TO A YOUNG LADY, PURPOSING TO MARRY A MAN OF IMMORAL CHARACTER IN THE HOPE OF HIS REFORMATION.
Time, and thy charms, thou fanciest will redeem Yon aweless Libertine from rooted vice. Misleading thought! has he not paid the price, His taste for virtue?--Ah, the sensual stream Has flow'd too long.--What charms can so entice, What frequent guilt so pall, as not to shame The rash belief, presumptuous and unwise, That crimes habitual will forsake the Frame?-- [1]Thus, on the river's bank, in fabled lore, The Rustic stands; sees the stream swiftly go, And thinks he soon shall find the gulph below A channel dry, which he may safe pass o'er.-- Vain hope!--it flows--and flows--and yet will flow, Volume decreaseless, to the FINAL HOUR.
“Rusticus exspectat dum defluit amnis: at ille Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis ævum.” HORACE.
TO A YOUNG LADY IN AFFLICTION, WHO FANCIED SHE SHOULD NEVER MORE BE HAPPY.
Yes, thou shalt smile again!--Time always heals In youth, the wounds of Sorrow.--O! survey Yon now subsided Deep, thro' Night a prey To warring Winds, and to their furious peals Surging tumultuous!--yet, as in dismay, The settling Billows tremble.--Morning steals Grey on the rocks;--and soon, to pour the day From the streak'd east, the radiant Orb unveils In all his pride of light.--Thus shall the glow Of beauty, health, and hope, by soft degrees Spread o'er thy breast; disperse these storms of woe; Wake, with sweet pleasure's sense, the wish to please, Till from those eyes the wonted lustres flow, Bright as the Sun on calm'd and crystal Seas.
While Summer Roses all their glory yield To crown the Votary of Love and Joy, Misfortune's Victim hails, with many a sigh, Thee, scarlet POPPY of the pathless field, Gaudy, yet wild and lone; no leaf to shield Thy flaccid vest, that, as the gale blows high, Flaps, and alternate folds around thy head.-- So stands in the long grass a love-craz'd Maid, Smiling aghast; while stream to every wind Her gairish ribbons, smear'd with dust and rain; But brain-sick visions cheat her tortur'd mind, And bring false peace. Thus, lulling grief and pain, Kind dreams oblivious from thy juice proceed, THOU FLIMSY, SHEWY, MELANCHOLY WEED.
Ah, hapless JUNE! circles yon lunar Sphere Yet the dim Halo? whose cold powers ordain Long o'er these vales shou'd sweep, in misty train, The pale continuous showers, that sullying smear Thy radiant lilies, towering on the plain; Bend low, with rivel'd leaves of canker'd stain, Thy drench'd and heavy rose.--Yet pledg'd and dear Fair Hope still holds the promise of the Year; Suspends her anchor on the silver horn Of the next wexing Orb, tho', JUNE, thy Day, Robb'd of its golden eve, and rosy morn, And gloomy as the Winter's rigid sway, Leads sunless, lingering, disappointing Hours Thro' the song-silent glades and dropping bowers.
