2 copies
- Mr. Hinksman, Westwood
- Mr. Hoggins
- Miss Home
- Mr. F. Hughes
- Miss Hughes, Pontesford
- Miss Hughes, Kinslow
- Mr. I. Hughes, Wenlock
- Mr. J. Hughes
- Mr. Hurleston, Sutton
- Miss Hutton, Streatham
- Mrs. Hunter
- Mrs. Hyett
I & J
- J. Jones Esq. London
- Rev. R. Jones, Haughton
- Miss Jones, ditto
- Mr. W. Jones, Bridgnorth a2 Mrs. xii a2v xii
- Mrs. Jones, Swindon
- Miss Jones, Morvill
- Mrs. Jones, Chelmarsh
- Rev. Mr. Ingram, Ludlow
- Mrs. Instone, Burton
- Mr. I. Instone, ditto
- Mr. Instone, Richmond
- Mr. E. Instone, Brentford
- Mrs. Instone, London
- Miss Ireland, Bridgnorth
- Mrs. Izzard, Ludlow
- Mrs. Jay
- Mr. W. Jackson, Jun. Ellesmere
- Mrs. Jesson, Severn Hall
- Mrs. Justice, Drayton
- ―― Keymer, Esq. Streatham
- Mrs. Keymer, ditto
- Leonard Kilham, Esq. London, 3 copies
- Mrs. Kinnersley, Ludlow
- Sir Robert Lawley, Bart. 6 copies
- Miss M. A. Langford, Streatham
- Mr Langley, Upton
- Bennet Langton, Esq.
- Miss Larcelles, London
- H. L. Lee, Esq.
- Mrs. Lee
- Mr. T. Lees
- Mrs. Leek
- Miss Ligon
- Miss Lewis, London
- Miss Lingen
- Mrs. Lloyd, Round Acton
- Miss Lyster, Bridgnorth
- Right Hon. Lady Louisa Macdonald
- Miss Macpherson, Streatham
- Miss Maddox, Walkerslow
- Miss 4illegibleniæ, Streatham
- D. Macnamara, Esq. London, 2 copies Mrs. xiv a3v xiv
- Mrs. Mellor, Clapham, 2 copies
- Miss Minors
- Rev. R. Minifie, Bridgnorth
- T. Mills, Esq.Streatham
- Mr. Mills, Camberwell
- Miss Milward, ditto
- Mrs. Milner, Droitwich
- Mrs. E. Molineux, Wolverhampton
- Mrs. Moore, Stockwell, 3 copies
- Miss Moore, Aldenham
- Mrs. Morgan, London
- F. Morland, Esq.
- Mrs. Morland
- J. Moultice, Esq. Aston
- Mrs. Moultice, ditto
- Dr. Moseley, Ludlow
- Lady Charlotte Murray, 3 copies
- Mrs. Muckleston, Walford
- T. Pardoe, Esq. Faintree, 3 copies
- Mrs. S. Pardoe, Bridgnorth
- Mrs. A. Pardoe, Ludlow
- Rev. J. Parsons, Elmore-Court Mrs. xv a4r xv
- Mrs. Parsons, Birmingham
- Miss Pass, Bridgnorth
- Rev. E. Pateson, Elmore-Court
- Mr. Palmer, Ludlow
- Miss Paul, London
- Miss S. Paul, London
- T. S. Pennoire, Esq. Streatham
- Mrs. Pennell, London
- Rev. M. Pilkington, Bridgnorth
- Miss Pilkington, ditto
- Mrs. Piozzi
- Miss Phillimore, Bridgnorth
- Mr. P. Presland
- Mrs. Pocklington, Shifnal
- M. Power, Esq. London
- Miss Powell, Bridgnorth
- Mr. W. Purton, London
- Rev. J. Pryce. Gaer
- R. Price, Esq. Knighton
- Miss Price, ditto
- Miss M. Price, ditto
- Rev. Mr. Presland, Walford
- Mrs. Ray, Streatham
- Miss Ray, ditto
- Miss Reynolds, Bridgnorth
- Miss Rhoden, Posenal
- Miss Rhoden, Muckley-Cross
- Miss S. Rhoden, ditto
- Miss Rowe, ditto
- Mr. Richins, Richmond
- Miss Ridley, Wenlock
- R. Riddlesden, Esq. 2 copies
- Mrs. Rigg, Stockwell
- Rev. R. Rowley, Middleton, 3 copies
- Miss H. Rogers, Smethcott
- Miss Russel, Streatham
- Miss Sanders, London
- Rev. F. Salt, Bridgnorth
- Mr. H. Sandford, Isle
- Mrs. Selwood, Abingdon, Berks.
- Mrs. R. Slany, Shifnal
- Mrs. M. Slany, ditto Rev xvii b1r xvii
- Rev. R. Slany, Penkridge
- Luke Spilsbury, E q.Worcestor
- Mr. Smith, Bridgnorth
- Mrs. Smith, ditto
- Miss Smith, ditto
- Mrs. J. C. Smith, ditto
- Rev. W. Smith, Badger, 6 copies
- Miss S. Smith, ditto
- Miss. Smith, Faintree
- T. Smith, Esq.Tichmarch, 6 copies
- Mr. Smith, Sidbury
- Mrs. Smith, ditto
- Rev. R. Smith, Shifnal
- Mrs. Smith, Eardiston
- Mrs. Smith, Woodhouse
- Miss Smith, Coppice Green
- Miss J. Smith
- Miss Surridge, Streatham
- Mrs. Stables, Wonham, Surrey
- Miss Stables, ditto
- Miss M. Stables, ditto
- Miss F. Stables, ditto
- Miss L. Stables, ditto
- Mr. E. Stables, ditto
- Mrs. Stringer, Swancott b Miss xviii b1v xviii
- Miss P. Streatfield, London, 3 copies
- C. S. Strong, Esq.ditto 3 ditto
- ――M’Tillegible1 letterggott, Esq.Streatham
- Miss Thomason, ditto
- H. Thomas, Esq. ditto, 3 copies
- Colonel Thoraton
- Miss Thrale, London
- Miss Susan Thrale, ditto, P. A. 3 copies
- Miss Sophia Thrale, ditto
- Rev. R. Thursfield, Claverly
- Miss Tipton, Plealy
- Miss Tomkies, Muckley-Cross
- Mrs. S. Townshend, London
- Honourable Mrs. Tracy
- J. Trenchard, Esq.
