In vain she seeks the friendless shore ;
Her swifter folly flies before!
The circling ports against her close,
And shut the wand'rer from repose;
Till, by conflicting waves oppress'd,
Her found'ring pinnace sinks to rest.
Are there no offerings to atone
For but a single error?-None.
Though woman is avow'd, of old,
Nay daughter of celestial mould,
Her temp'ring not without allay,
And form'd but of the finer clay,
We challenge from the mortal dame
The strength angelic natures claim;
Nay more for sacred stories tell,
That e'en immortal angels fell.

Whatever fills the teeming sphere
Of humid earth, and ambient air,
With varying elements endued,
Was form'd to fall, and rise renew'd.
The stars no fix'd duration know;
Wide oceans ebb, again to flow;
The moon repletes her waning face,
All beauteous from her late disgrace;
And suns, that mourn approaching night,
Refulgent rise with new-born light.

In vain may death and time subdue,
While nature mints her race anew;
And holds some vital spark apart,
Like virtue, hid in ev'ry heart.
'Tis hence reviving warmth is seen,
"To clothe a naked world in green.
No longer barr'd by winter's cold,
Again the gates of life unfold;
Again each insect tries his wing,
And lifts fresh pinions on the spring;
Again from ev'ry latent root
The latent stem and tendril shoot,
Exhaling incense to the skies,
Again to perish, and to rise.

And must weak woman then disown
The change to which a world is prone?
In one meridian brightness shine,
And ne'er like ev'ning suns decline?
Resolv'd and firm alone? Is this
What we demand of woman?—Yes.

But should the spark of vestal fire
In some unguarded hour expire;
Or should the nightly thief invade
Hesperia's chaste and sacred shade,
Of all the blooming spoil possess'd,
The dragon Honor charm'd to rest,
Shall virtue's flame no more return?
No more with virgin splendor burn?
No more the ravag'd garden blow
With spring's succeeding blossom?—No.
Pity may mourn, but not restore;
And woman falls-to rise no more!

Within this sublunary sphere
A country lies-no matter where;
The clime may readily be found
By all who tread poetic ground;
A stream call'd Life, across it glides,
And equally the land divides;

And here, of vice the province lies;
And there the hills of virtue rise.

Upon a mountain's airy stand,
Whose summit look'd to either land,
An ancient pair their dwelling chose,
As well for prospect as repose;
For mutual faith they long were fam'd,
And Temp'rance and Religion nam'd.
A num'rous progeny divine
Confess'd the honors of their line,
But in a little daughter fair

Was centred more than half their care; For Heaven to gratulate her birth, Gave signs of future joy to earth; White was the robe this infant wore, And Chastity the name she bore.

As now the maid in stature grew (A flow'r just op'ning to her view) Oft through her native lawns she stray'd, And wrestling with the lambkins play'd; Her looks diffusive sweets bequeath'd, The breeze grew purer as she breath'd; The morn her radiant blush assum'd, The spring with earlier fragrance bloom'd; And nature yearly took delight, Like her to dress the world in white.

But when her rising form was seen To reach the crisis of fifteen, Her parents up the mountain's head With anxious step their darling led; By turns they snatch'd her to their breast, And thus the fears of age express'd:

O joyful cause of many a care! O daughter too divinely fair! Yon world, on this important day, Demands thee to a dang'rous way; A painful journey all must go, Whose doubted period none can know ; Whose due direction who can find, Where reason's mute, and sense is blind! Ah, what unequal leaders these, Through such a wide, perplexing maze! Then mark the warnings of the wise, And learn what love and years advise.

Far to the right thy prospect bend,
Where yonder tow'ring hills ascend;
Lo! there the arduous path's in view
Which Virtue and her sóns pursue;
With toil o'er less'ning earth they rise,
And gain, and gain upon the skies.
Narrow's the way her children tread,
No walk for pleasure smoothly spread,
But rough, and difficult, and steep,
Painful to climb, and hard to keep.

Fruits immature those lands dispense,
A food indelicate to sense,
Of taste unpleasant: yet from those
Pure health, with cheerful vigor, flows;
And strength, unfeeling of decay,
Throughout the long laborious way.

