So the fair Tame, and Isis' waves, At last together kindly go;
One common bank their current laves, One mingling stream their waters flow. Till to the ocean's conquering tide They give their waves, and yield their pride.
Forgive, blest pair, the Muse who tries, And would in verse your fame adorn; Presaging now with curious eyes
Kind hours and moments yet unborn; Viewing in time's fair fruitful womb A thousand scenes of bliss to come.
She now beholds the lovely boy Divide each parent's soft surprise; While, to indulge and feed their joy, One boasts his cheeks, and one his eyes; And from his infant looks presage,
And read the wonders of his age.
That doubtful grace which Nature draws, By turns each melting heart beguiles; While here the manly father awes,
And there the charming mother smiles; Both in each look some glory find;
One views him brave, the other kind.
Still may your Heaven its smiles confess, Not lessen, nor augment their store, Whose love will ne'er behold them less,
Whose power can only make them more! That joy to distant Time endures,
Which Virtue gives, and Fate secures.
THE NUPTIALS OF
LORD VISCOUNT ALTHORP,
THE HON. MISS LAVINIA BINGHAM, (Eldest Daughter of Charles Lord Lucan.) March 6, 1781.
RETURN, celestial Muse
By whose bright fingers o'er my infant head, Lull'd with immortal symphony, were spread Fresh bays and flow'rets of a thousand hues ; Return: thy golden lyre,
Chorded with sunny rays of temper'd fire, Which in Astraea's fane, I fondly hung, Bold I reclaim: but, ah, sweet Maid, Bereft of thy propitious aid
My voice is tuneless and my harp unstrung. In vain I call ... what charm, what potent spell Shall kindle into life the long-unwaken'd shell?
Haste the well-wrought basket bring, Which two Sister Graces wove, When the Third, whose praise I sing, Blushing sought the bridal grove, When the slow-descending sun Gilt the bow'rs of WIMBLEDON. In the vase mysterious fling
Pinks and roses gemm'd with dew, Flow'rs of ev'ry varied hue, Daughters fair of early Spring, Laughing sweet with sapphire eyes, Or with Iris' mingled dyes : Then around the basket go, Tripping light with silent pace, While with solemn voice and slow Thrice pronouncing, thrice I trace On the silken texture bright, Character'd in beamy light,
Names of more than mortal pow'r, Sweetest influence to diffuse,
Names that from her shadiest bow'r Draw the soft reluctant Muse.
First, I with living gems enchase
The name of Her, whom for this festive day With zone and mantle elegantly gay
The Graces have adorn'd, herself a Grace,
MOLESWORTH... hark! a swelling note Seems a Zephyr's wing to float,
Or has vain Hope my flatter'd sense beguil❜d è Next Her, who braided many a flow'r To deck her Sister's nuptial bow'r, BINGHAM, with gentle heart and aspect mild : The charm prevails . . . I hear, I hear Strains nearer yet, and yet more near. Still, ye Nymphs, and Youths, advance, Sprinkle still the balmy show'r, Mingle still the mazy dance,
Two names of unresisted pow'r, Behold, in radiant characters I write : O rise! O leave thy secret shrine,
For they, who all thy nymphal train outshine, DUNCANNON, heav'nly Muse, and DEVONSHIRE in
Saw ye not yon mortal wave? Heard ye not a warbled strain ? Yes! the harp, which Clio gave,
Shall his ancient sound regain.
One dearer name remains. Prepare, prepare! She comes . . . how swift th' impatient air Drinks the rising accent sweet!
Soon the charm shall be complete.
Return, and wake the silent string;
Return, sweet Muse, for ALTHORP bids me sing. 'Tis she... and, as she smiles, the breathing lyre Leaps from his silken bands, and darts etherial fire.
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