- Mr. Trevor, Wenlock
- Lady Wake
- Miss Wake
- Miss C. Walhouse, Hotheston
- Miss Wall, Bridgnorth Mrs. xix b2r xix
- Mrs. Warner, London
- Mrs. Wanklin, Kingsland
- Mr. West, Ilesworth
- Miss White, Bridgnorth
- W. Whitmore, Esq. Dudmaston, 3 copies
- Mrs. Whitmore, ditto, 3 ditto
- Mrs. Williams, Deckerhill
- Miss Willis, Streatham
- Mr. R. Wicksteed, Shifnal
- Mr. Wilkinson, Bridgnorth
- Mr. Wilkinson, Wenlock
- Mr. R. Windle, Jun. Beobridge
- E.C. Windsor, Esq. Aldenham
- Mrs. Windsor, ditto
- Miss Wood, Hatton
- Mr. Woodington
- Mrs. Woolley, Birmingham
- Mr. Wright, Manchester
- Miss Yate, Bridgnorth
- Miss Yonge, Shifnal
An Introductory Address to the Subscribers.
Will you my friends, whose bounties do impart
Hope’s lively rays to this once doubting heart,
Attend, while I in humble strains implore
You’ll read my little work with candour o’er;
Nor harshly censure e’er you kindly weigh
These simple truths I’d fain before you lay.
Say, can a rich luxuriant harvest smile
Where no industrious hand has till’d the soil?Where xxii b3v xxii
Where genial Suns their influence ne’er could yield,
Or moist’ning Showers fertilize the field?
Some seeds by nature sown, may haply root,
And by her nurtur’d, bear imperfect fruit;
But will not ev’ry gen’rous passer by
Cast on the bending stems a pitying eye?
And say, alas! why was it not your lot
To fall on some more cultivated spot?
Such kind compassion may I meet from you,
For ah! like these, no fost’ring hand I knew;
No early tutor to inform my mind
In scientific skill, or arts refin’d:
Nature alone has been my humble guide,
All other teachers adverse fate denied,
Save just those little aids to native thought,
Which in a Country Day-School could be taught.
Then seek not here for Pope’s harmonious lays,
Or Shakespeare’s wit which long must merit praise;
Seek not for thoughts which grace a Milton’s page,
The admiration of each rising age;
Remember, mine’s an humble female’s pen,
And these were Sons of genius, learned Men.
On Bards like these, bestow your honour’d bays,
I ask compassion, do not hope for praise:
Content if ought excited your kind regard,
In that fond thought to find a full reward;For xxiii b4r xxiii
For had I their superior powers to charm,
To fix attention and the fancy warm,
E’en then, too weak would be those powers to shew
My gratitude, to Providence and You.
Reflections on the State of the Princess Royal of France.
Written soon after the Death of her Unfortunate Parents.
Unhappy Princess! how forlorn thy state!
Sure ev’ry warm and sympathizing breast,
Will heave a tender Sigh for thy hard fate,
Or shed a Tear for Innocence distrest.
Bereft of Parents, left a prey to grief,
A helpless Victim of Tyrannic Power,
With scarce a Friend to yield the least relief,
Or sooth with Pity, one sad pensive hour.
Nipt in the bud, like some untimely Flower
Forbid by rigid Frosts to shew it’s bloom;
Confin’d within a melancholy Tower,
Where nought appears but sorrow’s settl’d gloom.
No Fathers Arms to guard thy tender frame,
So early weaken’d by Affliction’s pain;
No Mother to protect thy Virgin fame
From lawless passions, and pollution’s stain.
How throbs my bosom when my fancy strays
To view those scenes where endless horrors reign?
To see a Princess weeping out her Days;
And pensive mourn her royal Parents slain.
Weep on, sad Fair! a Tear may give relief,
’Tis the benign restorer of the Soul;
The friendly drop that mitigates our grief,
And flies to soften ev’ry rude controul.
Weep for thine Infant Brother’s wretched state,
A Prince by birth, and Heir to Gallia’s Throne;
Yet doom’d to prove the sad reverse of fate,
And taste of Sorrows poignant as thine own.
Relentless Tyrants! let your rage subside,
Shall Justice never reassume her reign?Shall 3 B2r 3
Shall nought prevail but Anarchy and Pride?
While pure Religion’s held in such disdain.
Ah! did proud France but know what tranquil ease
And sweet content, from public order spring;
Soon would disquiet and Rebellion cease,
And she would hail thy Brother as her King.
But ah! that thought can ne’er allay thy grief,
Nor hope of Grandeur chear thy tortur’d breast,
Sorrows like thine admit of no relief;
’Tis death alone can give wish’d for rest.
Then haste, sweet Maid, to join the blest above,
To meet thy martyr’d Parents on that plain
Where sorrows are no more, where peace and love
And endless pleasures will for ever reign.
On the Death of Adolph George Roerup,
A young Gentleman aged 15, a Native of Germany, who came to receive his Education at Bridgnorth Academy, but was suddenly cut off by a violent Fever.
Come Plaintive Muse assist the pensive strain,
Teach me to paint that sadly mournful Day,
When youthful Adolph freed from care and pain,
Left this vain world to join his kindred Clay.
But how can I the arduous theme pursue?
How paint the Virtues of an unknown Youth?
Yet to his Mem’ry ’tis a Tribute due,
The lines though simple, yet are mark’d with truth.
His gen’rous Soul to Virtuous paths inclin’d,
His thoughts on Learning ever seem’d intent,
Tho’ youthful, he possess’d a manly mind,
And tho’ his life was short, it was well spent.
But now he rests secure from earthly woe,
On earthly scenes no more his mind shall dwell,
No more his Tears for German friends shall flow,
With poignant griefs no more his breast shall swell.
But who can paint the bitter scene of woe?
Who speak the feelings of his Parents’ hearts?
Or who the agonizing pangs can shew?
When some unwilling Friend the tale imparts.