Hence, as they scale that heavenly road,
Each limb is lighten'd of its load;
From earth refining still they go,
And leave the mortal weight below;

Then spreads the strait, the doubtful clears,
And smooth the rugged path appears ;
For custom turns fatigue to ease,
And, taught by virtue, pain can please.
At length the toilsome journey o'er,
And near the bright celestial shore,
A gulf, black, fearful, and profound,
Appears, of either world the bound,
Through darkness leading up to light;
Sense backwards shrinks, and shuns the sight;
For there the transitory train

Of time, and form, and care, and pain,
And matter's gross incumb'ring mass,
Man's late associates, cannot pass;
But, sinking, quit th' immortal charge,
And leave the wond'ring soul at large;
Lightly she wings her obvious way,
And mingles with eternal day.

Thither, oh thither wing thy speed,
Though pleasure charm, or pain impede;
To such th'all-bounteous Pow'r has given,
For present earth, a future heaven;
For trivial loss, unmeasur'd gain;
And endless bliss for transient pain.
Then fear, ah! fear to turn thy sight
Where yonder flow'ry fields invite:
Wide on the left the pathway bends,
And with pernicious ease descends!
There, sweet to sense, and fair to show,
New-planted Edens seem to blow,
Trees that delicious poison bear;
For death is vegetable there.

Hence is the frame of health unbrac'd,
Each sinew slack'ning at the taste,
The soul to passion yields her throne,
And sees with organs not her own;
While, like the slumb'rer in the night,
Pleas'd with the shadowy dream of light,
Before her alienated eyes
The scenes of fairy-land arise;
The puppet world's amusing show,
Dipp'd in the gaily-color'd bow,

Sceptres and wreaths, and glitt'ring things,
The toys of infants and of kings,
That tempt along the baneful plain,
The idly wise and lightly vain,
Till, verging on the gulfy shore,
Sudden they sink-and rise no more.

But list to what thy fates declare;
Though thou art woman, frail as fair,
If once thy sliding foot should stray,
Once quit yon heav'n-appointed way,
For thee, lost maid, for thee alone,
Nor pray'rs shall plead, nor tears atone;
Reproach, scorn, infamy, and hate,
On thy returning steps shall wait;
Thy form be loath'd by ev'ry eye,
And ev'ry foot thy presence fly.

Thus arm'd with words of potent sound,
Like guardian angels plac'd around,
A charm by truth divinely cast,
Forward our young advent'rer pass'd;
Forth from her sacred eyelids sent,
Like morn, fore-running radiance went,

While Honor, handmaid late assign'd Upheld her lucid train behind.

Awe-struck, the much-admiring crowd
Before the virgin vision bow'd;
Gaz'd with an ever-new delight,
And caught fresh virtue at the sight;
For not of earth's unequal frame
They deem the heaven-compounded dame;
If matter, sure the most refin'd,
High wrought, and temper'd into mind,
Some darling daughter of the day,
And bodied by her native ray.

Where'er she passes, thousands bend,
And thousands where she moves attend;
Her ways observant eyes confess,
Her steps pursuing praises bless;
While to the elevated Maid
Oblations, as to heaven, are paid.

'Twas on an ever-blithsome day,
The jovial birth of rosy May,
When genial warmth, no more supprest,
Now melts the frost in ev'ry breast.
The cheek with secret flushing dyes,
And looks kind things from chastest eyes;
The sun with healthier visage glows,
Aside his clouded kerchief throws,
And dances up th' ethereal plain,
Where late he us'd to climb with pain,
While nature, as from bonds set free,
Springs out, and gives a loose to glee.

And now, for momentary rest,
The nymph her travell'd steps repress'd,
Just turn'd to view the stage attain 'd,
And gloried in the height she gain'd.

Outstretch'd before her wide survey
The realms of sweet perdition lay,
And pity touch'd her soul with woe,
To see a world so lost below;

When straight the breeze began to breathe
Airs, gently wafted from beneath,

That bore commission'd witchcraft thence,

And reach'd her sympathy of sense ;

No sounds of discord, that disclose
A people sunk and lost in woes,
But as of present good possest,
The very triumph of the blest.
The maid in rapt attention hung,
While thus approaching sirens sung:

Hither, fairest, hither haste,
Brightest beauty, come and taste
What the pow'rs of bliss unfold,
Joys too mighty to be told:
Taste what ecstasies they give;
Dying raptures taste, and live.

