With eyes, that shew the placid mind, And with no feign'd emotions roll; With mien, that sprightly or resign'd, Bespeaks the temper of the soul.
With smiles, where not the lips alone Receive a brighter, vermil hue, The cheek does warmer roses own, And the eyes beam, a deeper blue!
Though Fashion's minions scorn thy pow'r, And slight thee, 'cause in russet drest, Yet Joy frequents thy peaceful bow'r, And sorrow flies to thee for rest.
The echoing laugh, the rapturous tear, The smile of friendship, gay and free, Delight but when they are sincere, And given, lovely nymph, by thee.
When my Rosina reads a tale, Though sweet the tuneful accents flow, No studied pathos does prevail To bid the hearer's bosom glow;
Her voice to sympathy resign'd, Each different feeling can impart. And, tell me not, we e'er can find A modulator, like the heart!
And Mary's locks of glossy brown, That fall in waves, with graceful swell, In ever-varying ringlets thrown, The fairest curls of art excel.
Still rob'd in innocence and ease, Daughter of Truth, shall thou prevail, When Affectation cannot please, And all the spells of Fashion fail.
Yon coward, with the streaming hair, And visage, madden'd to despair, With step convuls'd, unsettled eye, And bosom lab'ring with a sigh, Is _Guilt!_--Behold, he hears the name, And starts with horror, fear, and shame!
See! slow Suspicion by his side, With winking, microscopic eye! And Mystery, his muffled guide, With fearful speech, and head awry.
See! scowling Malice there attend, Bold Falsehood, an apparent friend; Avarice, repining o'er his pelf, Mean Cunning, lover of himself; Hatred, the son of conscious Fear, Impatient Envy, with a fiend-like sneer, And shades of blasted Hopes, which still are hovering near!
All other woes will find relief, And time alleviate every grief; Memory, though slowly, will decay, And Sorrow's empire pass away. Awhile Misfortune may controul, And Pain oppress the virtuous soul, Yet Innocence can still beguile The patient sufferer of a smile, The beams of Hope may still dispense A grateful feeling to the sense; Friendship may cast her arms around, And with fond tears embalm the wound, Or Piety's soft incense rise, And waft reflection to the skies; But those fell pangs which he endures, Nor Time forgets, nor Kindness cures; Like Ocean's waves, they still return, Like Etna's fires, forever burn.