Fly! Hope! thou chearer of the human mind,
And lend thine aid to sooth the tortur’d breast,
Tell them that gracious Heaven has been so kind,
To make their Adolph one among the blest.
Tell them that though no more to German shores
The long-lost Youth will e’er return again,
Yet now in bliss he unknown worlds explores
Remote from ev’ry Grief and ev’ry Pain.
That day will come when kindred Souls shall meet,
And join in blissful harmony above,
They then among the rest their son shall greet,
And join with him in everlasting love.
To an Inconsolable Mother, on the Death of Her Only Child.
Ah cease the unavailing Tear,
And let your Griefs be mild;
Tho’ fate I own may seem severe,
To rob you of your Child.
Tho’ for so short a stay was given
The tender Innocent;
And tho’ so soon mysterious Heaven
Call’d back that life it lent;
Yet think in bliss the Cherub reigns
While Angels guard her Soul:
And let such thoughts allay your pains,
And ev’ry Grief controul.
Unto her blest Redeemer dear,
She has resign’d her breath,
She died serene, and did not fear
The icy hand of Death.
Life’s troubled Ocean she has past,
Her sorrows are no more;
Her little Bark with friendly haste,
Has reach’d the Heavenly shore.
Then as a Friend let me intreat
You’ll stay the mournful Tear;
And live prepar’d your Child to meet,
In endless pleasures there.
A Charade, By the Author’s Brother.
My faithful first is hard to find,
My second ploughs the Main;
My whole may serve to bind Mankind
In one Celestial Chain.
The Answer, by herself.
Accept, dear Brother, from a Sister’s hand,
This little tribute to your kindness due;
Your new charade I plainly understand
Is what I’ve oft experienced from you.
Tho’ weak the efforts of an humble Maid
Thy powers, O! Friendship! justly to rehearse;
Yet Nature, sure a theme like this may aid,
Nature alone, shall guide my simple Verse.
Thou sacred Source! from whence all blessings spring!
In ev’ry state what comforts thou can’st give!
Thou mak’st the Widow’s heart for joy to sing!
The starving Orphan thou can’st bid to live!
Hail balmy blessing! choicest gift of Heaven!
On all below be thy kind influence pour’d,
Let Strife and Discord far away be driven,
And Joy and tranquil Peace, by thee restor’d.
Long may thy name adorn Britannia’s Isle!
Long may thy power our gracious Sov’reign guard!
By thee again may Trade and Commerce smile!
And Peace and Plenty, be the blest reward.
Thou sovereign Virtue of the human mind!
Still may’st thou warm and animate each breast!
Still lend thy aid Society to bind,
Or sooth the bosom when with grief oppress’d.
For me! I would not bend at Grandeur’s shrines,
Fortune! I value not thy glittering store;
Grant me a Friend in whom true merit shines;
With that rich Gift, ye Powers! I ask no more.
An Address to a Bride.
In what soft strains shall I my thoughts impart?
How speak the feelings of a faithful heart?
That pants with warm desire a place to gain,
Among the gay congratulating train.
Away vain flatt’ry, compliments away!
Nor dare appear in this my artless lay;
Be thou, sweet Friendship, my unerring guide,
While fondly I address the happy Bride.
Hail wedded love! dear source of all delight,
The pangs of absence amply to requite;
Now may each anxious thought away be chas’d,
And present bliss obscure your sorrows past.
Thrice happy state, where kindred Souls unite,
Where each is pleas’d the other to delight;Where 11 C2r 11
Where joys connubial, ev’ry moment fill,
Thought meeting thought; and will preventing will.
Still may that all-deserving, worthy Youth,
Whose Conduct proves him Friend to Love and Truth,
Disdain to give that faithful bosom pain,
That ne’er could learn to prize another Swain.
And still, dear Mary, may it be your part
By prudence to secure that worthy heart;
Nor think the Husband gain’d, that all is done;
The prize of happiness must still be won.
Too oft the thoughtless Fair finds to her cost
The am’rous lover in the Husband lost;
Bewails her tedious, dull, insipid life;
And rues the Day she e’er became a Wife.
Not so with you; when beauty charms no more,
Your mind shall prove the sweet exhaustless store;
Where charms superior far, its place shall fill,
And tend to make the union stronger still.
Pleas’d shall the partner of your heart behold
Fresh stores of wisdom ev’ry year unfold;
In gratitude to heav’n he’ll bless the Day
He heard you vow to love, and to obey.
Thus blest and blessing, may you ever prove
The pure delight of undiminish’d Love;
May Discord never find your blest retreat,
But Joys attend you, lasting and complete.
On the Death of the Author’s Sister, After a Long and Tedious Illness.
Then Heaven at last has heard my fervent prayers,
Has put a period to thy great distress;
Why cannot I then stay these useless Tears?
These rising sighs why cannot I repress?
No more Affliction’s Tears bedim thine Eye,
No more thou dread’st each tedious Day and night,
No more impatient shalt thou wish to die,
But live for ever in the Realms of light.
No earthly griefs disturb thy perfect rest,
A stranger now to ev’ry scene of woe,
Those anxious cares shall ne’er thy peace molest
Which I surviving, may be doom’d to know.
Tho’ Death so soon has call’d thee hence away,
Tho’ Sisterless I here am left behind,
These blest reflections shall my griefs allay,
And teach me how I ought to be resign’d.
Tho’ fondly I had hop’d in thee to find
In riper years a Sister and a Friend;
And mark’d the dawning beauties of thy mind
With Joy, nor dreamt those joys so soon would end.
I thought in thee I safely could confide,
One kindred warmth would animate each breast;
If griev’d, I thought our griefs we may divide;
If blest the one, the other would be blest.
Yet since it is by Heaven’s All-wise decree
That Alluding to another sister that died sometime before. both my Sisters from my arms are torn;
If from all sorrow Death has set them free
’Tis highly wrong in me their loss to mourn.
Rest then, Dear Jane! and thou Eliza! dear,
Rest (by your Father’s sacred ashes laid)
Till those auspicious moments will appear,
When Heaven’s great call by all must be obey’d.
Then may you rise triumphant from the Earth,
Before your great Creator to appear;
Rise to a glorious and immortal birth;
And I, in bliss, may hope to meet you there.