In thy lap, disdaining measure,
Nature empties all her treasure,
Soft desires, that sweetly languish;
Fierce delights, that rise to anguish;
Fairest, dost thou yet delay?
Brightest beauty, come away.
List not, when the froward chide,
Sons of pedantry and pride,
Snarlers, to whose feeble sense
April's sunshine is offence;

Age and envy will advise
E'en against the joy they prize.
Come, in pleasure's balmy bowl
Slake the thirstings of thy soul,
Till thy raptur'd powers are fainting
With enjoyment past the painting;
Fairest, dost thou yet delay?
Brightest beauty, come away.
So sung the Sirens, as of yore,
Upon the false Ausonian shore;
And O! for that preventing chain
That bound Ulysses on the inain,
That so our Fair One might withstand
The covert ruin, now at hand.

The song her charm'd attention drew,
When now the tempters stood in view;
Curiosity, with prying eyes,
And hands of busy bold emprise ;
Like Hermes, feather'd were her feet;
And, like fore-running Fancy, fleet;
By search untaught, by toil untir'd,
To novelty she still aspir'd,
Tasteless of every good possest,
And but in expectation blest.

With her, associate, Pleasure came,
Gay Pleasure, frolic-loving dame,
Her mien all swimming in delight,
Her beauties half reveal'd to sight;
Loose flow'd her garments from the ground,
And caught the kissing winds around:
As erst Medusa's looks were known
To turn beholders into stone,
A dire reversion here they felt,
And in the eye of Pleasure melt.

Her glance, with sweet persuasion charm'd,
Unnerv'd the strong, the steel disarm'd ;
No safety e'en the flying find,
Who, vent'rous, look but once behind.

Thus was the much-admiring Maid,
While distant, more than half betray'd.
With smiles, and adulation bland,
They join'd her side, and seiz 'd her hand;
Their touch envenom'd sweets instill'd,
Her frame with new pulsations thrill'd,
While half consenting, half denying,
Reluctant now, and now complying,
Amidst a war of hopes and fears,
Of trembling wishes, smiling tears,
Still down and down, the winning pair
Compell'd the struggling, yielding Fair:
As when some stately vessel, bound
To blest Arabia's distant ground,
Borne from her courses, haply lights
Where Barca's flow'ry clime invites,
Conceal'd around whose treach'rous land
Lurk the dire rock and dang 'rous sand;
The pilot warns, with sail and oar
To shun the much-suspected shore,
In vain; the tide, too subtly strong,
Still bears the wrestling bark along,
Till found'ring, she resigns to fate,

And sinks, o'erwhelm'd, with all her freight.
So, baffling ev'ry bar to sin,
And Heav'n's own pilot plac'd within,

Along the devious, smooth descent,
With pow'rs increasing as they went,
The dames, accustom'd to subdue,
As with a rapid current drew,
And o'er the fatal bounds convey'd
The lost, the long-reluctant Maid.

Here stop, ye fair ones, and beware,
Nor send your fond affections there;
Yet, yet your darling, now deplor'd,
May turn, to you and heav'n restor'd;
Till then, with weeping Honor wait,
The servant of her better fate;
With Honor, left upon
the shore,
Her friend and handmaid now no more;
Nor, with the guilty world, upbraid
The fortunes of a wretch betray'd;
But o'er her failing cast a veil,
Rememb'ring you yourselves are frail,
And now from all-inquiring light,
Fast fled the conscious shades of night;
The Damsel, from a short repose,
Confounded at her plight, arose.

As when, with slumb'rous weight opprest,
Some wealthy miser sinks to rest,
Where felons eye the glitt'ring prey,
And steal his hoard of joys away;
He, borne where golden Indus streams,
Of pearl and quarry'd diamond dreams;
Like Midas, turn the glebe to ore,
And stands all rapt amidst his store;
But wakens, naked and despoil'd,
Of that for which his years had toil'd:
So far'd the Nymph, her treasure flown,
And turn'd, like Niobe, to stone;
Within, without, obscure and void,
She felt all ravag'd, all destroy'd:
And, O thou curs'd, insidious coast!
Are these the blessings thou canst boast?
These, Virtue! these the joys they find,
Who leave thy heav'n-topt hills behind?
Shade me, ye pines, ye caverns hide,
Ye mountains, cover me, she cried.

Her trumpet Slander rais'd on high,
And told the tidings to the sky;
Contempt discharg'd a living dart,
A side-long viper to her heart;
Reproach breath'd poisons o'er her face,
And soil'd and blasted ev'ry grace;
Officious Shame, her handmaid new,
Still turn'd the mirror to her view;
While those in crimes the deepest dyed
Approach'd to whiten at her side,
And ev'ry lewd insulting dame
Upon her folly rose to fame.

