« ZurückWeiter »
Yet time life's dreary winter brings,
When Mirth's gay tale shall please no more; Nor musick charm--though Stella sings;
Nor love, nor wine, the spring restore. Catch then, O! catch the transient hour,
Improve each moment as it flies ; Life's a short summer-man a flower:
He diesmalas ! how soon he dies !
THE WINTER'S WALK.
BEHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove, ,
What dreary prospects round us rise ; The naked hill, the leafless
grove, The hoary ground, the frowning skies! Nor only thought the wasted plain,
Stern Winter in thy force confess'd; Still wider spreads thy horrid reign,
I feel thy power usurp my breast. Enlivening hope, and fond desire,
Resign thy heart to spleen and care;
And rapture saddens to despair.
Unhappy man! behold thy doom;
The slave of sunshine and of gloom. Tir'd with vain joys, and false alarms,
With mental and corporeal strife, Snatch me, my Stella, to thy arms,
And screep me from the ills of life.
To Miss *****
ON HER GIVING THE AUTHOR A GOLD AND SILK NET-WORK PURSE OF HER OWN
THOUGH gold and silk their charms unite
Spread out by me, the roving coin
To Miss *****
ON HER PLAYING UPON THE HARPSICHORD IN A ROOM HUNG WITH FLOWER-PIECES
OF HER OWN PAINTING
WHEN Stella strikes the tuneful string
* Printed among Mrs Williams's Miscellanies.
Where beauty lavishes her powers
When charms thus press on ev'ry sense.
But on those regions of delight Might truth intrude with daring flight, Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young, One moment hear the moral
song, Instruction with her flowers might spring, And wisdom warble from her string.
Mark, when from thousand mingled dyes
ark, when the different notes agree
EVENING: AN ODE.
EVENING now from purple wings
TO THE SAME.
WHETHER Stella's eyes are found
If her face with pleasure glow,
's eyes, and air, and face, Charm with undiminish'd grace.
If on her we see display'd Pendant
and rich brocade, If her chintz with less expence Flows in easy negligence ; Still she lights the conscious flame, Still her charms
the same; If she strikes the vocal strings, If she's silent, speaks, or sings, If she sit, or if she move, Still we love and still approve.
Vain the casual, transient glance, Which alone can please by chance, Beauty, which depends on art, Changing with the changing art, Which demands the toilet's aid, Pendant
gems and rich brocade. I those charms alone can prize, Which from constant nature rise, Which nor circumstance, nor dress, E’er can make, or more, or less.