On Visiting the Grave, A Few Weeks After Her Death.
With timid steps impress’d with awe, I come
To visit Dear Eliza’s humble Tomb;
Where nought appears to mark the sacred place,
Save the fresh Earth, and peeping blades of Grass.
Tho’ no proud Monument is seen to rise,
Or form of art attracts enquiring eyes;
Nor e’en a Stone, my Friends, your names impart;
Yet shall you live in records of the heart.
And what avails the grandly sculptur’d Bust?
Those useless honours paid to putrid Dust;
They please indeed, the vain Survivor’s sight,
But cannot waft the Soul to realms of light.
When this now throbbing heart shall cease to beat,
This vital spark of life shall lose its heat,
And I’m like you, in Earth’s cold bosom laid,
I only wish that decent rites be paid.
I only wish the gazing train may say
She who lies there has walk’d in Virtue’s way;
And may some Friend sincerely sigh adieu;
And shed a Tear for me, as I for You.
To A Gentleman, on the Death of an Amiable Young Lady.
Ah me! when I reflect on that sad hour
When Death depriv’d the world of such a Fair;
Sighs will burst forth in spite of all my power:
For worth departed claims a generous Tear.
But ah! too great for me the arduous Theme
To speak the Virtues of an Heaven-born Maid,
Torn in her bloom from life’s unwary Dream;
Come then soft Pity, and my Verses aid.
Pure were her thoughts as dews that fall from Heaven,
Her tender bosom was the seat of bliss;
To her indeed, superior charms were given;
Her ways were pleasant, all her paths were peace.
Ah! cruel Tyrant Death! to snatch so soon
From plenty’s lap, the love-inspiring Maid:
And must so bright a Sun be set e’er noon?
And is the chaste, the beauteous Mary dead?
She is, then cease fond Youth for her to mourn,
Though to thy Mary life’s no longer given;
And since to you she never can return,
Prepare to meet her on the plains of Heaven.
’Tis there she blooms in realms of bliss unknown,
There chants his praise, who mortals praise transcends;
There reaps th’ unfading Glory of a Crown
That still awaits the brows of Virtue’s Friends.
A Plaintive Song, on the Same.
To soft Transports I now bid adieu,
Since my Charmer no longer I see;
Nor the joys of this life will pursue;
They are buried sweet Mary with thee.
Ah! what Days of delight have I known
While with rapture I gaz’d on her charms?
But now those delights are all flown,
And my Mary is snatch’d from my Arms.
She was all that we honour, and love,
Ye Shepherds! the Nymph was divine;
The sweet emblem of Angels above;
Such charms my dear Mary were thine.
But since the dear Maid is no more,
Earthly joys ne’er my mind shall enslave;
But her Mem’ry I’ll ever adore,
Till like her, I am laid in the Grave.
To A Young Lady, on Her Birth-day.
’Tis not the mystic Rebus now I write,
Nor dark Charade that does my pen invite;
A theme more sweet, more pleasing far, I chuse
To be the present subject of my muse.
An humble tribute to that happy Day
That gave such goodness birth, I fain would pay;
And while this heart with sacred Friendship burns,
Will hope you’ll see it’s many blest returns.
Sev’nteen revolving Years have past away,
And little danger may have mark’d their stay.
But now the Season dawns my lovely Fair
When prudence should exert her ev’ry care;
’Tis now thy great, thy truly arduous part,
To guard that seat of Virtue; thy young heart:
Tho’ she has chose to fix her standard there,
And you her dictates doubtless will revere;
Yet even Virtue’s self’s a weak support,
The youthful mind needs still a stronger Fort;Who 22 D3v 22
Who sees what dangers threat on ev’ry side
Must feel that wisdom should be virtue’s guide.
Be these your Guardians through each circling Year,
Serenely then, your steady course you’ll steer;
While he (to whose kind care you are consign’d,
With precepts wise, and sentiments refin’d,)
Will on your mind his fond Instructions pour;
And teach you to perfections heights to soar.
O! may each Day that silent glides away,
To your pure bosom some new bliss convey.
May each returning Year fresh comforts bring,
To crown your life one sweet continued spring.
I speak sweet Fair, the feelings of my heart,
And wish you ev’ry joy life can impart.
On the Birth-day of an Infant.
Sweet Innocence! one little Year
Of life, thou’st past without a care;
And may more Years around thee flow,
And find thee still unknown to woe;
For Years of Childhood, O! how blest,
No busy tumults e’er molest
The calm, the peaceful, Infant breast.
Tho’ hostile Nations rise to arms,
No fear his little breast alarms;
Alike to him is Peace and War,
His safety is the Nurse’s care.
He not ambitious to be great
Is happy; and his helpless state
Does but the Parent’s aid implore;
That granted, he can want no more.
But with his sweet engaging ways
Their fond anxieties repays.Long 24 D4v 24
Long may this Day in bliss return,
His lamp of life, long may it burn;
And when to manhood he aspires,
And manly hope his bosom fires,
Folly and Vice may he disdain,
And Infant Innocence retain.
The two following Copies were written on a tame Pigeon coming to the House where the Author resided, and after staying with her about six Weeks, (during which time she treated it with every mark of attention) left her, just in the beginning of Wheat Harvest: hence in her second Copy she calls it the ungrateful Pigeon.
The Stray Pigeon.
Say little stranger! whence you came,
And what your business here!
Has slighted love made thee thus tame?
Or treatment most severe?
Perhaps thy much-lov’d Mate has err’d,
And prov’d untrue to thee,
And thou art come, sagacious Bird!
In time to caution me,
Lest I like thee theethee should fondly love,
And one dear Mate select;
And those all-piercing pangs should prove,
Arising from neglect.
If so, I thank thee, gentle Friend,
And will thy caution hear;
And in return my aid will lend
To keep thee from despair.
Here thou shalt find a safe retreat,
My hand shall give thee Food;
No fears shall cause thy heart to beat,
No dangers shall intrude.
And while I fondly thee conjure
Thy unkind Mate to spurn,
May from those ills thou dost endure,
Myself a Lesson learn.
The Ungrateful Pigeon.
Where little Ingrate art thou fled?