What should she do? Attempt once more To gain the late deserted shore?

So trusting, back the Mourner flew;
As fast the train of fiends

pursue.

Again the farther shore's attain 'd, Again the land of virtue gain'd; But echo gathers in the wind, And shows her instant foes behind. Amaz'd, with headlong speed she tends, Where late she left an host of friends;

M

Alas! those shrinking friends decline,
Nor longer own that form divine;
With fear they mark the following cry,
And from the lonely trembler fly;
Or backward drive her on the coast,
Where peace was wreck'd and honor lost.
From earth thus hoping aid in vain,
To Heaven not daring to complain;
No truce by hostile clamor given,
And from the face of friendship driven,
The Nymph sunk prostrate on the ground.
With all her weight of woes around.

Enthron'd within a circling sky,
Upon a mount o'er mountains high,
All radiant sat, as in a shrine,
Virtue, first effluence divine,

Far, far above the scenes of woe,

That shut this cloud-wrapt world below;
Superior goddess, essence bright,
Beauty of uncreated light,
Whom should mortality survey,
As doom'd upon a certain day,
The breath of frailty must expire,
The world dissolve in living fire,
The gems of heaven and solar flame,
Be quench'd by her eternal beam,
And nature, quick'ning in her eye,
To rise a new-born phoenix, die.

Hence, unreveal'd to mortal view,
A veil around her form she threw,
Which three sad sisters of the shade,
Pain, Care, and Melancholy made.
Through this her all-inquiring eye,
Attentive from her station high,
Beheld, abandon'd to despair,
The ruins of her fav'rite fair;
And with a voice, whose awful sound
Appall'd the guilty world around,
Bid the tumultuous winds be still,
To numbers bow'd each list'ning hill,
Uncurl'd the surging of the main,
And smooth'd the thorny bed of pain;
The golden harp of heaven she strung,
And thus the tuneful goddess sung:

Lovely Penitent arise,
Come, and claim thy kindred skies;
Come, thy sister angels say,
Thou hast wept thy stains away.

Let experience now decide
'Twixt the good and evil tried;
In the smooth, enchanted ground,
Say, unfold the treasures found.

Structures, rais'd by morning dreams;
Sands, that trip the flitting streams;
Down, that anchors on the air;
Clouds, that paint their changes there;

Seas, that smoothly dimpling lie,
While the storm impends on high,
Showing, in an obvious glass,
Joys that in possession pass;

Transient, fickle, light, and gay,
Flatt'ring only to betray;

What, alas, can life contain!
Life! like all its circles-vain.
Will the stork, intending rest,
On the billow build her nest?
Will the bee demand his store
From the bleak and bladeless shore?
Man alone, intent to stray,
Ever turns from wisdom's way;
Lays up wealth in foreign land,
Sows the sea, and ploughs the sand.

Soon this elemental mass,
Soon the encumb'ring world shall pass :
Form be wrapt in wasting fire,
Time be spent, and life expire.

Then, ye boasted works of men,
Where is your asylum then?
Sons of pleasure, sons of care,
Tell me mortals, tell me where?

Gone, like traces on the deep,
Like a sceptre grasp'd in sleep,
Dews exhal'd from morning glades,
Melting snows, and gliding shades.

Pass the world, and what's behind?
Virtue's gold, by fire refin'd;
From a universe deprav'd,
From the wreck of nature sav'd;

Like the life-supporting grain,
Fruit of patience and of pain,
On the swains' autumnal day,
Winnow'd from the chaff away.

Little trembler, fear no more,
Thou hast plenteous crops in store;
Seed, by genial sorrows sown,
More than all thy scorners own.

What though hostile earth despise, Heaven beholds with gentler eyes; Heaven thy friendless steps shall guide, Cheer thy hours, and guard thy side.

When the fatal trump shall sound,
When th' immortals pour around,
Heaven shall thy return attest,
Hail'd by myriads of the blest.

Little native of the skies,
Lovely penitent, arise;
Calm thy bosom, clear thy brow,
Virtue is thy sister now.

More delightful are my woes
Than the rapture pleasure knows ;
Richer far the weeds I bring,
Than the robes that grace a king.

On my wars of shortest date,
Crowns of endless triumph wait;
On my cares a period blest;
On my toils eternal rest.

Come, with Virtue at thy side;
Come, be ev'ry bar defied,
Till we gain our native shore ;
Sister, come, and turn no more.

