A CHARM FOR ENNUI. YE E Couples who meet under love's smiling star, Let the muse's gay lyre, like Ithuriel's bright spear, Keep this fiend, ye sweet brides, from approaching your ear, Since you know this squat toad an infernal Esprit, Let no gloom of your hall, let no shade of your bower, Make you think you behold this malevolent power; Like a child in the dark what you fear you will see, Take courage, away-'tis the phantom Ennui. O trust me, your powers both of person and mind, To defend from this foe full sufficient you'll find, Should your eyes fail to kill him, with keen repartee You can sink the flat boat of the invader Ennui. If a cool nonchalance o'er your spouses should spread, (For vapours will rest e'en on Jupiter's head) O! ever believe it from jealousy free, A thin passing cloud-not the mist of Ennui. Of tender complainings, tho' love be the theme, These by kindness inclos'd in the coop of Ennui. Let confidence, rising such terrors above, But to your happy husbands, in matters more nice, Though love for your lips fills with nectar his bowl, Impatient of law, passion oft will reply, But chief justice Nature rejects the vain plea, When husband and wife are honey too fond, Two muddy sick fish in the net of Ennui. Of indolence most, ye mild couples, beware, But the lark in the morn 'scapes the vulture Ennui. Let cheerful good humour, that sunshine of life, To the graces together both fail not to bend, LINES WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY'S PRAYER BOOK. WHILST you, fair virgin! Heaven alone pursue, My thoughts are fix'd on equal heaven in you; But why such beauty and, such rigour join'd? Ne'er for a cloister was that face design'd; To bless, not curse, some happy man 'twas givenThen smile, and answer the decrees of heaven. LINES Written on visiting the Tomb of Dermody. STILL, Red-breast, o'er the tuneful dead, Unhappy Bard! the scene is past; Beside the turf that wraps thy clay, O! take from one, who knows to scan Here, where no more rude cares molest, But earth's sad sufferers calmly sleep; Here, where the weary are at rest, Shall Genius oft her vigils keep. And Pity, with a beaming eye, Still, Red-breast, o'er the tuneful dead, TO THE MUSE. Meteor. MUS USE of the mournful song, whose pensive smile Has faintly gleam'd o'er many a wintry hour, Wilt thou a traant votary's woes beguile, Nor let me vainly court thy soothing power? What if, encircled by the flaunting wreath, What if, unheedful of thy precepts mild, The winged hours in joy's light revels flew, I gaz'd on bright-ey'd Fancy as she smil❜d, And bless'd the scenes Hope's fairy pencil drew? |