Or whither dost thou roam?
Can’st thou by kinder hands be fed?
Or find a happier home?
Ah! me! this undeserved slight
I’m ill prepar’d to bear;
And is it thus thou dost requite
My tenderness and care?
Tho’ Golden Harvest all around
It’s stores profusely yields;
And smiling Plenty does abound,
To court thee to the Fields;
Yet soon these luxuries must end,
And Winter stern appear;
And then where wilt thou find a Friend
Thy drooping heart to chear.
Perhaps to me thou then may’st fly,
Whom now thou hast forsook.
And think’st thou, foolish Bird, that I
Thy faults will overlook?
Yes to forgive I may incline,
And pity thy hard lot;
But know, Ingratitude like thine
Can never be forgot.
With fancied woes I sympathiz’d
And diligently strove
To chase those griefs, which I surmis’d
Arose from slighted love.—
And yet, ungrateful thou art flown.
Then hear me, gentle Fair;
And never more a friendship own
For those not worth your care.
From each delusive, artful Snare,
With caution let us fly;
For since that Doves deceitful are,
On whom shall we rely?
Let those be Friends, and only those,
Whom time has prov’d sincere;
On them alone let us repose,
And them alone revere.
The Spinning Wheel, A Song.
Ah! who would be rich, or wish to be great,
If they knew the true pleasures I feel?
I am blest with content, and my joys are complete,
Tho’ alone I sit turning my Wheel.
Ye Sons of Ambition, so puft up with pride,
Tho’ with hearts that are harder than Steel;
I taste of those joys which to you are deny’d,
While content I sit turning my Wheel.
Therefore perishing Gold, ne’er my Idol shall be,
At no Shrine but at Virtue’s I’ll kneel;
Tho’ humble my lot, yet thank Heaven I’m free,
And content, while I’m turning my Wheel.
From a state with such peace and tranquility blest,
My young heart no vain Coxcomb shall steal;
Ah! no, for his flatt’ry can ne’er warm my breast,
Nor for him will I e’er leave my Wheel.
But the Man of good sense, full of honour and truth,
Whose kind heart can soft sympathy feel;
Should he sue for my hand I would smile on the Youth,
And perhaps would leave turning my Wheel.
The following lines were occasioned by some person hinting that the Author’s time may be better employed than in Poetical Amusements.
’Tis surely they, and only they,
That can this life enjoy,
Who do through each revolving Day,
Their minds and Hands employ.
What tho’ a life of Servitude,
Has ever been my Lot,
No wish for greatness does intrude;
The rich I envy not.
My varied Tasks with calm content
I chearfully pursue;
Nor does my busy Mind prevent
My Hands from working too.
On glowing Fancy’s Seraph Wings
My thoughts delight to rove;
Yet judge not hence, all other things
By me unnotic’d move.
It costs me no laborious pains
To sing my artless lays;
’Tis Nature’s self inspires my strains,
To her belong the Bays.
Those Gifts which from kind Heav’n do come
Ought not to meet disdain;
For Nature lends that aid to some
Which Learning can’t attain.
And tell me then ye busy train
Who rigid censure love,
Should Heaven bestow it’s gifts in vain;
And we ungrateful prove?
Ah no, would all with studious care
Improve their talents lent,
Then each their Neighbour’s fame would spare;
Nor be on mischief bent.
Then each, experience-taught may say.
’Tis they who life enjoy,
That do through each revolving Day
Their Minds and Hands employ.
Reflections on a Visit to Lord Tracy’s, where she had sent her Poems for Miss Leigh’s Inspection.
Greatness alas! is but an empty sound,
Unless true goodness with the great is found;
But these in unison I’ve lately seen,
For at Lord Tracy’s Residence I’ve been.
When first the Bell proclaim’d th’ important call,
And I was guided through the spacious Hall,
With doubt and fear my flutt’ring bosom teem’d,
Lest my appearance awkward might be deem’d.
But soon the good Miss Leigh my doubts remov’d,
And all my fears mere groundless Phantoms prov’d;
Benignant smiles o’er all her features play’d,
And seem’d to say ah do not be dismay’d;
With Critic’s eyes thy lines I do not scan,
To find out faults is not my fav’rite plan;
I will not aggrandize each small defect,
Say this line is too short, that incorrect;
But with compassion view thy artless lays,
And longest dwell on those I most can praise.Thus 36 F2v 36
Thus did this silent eloquence impart
New life and courage to my drooping heart;
And fill’d my soul with raptures so elate,
I half forgot my own inferior state.
His Lordship too, by no proud passion sway’d,
Deign’d mild attention to an humble maid;
No stern Austerity, no inward storm,
Did his majestic countenance deform.
Pride seem’d a stranger to the blest retreat,
And happy Alluding to a Lady who was drawing Miniatures. Genius fill’d her vacant seat;
Not vain, yet conscious of her pleasing powers,
Seem’d studious to improve the flying hours.
O! happy Mansion! seat of social bliss!
Did Affluence always yield delight like this,
Then Envy! thou may’st justly cast thine eyes,
Where great men’s Domes magnificently rise.
But cease thou restless Fiend! and learn to know,
The great not always, are exempt from woe.
The gifts of fortune, blessings are by chance.
Some may degrade their value, some enhance:
In diff’rent minds such diff’rent passions reign,
They may be source of either bliss or pain:
Ye favour’d train! who now partake her store,
Lose not your present joys in search of more;Rather 37 F3r 37
Rather Minerva’s wise instruction crave,
Rightly to use what you already have.
It nought avails the peasant’s ceaseless toil,
To sow his seed upon a barren Soil;
Nor can the gifts of fortune good produce,
If those she favours misconceive their use.
Not all her choicest bounties to his breast
Who is by sordid avarice possest,
Can e’er one ray of pure delight impart,
Or tend to tranquilize his anxious heart,
Who now a stranger to internal peace,
Feels his joys lessen as his stores increase.
Or should Ambition ever restless foe!
That surest bane to happiness below,
With her falacious charms his bosom fire,
And prompt the ardent wish still to aspire;
To catch at fame, he every effort tries:
But still pursuing, still the Phantom flies:
Then finding all his tow’ring hopes denied,
He frown disdainful on his treach’rous guide.
