TO THE SAME,

ON HER DRESS.

An envious robe! to frustrate Heaven's intent, Concealing beauty from the eye of day; Beauty to man by gracious Nature sent

To cheer the wand'rer on his lonesome way. One pow'r who wak'd Aurora's smiling light Gave skies their azure, and gave vales their green,

Form'd the quick sense for wonder and delight, Made eyes to see, and Laura to be seen. Curs'd be th' eclipse that plunges morn in night, And jealous clouds that shade the landscape's On envious robes severer curses light, [scene; That veil the beauties of my summer's queen! Ah Laura! cruel Laura! why constrain,

In art's fantastic drapery, Nature's ease? Why, form'd to empire, empire's arts disdain? Why, born for pleasure, still refuse to please?

Nor yet these folds on folds, this load of dress,
Shall bar approaches to poetic love;
No-where the graces sport in sweet recess,
'Tis fancy, bold intruder's joy to rove.
Fancy, pursuing where my Laura flies,

With wanton gales forbidden charms reveals, Betrays her slumbers, and with eager eyes

The panting breast, devouring, dreams it feels. Fancy indulgent to her votary's prayer,

Shows where, sequester'd from the sultry beam, The limpid wave but ill conceal'd the fair, With virgins sporting in her Ganges' stream.

TO THE SAME.

AH Laura! while graces and songs,

While smiles, winning smiles you impart; Indulgence but nurses desire,

I sigh for that treasure, your heart.
Yes, take, too presumptuous, she cries,
All that virtue can wish to receive;
Yes, take all that virtue can grant,
A heart I had never to give.

The maid of the north, like the lake,
That sleeps by her peaceable cot,
Too languishing lives but for one,

Forgetting the world, and forgot.
But born where my Ganges expands,
To no partial channels confin'd,
Unfix'd to no object, I flow

With innocent smiles on mankind. Our Asia's bright dames, like their sun, Cheer all with benevolent reign, Coy moons, Europe's daughters, but light A single disconsolate swain.

ON READING THE FOREGOING

VERSES

BY MISS G

AH! Dorimant, victim to love,
Too fatally caught in his wiles,
Can you in fair Laura approve

Those diffusive, those general smiles?
If inconstancy dwells with that fire
Which the Sun-beams of Asia impart
Can a daughter of Europe desire

To change with your Laura a heart?
No!-happier the tempʼrate mind,
Which, fix'd to one object alone,
To one tender passion confin'd,
Breathes no wishes, no sighs, but for one.-
Such bliss has the maid of the plain,

Tho' secluded she lives in a cot;
Yet, rich in the love of her swain,
She's contented, and blesses her lot.-

Ah! say, if deserving thy heart,

The too undistinguishing fair, Who to thousands can raptures impart, And the raptures of thousands can share? Ah! say, does she merit those lays? Those lays which true passion define ?— No-unworthy the fair of thy praise, Who can listen to any but thine.

REPLY TO MISS G SAPPHO, while your Muse of fire, Listening to the vocal spheres, Sits and tempers to her lyre

Airs divine for mortal ears: Viewing higher orbs that glow, Ever constant, ever true, Still she dreams to find below

Perfect forms, as Heaven and you, Blame not Asia's fair, who glances

Random smiles in heedless ease, Shifts at will her wayward fancies. Pleasing all, whom all can please; Blame her not-no envied treasure Is the tender, feeling heart, Bosoms quick to keener pleasure

Beat alas! as quick to smart. Who with eyes that ever languish,

Still to deserts sighs alone? Who consumes her youth in anguish -She who keeps an heart for one. Tender love repaid with treason, Fortune's frowns, parental power, Blast her in the vernal season, Bend her, unsupported flower. Happier she, with pliant nature Fleeting, fickle as the wind; She, who proving one a traitor, Turns to meet another kind. Blame her not-with Asian rovers What can Asia's fair pursue? What? but lessons taught by lovers, Like the traitor, treacherous too.

Why should faith, obsequious duty,

Sooth an eastern tyrant's scorn?
Who but rifles joyless beauty

Steals the honey, leaves the thorn.
Sadness sits by Ganges' fountains;
How can echo cheer the vale ?
What repeat from fragrant mountains!
What but grief and horrour's tale?
What but shrieks of wild despair?

What but shouts that murder sleep?
There the struggling, fainting fair;

There-but see my Sappho weep! Change the strain!-this mournful measure Melts, oppresses virtuous heartsSappho, wake thy lyre of pleasure! Sing of Europe's happier arts! Sing of all the mingled blessing Reason, tempering passion, knows ; All the transport of possessing Unpluck'd beauty's willing rose! Sing of that refin'd sensation

Mutual melting bosoms prove, Souls exchang'd, sweet emanation, Separate being lost in love! Rapture's tears, voluptuous stream! Languor stealing sorrow's sighs! Sing of love-thyself the theme! Sing of love-thyself the prize!

SONG.

HANG my lyre upon the willow,
Sign to winds thy notes forlorn;
Or, along the foamy billow

Float the wrecking tempest's scorn.
Sprightly sounds no more it raises,
Such as Laura's smiles approve;
Laura scorns her poet's praises,

Calls his artless friendship love: Calls it love, that spurning duty, Spurning Nature's chastest ties, Mocks thy tears, dejected beauty, Sports with fallen virtue's sighs. Call it love, no more profaning

Truth with dark suspicion's wound; Or, my fair, the term retaining,

Change the sense, preserve the sound. Yes, 'tis love-that name is given, Angels, to your purest flames: Such a love as merits Heaven, Heaven's divinest image claims.

LAURA'S ANSWER.

