Sent to the Honourable Miss Murray*, with a Bloodstone Broach; as a Bridal Present, by her Grandfather.
LET thy fond lover bring, sweet girl, The diamond sheen, th' unsullied pearl; Let bridal maids from wintry bower Call blushing rose and myrtle flower, And every nuptial bud that blows Gay flaunting mid green Albyn's snows; I send, not I, one glittering prize, To pine outshone by Charlotte's eyes; I send, not I, one flowery wreath To fade at Charlotte's sweeter breath. Things of an hour! their glories fly Like tints that on a bubble die; Or like the painted dust that springs On the gay moth's resplendent wings; Or like the evening's rosy streak; Or frailer Beauty's blushing cheek. Far be from thee the fragile joy An hour can give, an hour destroy! And different far my simple toy: Fit offering for a highland maid! A broach to clasp thy silken plaid. *Now the lady of General Oswald.
A simple toy! yet may it prove A spell to shield the child I love! Each bliss in that dear breast to guard! Each feeling soothe, each evil ward! And while its spotted surface shows Refulgent on thy bosom's snows, May never direr pressure pain, May never dearer blood-drops stain, Nor care, nor woe, nor ill betide The highland flower, the hero's bride!
FROM THE FRENCH OF QUINAULT.
REIGN here, sweet sleep! o'er all extend thy reign; Here shed thy drowsiest poppies round: The senses calm; calm every care and pain; And wrap each heart in peace profound.
Flow ye pellucid streams; but as ye flow Let no rude wave a clamour make;
For nought save your clear waters, murmuring low, The silence of this spot may break.
WHAT IS BEAUTY? THE QUESTION.
INSCRIBED TO LUCY IRWIN. BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ. 1809.
HAT is beauty? Muses! tell us, For your votaries' credit jealous. Be the charm confin'd to sight, Artist! bring it quick to light. By the pencil's roseate test, Azure eye, and snowy breast: By the chisel's waving line, Faultless form, and air divine: Traits, which all of mortal giving, In TITIAN'S Works, and PHIDIAS' living! Be the spell by numbers bound, Poet! all its marvels sound. Thou! or Fancy can conceive More, than reasoning minds believe; Of ambush'd loves and speaking graces, Such as old GREECE in VENUS traces; Can estimate the mental mine, Where rival gems in contrast shine. Here, Modesty, of ruby dies, There, opal Genius, changeful, flies; And emerald Truth, whose native rays Unite with Virtue's brilliant blaze: Tho' these, and more, attest her reign,
Will Beauty grace the Poet's strain?
Not all the Muse's art affords From pastoral reed, or lyric chords; Responsive to her ANNA's strings, Or WILMOT, borne on Fancy's wings; The tuneful talent of GLANMIRE, Whose valley, shelters Phoebus' quire If tax'd, this beauty to unfold, Could, unalloy'd, extract the gold. Tho' definition flows the while From Lucy's step, and Lucy's smile; And, from her lips, in nameless shapes, The lovely fugitive escapes:
Still, setting copies at defiance,
Proves, but in life, there's no reliance!
ON READING SOME OF MY DEAR FATHER'S POEMS, 1811. BY A GIRL OF FOURTEEN.
COMMUNICATED BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.
ENCHANTING Bard! round whose lov'd brows the Nine Their blooming bays and laurel garlands twine. Whose metting verse improves, with graceful art, Pure, as it flows, the language of the heart: Ah! heedless poet! fear impending fate- Neglect the lyre, nor wear the envy'd bay; PAN, luckless hind! once prov'd APOLLO's hate, Then shun the dangerous path, and cease the lay.
SHE scarcely seemed of mortal birth, But like a visionary form,
That came to bless our lowly earth ;- Unmindful of the storm,
She stood, and oft her golden hair Did float in the perturbed air.
Her voice was soothing to my heart, And could celestial joy dispense ;- For, still it sweetly seemed to impart "No storms will injure Innocence," As, bending o'er the golden grain, She sung the wildly plaintive strain.
Thus, while to mark the moonlight pale, I seek the crystal streams, Her beauteous form is seen to sail In Fancy's airy dreams,
And hovers in the silvery ray The guardian spirit of my way!
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