But wherefore do I thus forsake my theme,
To follow fancy’s vain ideal dream?
Why leave those virtues which inspir’d this strain,
To paint (tho’ feebly) folly’s transient reign?
Return! my wand’ring muse! return to view
Scenes far more pleasing to the virtuous few;Where 38 F3v 38
Where hospitality unbars the Door,
In kind compassion to the neighbouring poor;
Whose prayers as fragrant odours to the skies,
For their prosperity shall ceaseless rise;
And still rever’d to time’s last date shall be
The honour’d names of Tracy, and of Leigh.
On a Conversation Between the Author and an Acquaintance, in which the latter spoke rather too warmly in favour of Libertines; with this absurd (tho’ too frequent remark,) that reformed Rakes make the best Husbands.
Forbear my friend! nor think I’ll e’er
In your Opinion join,
The Man of Virtue I’ll revere,
And not the Libertine.
This heart that owns Love’s gentle sway,
Could never be subdu’d
By one who strange to Virtue’s way,
Has ev’ry vice pursu’d.
’Tis possible he may reform,
And leave his vicious course;
Yet will not still the inward storm
Of guilt and keen remorse
Spread o’er his sad remaining days
A discontented gloom?
Will he not feel the quick decays
Of health, in manhood’s bloom?
Reflection from his conscious mind
Will chase internal peace,
Nor can a Wife tho’ e’er so kind
Repel the dire disease.
His stores of love exhausted quite,
Each tender feeling dead,
Adieu my friend, to soft delight,
The airy Phantom’s fled.
The base disguise remov’d too late,
The real Man display’d,
’Tis then in vain to rail at fate,
Or wish your vows unmade.
Ah! wretched, lost, mistaken fair,
How hopeless thy condition!
From fancied bliss, to real care,
How rapid the transition!
But O! how blest must be her fate!
How permanent her bliss,
Who enters Wedlock’s happy state,
With such a Man as this;
Who never through the mazes stray’d
Of each obſcene offence;
Who never snares for beauty laid,
Or injur’d Innocence.
Who ne’er domestic peace destroy’d,
Or made a Parent mourn
A Daughter, by his arts decoy’d,
Subjected now to scorn.
Who ne’er the sacred Laws abus’d,
That God to Man has given;
Nor those delightful paths refus’d,
That lead Mankind to Heaven.
Whose unpolluted tranquil breast
No discomposure knows,
Save when by sympathy possest
It feels for others woes.—
Who lets not false unmeaning Pride
His character disgrace;
But takes true wisdom as his guide,
Through life’s uncertain race.
To win the smiles of such a youth
What maid would not aspire?
For sure each friend to love and truth,
Such virtues must admire.
Methinks a soft impulsive bliss,
A whisper most divine,
Bids me to hope a youth like this,
The fates for me design.
A youth whose genuine worth refin’d,
Has taught me long to prove
Those three best passions of the mind;
Friendship, Esteem, and Love.
If e’er at Hymen’s sacred Shrine
We bend the grateful knee,
I’ll humbly bless the powers divine,
That fixt his choice on me.
And when our fates united are
In wedlock’s bands for life,
O may it be my constant care
To act the duteous Wife.
May heaven to me it’s grace impart,
And lend me full supplies
Of virtues, to secure that heart
I must for ever prize.
Ye fair! of Albion’s happy Isle,
By whom love’s Empire’s sway’d,
Did virtue only share your smile,
What converts might be made!
Vice then would sink in black despair,
Repuls’d by your disdain;
While Virtue, cherish’d by your care,
Redoubl’d strength would gain.
Written At the earnest request of a person, On the Death of His Favourite Dog.
If I comply with all your Schemes,
I hope you’ll find me better Themes
Than such as Dogs, to write upon;
But since you wish it, I’ve begun.
Poor Captain trusty was, and true;
No bad example friend, for you;
His faith I’d have you imitate,
But all his churlish maxims hate;
For Dogs are quarrelsome you know,
And that no Pattern is for you:
They were design’d to bark and bite,
But Men were never made to fight,
Save to defend their Country’s cause,
Their King, and long establish’d laws;He 45 G3r 45
He who fights thus, does plainly shew
He loves his King, and Country too;
Like Captain, who ne’er left the side
Of him, who all his wants supplied;
But in return his service gave,
And was content to be his slave;
And like a true and faithful friend,
The calls of duty did attend;
Then learn, like him, to be sincere,
And Captain’s mem’ry shall be dear.
Lauraand Matilda, In an Epistle to a Young Lady.
What shall I say or how begin?
The Ink’s too thick, the Paper thin,
The Pen indiff’rent, worse the Writer,
And worst of all, a bad Inditer;
Yet let me hope these imperfections,
Unfit for critical inspections,
Will meet a more propitious view,
From Friendship, dear Miss —, and you.
Tho’ no proud trait of learning shines,
Or spark’ling wit adorns these lines,
Yet simple nature’s untaught strain,
With gen’rous minds may favour gain.
I don’t know how I must proceed,
You wish for News, but ah! indeed
I’ve none to tell. ’Tis all grown stale,
And therefore must invent a Tale.’Twas 47 G4r 47
’Twas at that season of the year
When nature’s various charms appear,
That two fair Nymphs agreed to rove,
To view the beauties of the Grove.
In harmless chat to pass their hours,
Or shew their taste in culling Flowers.
Long had the youthful wand’rers stray’d,
And various observations made;
At last a flower of splendid hue,
Matilda’s fix’d attention drew;
(Near it grew one whose humbler dyes
Scarce seem’d to move her partial eyes;)
Long had she gaz’d, at last she cry’d,
O! let it be my chiefest pride,
This blooming, beauteous flow’r to gain,
The Sovereign sure, of all the plain.
But how inferior in my eye
Is that plain thing that grows just by;
And does it not most strange appear
Such contrasts should be plac’d so near?
The gentle Laura’s bosom heav’d,
My friend (she said) be not deceiv’d;
Be wise in time, and learn to know
True worth was ne’er in outward show:Perhaps 48 G4v 48
Perhaps that flow’r in plainest dress
Some hidden beauty may possess;
And what avails the paltry pride
That only decks the outward side?