BY MISS G

Soox be thy lyre to winds consign'd,
Or hurl'd beneath the raging deep,
For while such strains seduce my mind,
How shall my heart its purpose keep?
Thy artful lays, which artless seem,
With too much fondness I approve;
Ah! write no more on such a theme,

Or Laura's friendship-ends in love,

TO MISS G

Au leave, you cry, the harp unstrung, For fortune shifts her fickle wind: Resume thy lyre, on willows hung,

To sing the fair, no longer kind.

No nearer view my alter'd state,
For fear too high, for hope too low;
Beneath the victor's joyful fate,

Yet far above the captive's woe.
The charms of sense no more beguile;

On reason's lap I lay me down:
If claiming now no beauties' smile,
Appears it just to meet their frown?
Light insects they, of gaudy hues,

Admire the glare of youthful day,
Still bathe in morn's, not evening's dews,
From shades of autumn fleet away.
Behold their train of captains, beaux!
Disdain my breast, disdain to sigh!
To these the fair, the rivals those,
The son of Jove's be my reply:
"Ah why desert th' Olympic games?
Aspire to victory!" Philip cries:
"I come," young Ammon fierce exclaims,
"If kings my rivals, thrones the prize."
Yes, letter'd maid! my soul approve,

The seat no more of vain desires: Extinguish'd there the flame of love, Extinguish'd there ambition's fires! To save from vice, from folly save, What aid can beauty, power afford? Unworthy love to call thee slave,

Unworthy crowds to call thee lord! Pure reason, yes; pure truth—but why, Ah why rebellious heart declare, With flattering pulse and stifled sigh, That other tenants harbour there? Go-tranquil Hope, by turns to dwell, Expelling reason pleasure's court, Expelling passion wisdom's cell: Go-reason's, passion's mutual sport. Vain dreamer!-rather both revere, But neither's sole dominion own: When Heaven assign'd to each their sphere, It never meant excluding one: Excluding which?-objections wait

On vain pretensions either forms; Alike to life's salubrious state

Ye both are fatal-calms and storms.

TO LAURA,

303

ON HER RECEIVING A MYSTERIOUS LETTER FROM A
METHODIST DIVINE,

THE doctor wakes early-half drest in his cassoc,
He steals from his consort to write;
She sleeps-and 'sweet Heaven is invok'd from
his hassoc,

To lengthen the trance of her night.

Now he writes to the fair, with what fervour he
Heaven's glory concern'd in her fame; [paints
How he raves upon grace, and the union of
Idolatry, raptures, and flame? [saints
Equivocal priest, lay solemnity by,
Deceiver thyself, or deceiv'd!
When you kneel to the idol of beauty, and sigh,
Are your ardours for Heaven believ'd ?
Will the heart that is kindled from passions
Ascend in pure spirit above?
[below
Ah! analyse better, as blended they glow
The flames of religion and love.-

Quit the teacher, my fair one, and listen to me,
A doctor less grave and severe !
Who eternity's joys for the virtuous can see
Consistent with happiness here.

Still reverence, I preach, those endearing relations
Of daughter, of parent, of wife :

Yet I blame not your relish for slighter sensations
That sweeten the medicine of life.

Know, the virtue it cherishes Heaven will reward,
But attend to no blasphemous tales,
That the blaze of the Deity shines unimpair'd,
Though human infirmity fails.

Know your God as he is, wise, good, beyond
No tyrant in horrours array'd, [measure,
But a father, who smiles on the innocent pleasure

Of amiable creatures he made!—

Still please, and pursue his benevolent ends,
Still enrapture the heart and the ear!

I can swear for myself, and believe for my friends,
Our morals improve as we hear.

If the passions are waken'd by harmony's charm, Their breezes waft health to the mind,

What our reason but labours, vain toil! to disarm,
By virtue and song are refin'd.

Ah! listen to me, in whose natural school
Religion leads truth by the hand!---
Who regulates faith by a mystical rule,
But builds his foundation on sand!

By the winds of unreconcil'd principles driven,
Still fluctuates the methodist's plan;
Now he wishes you chaste for the glory of Heaven,
-Now frail-for the pleasure of man.

TO THE SAME.

ON POLITICS.

FROM moments so precious to life,
All politics, Laura, remove;
Ruby lips must not animate strife,

But breathe the sweet language of love. What is party?-a zeal without science, A bubble of popular fame, In nature and virtue's defiance, "Tis reason enslav'd to a name. 'Tis the language of madness, or fashion, Where knaves only guess what they mean; "Tis a cloak to conceal private passion,

To indulge, with applause, private spleen. Can 1, plac'd by my Laura, inquire, If poison or claret put out

Our Churchill's satyrical fire,

If Wilkes lives with ears or without?

When you vary your charms with your patches,
To me 'tis a weightier affair,
Than who writes the northern dispatches,
Or sits in the president's chair.
When, by nature and art form'd to please,
You sing, and you talk, and you laugh,
Can I forfeit such raptures as these,

To dream of the chamberlain's staff?

Secure under Brunswick and Heaven,

I trust the state vessel shall ride:
To Bute let the rudder be given,
Or Pitt be permitted to guide.

At Almack's, when the turtle's well drest,
Must I know the cook's country, or starve ?
And when George gives us liberty's feast,
Not taste 'till Newcastle shall carve?
Yet think not that wildly I range,

With no sober system in view;
My notions are fix'd, though they change,
Applied to Great Britain and you.
There, I reverence our bright constitution,
Not heeding what caluinny raves,
Yet wish for a new revolution,

Should rulers treat subjects as slaves.
Here, the doctrine of boundless dominion,
Of boundless obedience is mine;
Ah! my fair, to cure schism in opinion,

Confess non-resistance is thine.