On her giving the Author a Gold and Silk Net-work Purfe of her own weaving *.
HOUGH gold and filk their charms unite
To make thy curious web delight,
In vain the varied work would shine,
If wrought by any hand but thine;
Thy hand that knows the subtler art,
To weave those nets that catch the heart.
Spread out by me, the roving coin
Thy nets may catch, but not confine;
Nor can I hope thy filken chain
The glittering vagrants shall restrain.
Why, Stella, was it then decreed
The heart once caught should ne'er be freed?
On her playing upon the Harpfichord in a Room hung with Flower-pieces of her own Painting *.
HEN Stella ftrikes the tuneful string
In fcenes of imitated Spring,
Where beauty lavishes her powers
On beds of never-fading flowers,
And pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated found;
Printed among Mrs. Williams's Mifcellanies.
Ah! think not in the dangerous hour,
The nymph fictitious as the flower,
But fhun, rash youth, the gay alcove,
Nor tempt the fnares of wily love.
When charms thus prefs on every fense,
What thought of flight, or of defence?
Deceitful hope, and vain defire,
For ever flutter o'er her lyre,
Delighting as the youth draws nigh,
To point the glances of her eye,
And forming with unerring art
New chains to hold the captive heart.
But on thofe regions of delight
Might truth intrude with daring flight,
Could Stella, fprightly, fair, and young,
One moment hear the moral fong,
Instruction with her flowers might spring,
And wisdom warble from her ftring.
Mark when from thousand mingled dyes
Thou feeft one pleasing form arife,
How active light, and thoughtful shade,
In greater scenes each other aid.
Mark when the different notes agree
In friendly contrariety,
How paffions well accorded ftrife,
Gives all the harmony of life;
Thy pictures fhall thy conduct frame,
Confiftent ftill, though not the fame;
Thy mufick teach the nobler art,
To tune the regulated heart.
To STELLA.
EVENING now from purple wings
Sheds the grateful gifts the brings;
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
Cooling breezes shake the reed;
Shake the reed, and curl the ftream
Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam;
Near the chequer'd, lonely grove,
Hears, and keeps thy fecrets, love.
Stella, thither let us stray!
Lightly o'er the dewy way.
Phœbus drives his burning car,
Hence, my lovely Stella, far ;
In his ftead, the queen of night
Round us pours a lambent light;
Light that seems but just to show
Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow;
Let us now, in whisper'd joy,
Evening's filent hours employ,
Silence beft, and confcious fhades,
Please the hearts that love invades,
Other pleasures give them pain,
Lovers all but love difdain.
HETHER Stella's eyes are found,
Fix'd on earth, or glancing round,
If her face with pleasure glow,
If the figh at others woe,
If her eafy air exprefs
Confcious worth, or soft diftrefs,
Stella's eyes, and air, and face,
Charm with undiminish'd grace.
If on her we fee display'd
Pendant gems, and rich brocade,
If her chintz with less expence
Flows in eafy negligence;
Still fhe lights the confcious flame,
Still her charms appear the fame;
If fhe ftrikes the vocal ftrings,
If fhe's filent, fpeaks, or fings,
If fhe fit, or if she move,
Still we love, and fill approve.
Vain the cafual, tranfient glance,
Which alone can please by chance,
Beauty, which depends on art,
Changing with the changing art,
Which demands the toilet's aid,
Pendant gems and rich brocade.
I thofe charms alone can prize,
Which from conftant nature rife,
Which nor circumftance, nor drefs,
E'er can make, or more, or lefs.
O more thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With Avarice painful vigils keep;
Still unenjoy'd the present store,
Still endless fighs are breath'd for more.
O! quit the fhadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys!
To purchase heaven has gold the power?
Can gold remove the mortal hour?
In life can love be bought with gold?
Are friendship's pleafures to be fold?
No-all that's worth a wifh-a thought,
Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.
With science tread the wond'rous way,
Or learn the Mufes' moral lay;
In focial hours indulge thy foul,
Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl;
To virtuous love refign thy breast,
And be, by bleffing beauty-bleft.
|