Each argu’d long, at length they cry’d
Experience only can decide;
This said, each pluck’d their fav’rite toy,
In equal hope of equal joy;
But ah! how soon the scene is chang’d,
Matilda’s features all derang’d;
For scarce the flow’r her hand adorns,
Before she feels its secret Thorns;
Its tints grow pale and paler still,
And all her soul with wonder fill;
Too late she wails its quick decay,
Then throws the worthless prize away.
But Laura’s face so grave before,
Now ev’ry mark of transport wore;
Her flow’r upon a nearer view
Fills her fond soul with raptures new;
At ev’ry glance its charms improve,
And something still invites to love.
E’en when its tints delight no more,
When Beauty’s transient reign was o’er
Of all its charms it was not drain’d,
Its fragrance unimpair’d remain’d.Here 49 H1r 49
Here ends my Tale, and should the strain
Dear Miss, your approbation gain,
And share your kind approving smile,
’Twill far oer-pay the Writer’s toil;
Yet no, I’ll ask another boon,
And hope I shall obtain it soon;
I must request a line from you;
Till then, dear Miss a kind adieu.
Moral to the Tale.
External beauties first allure,
But inward charms the heart secure.
To a Lady, on the Death of Her Infant Son.
How vain the tear from Sorrow’s eye!
How vain the fond maternal sigh!
When Death! invidious foe!
With cruel force our hope destroys,
And damps our fairest, highest joys,
By one unfeeling blow.
Could these alas! your loss restore,
Could these revive the fallen flow’r,
You then may justly mourn:
But since in vain your tears must flow,
In vain a Parent’s tender woe
To bid the past return:
O! stay the fountain of your grief,
Let happier thoughts impart relief,
And view him as he is:
Remov’d from ev’ry earthly pain,
A blooming Cherub now to reign
In everlasting bliss.
Written After Hearing a Sermon on Benevolence.
Rest heavenly Precepts! deep within my heart,
Nor ever from my memory depart;
Thou dear benevolence! my thoughts employ,
Sweet source of ev’ry comfort we enjoy:
To thy blest Sway my inclinations bend,
By thee befriended, let me be thy friend.
With what delight could I have staid for hours!
To hear and learn thy bliss-creating powers;
Pleas’d to be taught that even I could be
benevolent, tho’ in a small degree.
If the first step this virtue to attain
Is from each sinful habit to abstain,
Instruct me Heav’n! to love thy perfect ways,
Nor suffer heinous guilt to mark my days.
To Friends, Relations, or Companions dear,
Let me be kind, affectionate, sincere.Whene’er 53 H3r 53
Whene’er I see the Innocent distrest,
Be all my soul with sympathy possest;
Give me the power to sooth them to repose,
Or by partaking, mitigate their woes.
Be it my care to soften and assuage
The sad afflictions of enfeebled age;
To render happy their declining years,
And smooth their passage through this vale of tears;
And while to them my willing aid I lend,
To their wise counsels gratefully attend:
Experience-taught they best know how to shew
What we should shun, and what we should pursue.
O! may I never disobedient prove,
Nor leave the paths of duty and of love;
Ne’er urge she the tear from Sorrow’s downcast eye,
Nor cause a Parent’s tender breast to sigh.
But while I in this chequer’d state remain
Of joys uncertain, and too certain pain;
O! let it ever be my fav’rite plan
To injure none, but do what good I can;
And tho’ my hands no bounty can impart,
Still let me prize benevolence of heart.
But must I end these simple untaught lays
Without one sentence in the Preachers’ praise?No, 54 H3v 54
No, may each blessing on their heads descend
May happiness supreme their lives attend
Who point out virtue in sublime discourse,
And by Examples give their Precepts force.
On the Death of Miss H—.
Assist me, my sorrowful Muse
To tell a sad story of woe,
Nor thou, meek-ey’d Pity, refuse
Thy tear on the tale to bestow.
Miss H— was the pride of her age,
Her bosom with virtue was stor’d,
Was form’d to attract and engage,
By her friends she was justly ador’d.
Her manners so gentle and kind,
Their tenderness amply repaid,
To duty her thoughts were inclin’d,
The most angelic mind she display’d.
She made ev’ry Science her care,
Her genius was equal to each,Nay 56 H4v 56
Nay those who instructed the fair
Declar’d ’twas a pleasure to teach.
But nought these endowments avail’d,
Too transient alas! was their bloom,
For Death, subtle tyrant, prevail’d,
And hurried the fair to the tomb.
She scarce to her teens had attain’d,
When the Spoiler with envious sway
A conquest most cruel obtain’d,
Making Youth, Wit, and Beauty, his prey.
Tho’ doom’d (like a bright Morning-Star)
To sink ere she reach’d her noon-day,
Yet cease ye fond Friends to despair;
That Summons we all must obey.
Her Soul from its beautiful Shrine
Is fled to the regions of light;
In which happy state may you join,
And in fulness of joy reunite.
On Slighted Friendship.
What words can paint the pangs that wound the mind,
When those we love prove careless and unkind?
Those whose regard we long have learnt to prize,
Attach’d by Nature’s nearest, strongest ties;
With whom we fondly spent our infant years,
When only childish Innocence appears;
When no vain cares conspire our joys to blight,
Or disappointed hopes put peace to flight;
But still unheedful of each coming day,
The present glides (unmark’d with griefs) away;
And thence when Youth its sprightly reign assumes,
And dawning reason more maturely blooms,
Together still, harmoniously have prov’d
The tender bliss, to love and be belov’d.
Alas! why do not friendships thus begun,
Through life’s precarious scenes unminish’d run?I Why 58 I1v 58
Why does not time the sacred flame sustain,
And rather strengthen than impair the chain?
Behold the Ivy round the tow’ring Oak!
Firmly eludes its unrelenting stroke;
Its tender stems the knotty trunk enclose,
And closer cling, the longer still it grows;
E’en when the tempest rends the vaulted sky,
And awful Heaven bids vivid Lightnings fly;
When the dread Bolt is in just fury hurl’d,
And threats destruction on the nether world,
(Mercy preserves mankind;) the direful blow
Compels the Oak in shatter’d plight to bow;
Still the fond Ivy kindly twines, and tries
To hide the wounded bark from prying eyes.
