III. See how they have safely surviv'd Such Mary's true love, that has liv'd The charms of the late blowing rose And the winter of sorrow best shows MUTUAL FORBEARANCE NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE. THE lady thus address'd her spouse What a mere dungeon is this house! By no means large enough; and, was it, Yet this dull room, and that dark closet Those hangings, with their worn-out graces, Long beards, long noses, and pale faces Are such an antiquated scene, They overwhelm me with the spleen! And shall expect him at the door You are so deaf, the lady cried, (And rais'd her voice, and frown'd beside) You are so sadly deaf, my dear, What shall I do to make you hear? Dismiss poor Harry! he replies; Well, I protest 'tis past all bearingChild! I am rather hard of hearing Yes, truly-one must scream and bawl- Then, with a voice exceeding low, Alas! and is domestic strife, That sorest ill of human life, As to be wantonly incurr'd, To gratify a fretful passion, On ev'ry trivial provocation? The kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear; And something, ev'ry day they live, To pity, and, perhaps, forgive. But if infirmities that fall In common to the lot of all A blemish or a sense impair'd— Then farewell all that must create The comfort of the wedded state; Instead of harmony, 'tis jar And tumult, and intestine war. The love that cheers life's latest stage, Proof against sickness and old age, Preserv'd by virtue from declension, But lives, when that exterior grace But angry, coarse, and harsh expression Shows love to be a mere profession; Proves that the heart is none of his, Or soon expels him if it is. TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON. AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY. I. THE Swallows in their torpid state Compose their useless wing, And bees in hives as idly wait The call of early spring. II. The keenest frost that binds the stream, The wildest wind that blows, Are neither felt nor fear'd by them, Secure of their repose. III. But man, all feeling and awake, The gloomy scene surveys; With present ills his heart must ake, And pant for brighter days. |