The chaste deportment that respect inspir'd; The thousand nameless graces, once admir'd, word and look a zest
That gave
her every
All, all those charms Aspasia late possess'd-
Where are they now? When virtue droop'd the head,
And spread her pennons, these for ever fled !
Now in her squalid form what woe appears!
Her face of vice the shameless livery wears.
Houseless, forlorn, without one soothing friend,
A crowd of harpies all her paths attend;
Contempt, Disease, Remorse, heart-rending Pain,
And meagre Want, compose the ruthless train;
And worst of all her numerous ills among,
The secret consciousness of acting wrong!
Till shunn'd by those who once with ardour sought
To share her smiles, or her endearments bought;
Bereft of power one lawless wish to raise,
An outcast from society she strays!
Votaries of Vice! Ye who, with cruel care,
For youth and beauty spread the artful snare;
Licentious Pleasure's specious baits display,
And sweetly flatter-only to betray;-
Here view, unless against compunction steel'd,
The baleful harvest your enjoyments yield!
Ere yet successful guilt your bosoms wring,
And keen remorse there fix her rankling sting,
The wild career of brutal passion cease,
Nor joy in spreading misery and disease!
Are there who 'midst our social circles shine
And boast their feelings exquisitely fine,
Yet can unmov'd such evils perpetrate?
Their kindness far more deadly than their hate!-
Are there who censure liberally dispense,
Against the rifler of fair innocence;
Her lapse from virtue seemingly bewail,
Yet with base arts th' unhappy wretch assail,
Blast every prospect on repentance built,
And plunge her deeper in th' abyss of guilt?
Passion or self delusion may suggest,
Some lulling opiate to each callous breast;
Through Reason's faithful glass the impartial see
Their crimes the same-scarce different in degree;
The flimsy sophistry of each proclaim,
And brand with equal infamy and shame!
Ye lovely maidens, blooming as the morn,
Whose matchless charms our Albion's isle adorn;
In whom, possessed of every mental grace,
Ev'n beauty only holds the second place—
Beware th' insidious foes those charms create,
Nor blush to weep at poor Aspasia's fate!
Taught circumspection by her sufferings, know
From one false step what countless evils flow!
When first from virtue's path seduc'd to stray,
Though smooth and pleasant seems the devious way,
Ere long in air th' illusive prospect flies,
And gloomy scenes in quick succession rise!
Debarr'd her erring footsteps to retrace,
With shame, remorse, and anguish in her face,
Convinced of folly when, alas! too late,
The hapless wanderer mourns her wretched fate;
Nay oftimes dares the guilty path pursue,
Though full destruction rushes on her view!
Know too, that when some suitor, deem'd sincere,
Breathes sweetest language in your willing ear;
And, while persuasion on his accents dwells,
Of lasting truth, and fond affection tells;
Yet dares the bounds of modesty transgress,
And urges wishes virtue should repress;
His heart, uninfluenced by love's chaster glow—
That source of purest pleasure here below-
The force of sensual passion may have prov'd,
And felt desire-but never truly lov'd!
WHEN sapp'd by sickness, cares, and growing
The human frame a ruin'd semblance wears;
And sweetest sounds no more the ear pervade,
And dim those eyes whence lambent radiance play'd;
The auburn tresses chang'd to locks of snow; The dimpled cheek, where once the roseate glow Of youth appear'd, with wrinkles overspread, And all the joys of young existence fled;
Though weeping friends around the sacred urn Death's ruthless stroke with genuine anguish
Impartial minds approve the blest release,
And bid the streams of fruitless sorrow cease.
But when, like plants that in one little day
Their flower-cups open, blossom, and decay,
Snatch'd from our arms in life's endearing bloom,
Youth, beauty, virtue, sink into the tomb,
What feeling bosom can a sigh forbear!
What heart refuse a sympathetic tear!
Yet such, CONSUMPTION, still thy triumphs prove; Sworn foe to all the sweets of social love!
The heaving breasts of parent, consort, friend!
Where'er transcendent charms combin'd are seen―
The meek deportment, the majestic mien,
The fine-turn'd form, and soul-expressive face—
Methinks thy future ravages I trace!
And as each beauty rushes on my sight,
Feel terror, intermingled with delight.
That far-fam'd monster, whom, in days of yore,
Pasiphäe to Cretan Taurus bore,
Thus through Athenian bosoms spread dismay,
And claim'd, like thee, the loveliest for his prey!
Yet mild his nature, and his sway benign,
Compar'd, insatiate ravager! with thine!
When fierce his annual thirst for carnage rag'd, Seven youths, seven virgins, still that thirst assuag'd;
While from remorse, as from compassion, free-
In Albion, thousands yearly fall by thee!
Stranger, as yet, to sickness, grief, or care,
With ruddy face, and spirits light as air,
Yon graceful stripling firmly treads along;
The pride, the envy, of th' encircling throng.
In vain would rival swains his worth decry:
For him each virgin heaves a secret sigh;
And from his looks too-partial friends presage
The flattering promise of a good old age.
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