But needs mankind, (endu’d with strength of thought)
Thus by instinctive nature to be taught
That Friendship should the storms of fate outlast?
Nor fly Adversity’s inclement blast.
When dire Misfortune, whose chastising rod
Gives us to know the influence of a God;
Beneath the pressure when we hopeless bend,
What can then sooth us but a faithful friend?
Yes heaven-born Virtue! thy resistless sway
Can chase the gloomy thought of care away;Can 59 I2r 59
Can blunt the edge of Sorrow’s keenest dart,
And healing balsam to the wound impart.
But when this source of ev’ry pure delight
Dwindles away to disregard and slight;
With tearful eyes, and throbbing heart, we view
The change, and bid to smiling peace adieu.
Yet one resource remains to yield relief,
And calm the bosom overwhelm’d with grief;
’Tis life-preserving Hope, who flies to bring
Mild resignation on her downy wing.
With gentle, soft, persuasive voice she cries,
I come, to wipe those dew-drops from thy eyes;
To say that though the fates are now severe,
Some future time may find them less austere;
Returning friendship may o’er-pay your pain,
And long-lost pleasures reassume their reign.
Ode to Sleep.
O balmy Sleep beneath whose wings,
We feel no more the poignant stings
That wound the woe-fraught mind;
But lull’d in thy oblivious arms,
From all discordant vain alarms
A grateful respite find.
O! say may I, an humble Maid,
Presume to court the Muses’ aid
To sing thy soothing power?
Thou who canst still the voice of grief,
And yield a temporal relief,
E’en in afflictions hour.
From Monarchs who in splendor reign,
Down to the Peasant on the plain
Thy influence does extend;To 61 I3r 61
To those who move in highest state,
And those who prove the humblest fate.
An universal friend!
The Statesman who with fervent zeal,
Still anxious for his country’s weal
Each mental power will strain;
In thee his teeming mind discharg’d,
By thee his faculties enlarg’d
Increasing ardour gain.
The Love-sick Swain whose bosom knows
Few intervals of calm repose,
Who sighs in wan despair;
In thee awhile his cares resign’d,
In flatt’ring dreams perhaps may find
His Nymph as kind as fair.
But soon regrets thy hasty flight,
That robs his soul of each delight
Thy airy Visions gave:
Rous’d from the dream of joys elate,
Becomes again, ah! cruel fate,
The haughty fair one’s Slave!
The captive wretch inur’d to pain,
In thee forgets the galling chain,
Th’ imperious Tyrant’s rage:
Tho’ on a coarse Straw-Bed he’s laid,
Yet there, thou deign’st thy friendly aid
His sorrows to assuage.
Beneath the Sun’s all-piercing ray,
The toiling Swains beguile the day,
At night thy aid implore:
And soon thou bid’st their eye-lids close,
Bid’st them enjoy a calm repose,
Tir’d Nature to restore.
There, there sweet Sleep, in their retreat
Of Innocence, and health the seat,
Enjoy thy tranquil reign:
Where no alarms awaken fear,
Or modern midnight revels e’er
Disturb the peaceful plain.
The Following Lines Were Pinned to the Cradle of an Infant.
Oh! thou of helpless Infancy the friend,
Thou the kind parent of serene repose,
Accept these lines, for tho’ uncouthly penn’d,
The heart that prompts them with Affection glows.
Revere, O blest Machine! thy task assign’d,
Be proud to boast that nought but Innocence
Is to thy guardian confines e’er consign’d,
None but the happy strangers to offence.
And thou the sweet Inhabitant! whose breast
No anxious thought as yet, has taught to sigh;Enjoy 64 I4v 64
Enjoy thy state of unembitter’d rest,
For ah! too soon these happy moments fly.
Infantile days to Childhood’s soon give place,
Then Youth assumes its far less happy reign;
And thus each season rolling on apace,
Soon brings the chequer’d scene of joy and pain.
Thy tender infancy but little knows
What anxious care thy parent’s bosom rends,
How oft she quits her pillow of repose,
And over thine with fond affection bends.
How oft with feelings, Mothers best can name,
She to this place her midnight visit pays,
To watch each motion of thy tender frame,
Or catch the smile that o’er thy features plays.
Propitious Heaven! indulge my fervent prayers,
Celestial Spirits this sweet Infant guard;
So may her virtues bright, at riper years
For love maternal prove the best reward.
The Cottage, an Evening Walk.
Hail blest Asylum! from the giddy train,
That daily haunt the public scenes of life;
Here sober reason holds her peaceful reign,
Uninterrupted by malignant strife.
Ye thoughtless great! your fleeting joys pursue,
I will not envy your superior lot,
Parade and pageantry I’ll leave to you,
And seek for pleasure in this humbler spot.
To render more delightful this retreat,
What other charms could Art or Nature yield?
Here, Contemplation! thou may’st fix thy seat,
Here glowing Fancy! find an ample field.
Could I in inin soft, harmonious strains, describe
The varied beauties that surround this shed,
I’d stay and join the tuneful feather’d tribe,
Nor sable-vested Night’s approach would dread.
But their soft notes no longer charm our ears,
No more yon woods with vocal Music fill,
Sinking to rest all nature now appears,
And hush’d in silence is the busy Mill.
The Sun no longer gilds the western sky,
No longer chears us with it’s rays divine;
That loss kind Cynthia anxious to supply,
In solemn splendor takes her turn to shine.
And what fond hope? what foolish thirst for praise
Should at this hour my home-bent steps retard?
To sing the Cottage in sublimer lays
Must be the task of some superior bard.
Lines placed on a Fire-screen.
Ye lovely fair! whose beauties bright
Just admiration claim,
O let me share the dear delight
To screen you from the flame.
The treach’rous flame, that might beguile
Those roses of their dyes,
And with invidious force despoil
The lustre of those eyes.
Yet ah! in spite of all my care,
My ever ready aid,
Those charms the common fate must share;
And soon, or late, must fade.
O then with caution guard the mind,
Bid innate virtues bloom;
For charms like these regard must find
That will survive the Tomb.