THE ROSE RETURNED, IN ANSWER. Go, lovely Rose! Tell him that wastes his time on me, That now he knows, When he resembles me to thee, How dang'rous female beauties be. Tell him, while young, That hadst thou sprung In desarts, where no men abide, Thou hadst not thus untimely dy'd. Calm is the breast Of beauty, from the light retir'd; And peace her guest, Who wishes not to be desir'd; Still hadst thon flourish'd, unadmir'd. Go die! that he The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, Pluck'd from thy stem no more to share Of ought that made the sweet or fair. County Magazine. SONG. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. SHOULD you ask me what female desert I require, To relish the conjugal life; Nor beauty, nor titles, nor wealth I desire, The charms of a face may occasion a sigh ; May yield a short moment of joy to the eye, Would equipage, splendor, or noble descent, Cou'd these add a drop to the cup of content, But vain the assistance proud riches bestow, To soften the painful reflections of woe, Then give me the temper unclouded and gay, The countenance ever serene, To cheer with sweet converse as youth wears away, Whose smiles may endear and enliven the hours Whose virtues may sooth, when disquietude sours, For fortune, be honour her portion assign'd; Thus form'd, would she share with me life's little store, She'd ever continue, 'till I was no more, The constant delight of my heart. County Magazine. ORDERS TO MY PORTER. THOU faithful guardian of these happy walls, I'll tell thee who shall enter, who shall wait. If Fortune, blindfold dame, shall chance to knock, Or proud Ambition court me to her arms, "Shut, shut the door, good John," and turn the lock, And hide thy master from their syren charms. For in their dismal train, as black as night, Come hideous care and sullen melancholy, And song, and joy, and laughter take their flight, Nor leave one precious moment to dear folly. If at my door a beauteous boy be seen, His magic smiles admission always win, Tho' oft deceiv'd, I love the dear deluder; Morn, noon, or night, besure to let him in, For welcome, love is never an intruder. Should sober Wisdom hither deign to roam, County Magazine. THE CONFESSION. TO MISS E. L. In vain I strive my heart to shield, The jest assum'd, th' averted eye Yet not Eliza's charms alone, But arm'd with that enchanting mien, Yet not for me the tear will start, Lost in the whirl of fashion'd life, Lur'd by the hope of gaudier days, Ibid. |