§ 282. FABLE XVI. Love and Vanity. THE breezy morning breath'd perfume, The wak'ning flow'rs unveil'd their bloom, Up with the sun, from short repose, Gay health and lusty labor rose; The milkmaid caroll'd at her pail, And shepherds whistled o'er the dale; When Love, who led a rural life, Remote from bustle, state, and strife, Forth from his thatch-roof'd cottage stray'd, And stroll'd along the dewy glade.

A Nymph, who lightly tripp'd it by, To quick attention turn'd his eye; He mark'd the gesture of the fair, Her self-sufficient grace and air, Her steps that mincing, meant to please, Her studied negligence and ease; And curious to inquire what meant This thing of prettiness and paint, Approaching spoke, and bow'd observant ; The lady slightly,-Sir, your servant. Such beauty in so rude a place! Fair one, you do the country grace; At court no doubt the public care; But Love has small acquaintance there. Yes, Sir, replied the flutt'ring Dame, This form confesses whence it came; But dear variety, you know, Can make us pride and pomp forego. My name is Vanity. I sway The utmost islands of the sea; Within my court all honor centres; I raise the meanest soul that enters, Endow with latent gifts and graces, And model fools for posts and places.

As Vanity appoints at pleasure, The world receives its weight and measure; Hence all the grand concerns of life,

Joys, cares, plagues, passions, peace, and strife.
Reflect how far my pow'r prevails,
When I step in where nature fails,
And ev'ry breach of sense repairing,
Am bounteous still where heaven is sparing.
But chief in all their arts and airs,
Their playing, painting, pouts, and pray'rs,
Their various habits and complexions,
Fits, frolics, foibles, and perfections,
Their robing, curling, and adorning,
From noon to night, from night to morn-
ing,

From six to sixty, sick or sound,
I rule the female world around.

Hold there a moment, Cupid cried,
Nor boast dominion quite so wide.
Was there no province to invade,
But that by Love and Meekness sway'd?
All other empire I resign;
But be the sphere of beauty mine.

For in the downy lawn of rest,
That opens on a woman's breast,
Attended by my peaceful train,
I choose to live, and choose to reign.
Far-sighted faith I bring along,
And truth, above an army strong;

And chastity of icy mould,
Within the burning tropics cold;
And lowliness, to whose mild brow,
The pow'r and pride of nations bow;
And modesty, with downcast eye,
That lends the morn her virgin dye;
And innocence, array'd in light;
And honor, as a tow'r upright;
With sweetly winning graces, more
Than poets ever dreamt of yore,
In unaffected conduct free,

All smiling sisters, three times three;
And rosy peace, the cherub blest,
That nightly sings us all to rest.

Hence, from the bud of nature's prime,
From the first step of infant time,
Woman, the world's appointed light,
Has skirted ev'ry shade with white;
Has stood for imitation high,
To ev'ry heart and ev'ry eye;

From ancient deeds of fair renown,
Has brought her bright memorials down:
To time affix'd perpetual youth,
And form'd each tale of love and truth.
Upon a new Promethean plan
She moulds the essence of a man,
Tempers his mass, his genius fires,
And, as a better soul, inspires.

The rude she softens, warms the cold,
Exalts the meek, and checks the bold,
Calls sloth from his supine repose,
Within the coward's bosom glows,
Of pride unplumes the lofty crest,
Bids bashful merit stand confest,
And, like coarse metal from the mines,
Collects, irradiates, and refines.
The gentle science she imparts,

All manners smooths, informs all hearts;
From her sweet influence are felt
Passions which please, and thoughts that melt;
To stormy rage she bids control,
And sinks serenely on the soul,
Softens Deucalion's flinty race,
And tunes the warring world to peace.

Thus, arm'd to all that's light and vain,
And freed from thy fantastic chain,
She fills the sphere by Heaven assign'd,
And, rul'd by me, o'er-rules mankind.

He spoke; the Nymph impatient stood,
And, laughing, thus her speech renew'd :
And pray, Sir, may I be so bold
To hope your pretty tale is told;
And next demand without a cavil,
What new Utopia do you travel?—
Upon my word these high-flown fancies,
Show depth of learning-in romances.

Why, what unfashion'd stuff you tell us
Of buckram dames and tiptoe fellows!
Go, child; and when you're grown maturer,
You'll shoot your next opinion surer.

O such a pretty knack at painting!
And all for soft'ning and for sainting;
Guess now, who can, a single feature,
Through the whole piece of female nature;