« AnteriorContinuar »
BY READING AN ODE TO DR. PERCY BISHOP 01
From lips of Truth in tuneful strains !
Such praise, when he from earth retires,
Awaits him in seraphic choirs :
Giv'n by the innocent and fair,
And all unlike the venial meed
An incense truly worthy heaven,
The wreath, by fairy fingers twin'd,
The virtues, that inform his heart,
But sooth to say, respected sage,
TO MISS STEWART
BY THE LATE WILLIA) PRESTON, ESQ.
sweet the praise that Percy gains,
on earth, alas, too rare,
Sold to the base or bloody deed :
By Virtue wreath'd to Virtue giv'n.
A Percy's genius well may find
The applauses coral lips impart.
These studies well thy cares engage,
converse suits thee well, ere long
Ordain'd to join the shadowy throng:
But alien from the youthful ears
The music of departed years.
Why fair enthusiast, art thou led,
To change the living for the dead?
When Fancy's torch would guide thy feet
To Melancholy's chill retreat,
The cloister's damp, the vaulted gloom,
Where sleep the tenants of the tomb;
*T'is like some false Magician's light,
That dames misled, and prowest Knight,
Far from the cheerful ways of men
To brazen tower, or dragon's den.
Thy sex and age are wont to prove
The praise of beauty, lays of love.
Why then do chivalry and arms,
Why boast the dead, for thee such charms i
Go join the sportive and the young
By youths be lov’d, by Bards be sung ;
The fair enthusiast shall inspire
The sportive reed, the serious lyre.
The times of old, by Fancy drest,
With admiration fill thy breast.
Yet, trust the muse, our modern days
Deserve, at least, their share of praise.
Not fated were our sires to find
The fairest grace of female mind;
Genius and taste our joys refine,
By polish female virtues shine;
And oft in private life we know
What scarce a realm or age could show.
And northern climes and modern days,
Can emulate the Grecian praise ;
Nor hear we Sappho's love-sick song,
But numbers like the Alcaic strong,
That scorn the dance and myrtle bower
For solemn themes, and virtue's power.
While tender hearts, with feeling fraught,
Yet more endear each noble thought.
Nor does domestic worth refuse
Alliance with thi' elated Muse.
But brings the train, in other times
That seem'd to fly the child of rhymes,
Yet even in these luxurious days,
Are female happiness and praise;
Duty, that soothes a parents life,
The soften'd friendship of the wife,
Firm Patience, Resignation mild,
And Hope, Religion's fairest child.
And these a brighter wreath bestow,
Than Genius wins, or Victors know.
On Nature! Nature! how the world
cheated When Delia's form majestic you created ! Why thus capricious didst thou spoil the whole, And give so large a maid, so small a soul ! Thus the fantastic Monarch of the Nile, Rais’d the fam’d Pyramid's gigantic pile, (A prouder work the world has never known) And all to hold a little chest of stone.
To Love, to Love incline thine heart,
For time, alas! my Julia, flies More swiftly than the feather'd dart
By which the agile panther dies.
Thy blooming youth is but an hour,
Too quickly gone, returning never! Thy matchless beauty but a flower,
Which passing minutes soon shall sever.
The Sun may quit th' ethereal plain,
And low in ocean quench his light, Yet on the morrow shall lie reign,
In all his wonted glories bright.
The woods, at Winter's stern command,
Must quickly yield their verdant hue; But gentle Spring is still at hand,
Their pristine beauties to renew.
But Man no second noon-tide knows,
No second Summer, Man shall chear;
Age his meridian hours must close,
And death for ever end his
Avaunt each aged, envious site,
Then, ah! to love incline thine heart,
For time, alas! my Julia flies
More swiftly than the feather'd dart
By which the agile panther dies. LONG, long at your feet did I sigh !
But at length I'm indifferent grown. E'en thus did poor Niobe cry,
And there, where low shall lie his head,
In the cold confines of the tomb, In the dread mansions of the dead,
The voice of love shall never come, Then let us, Julia, whilst we may
Devote our hearts to love and joy,
And gather, while they're fresh and gay,
The roses of the amorous boy. ,
Who'd frown upon our harmless bliss;
Not all your wisdom, all your ire-
Shall rob us of a single kiss.
$RW, 1, EPIGRAM.
'Till she found herself turn'd into stone.