Cease, cease to ask her name, The crowned Muse's noblest theme, But if you long to know, Then look round yonder dazzling row: See near those sacred springs, Wealth, glory, two possest; The third with charming beauty blest; Like her, this charmer now bow; Makes every love-sick gazer And banish'd flames recall. Wealth can no trophy rear, WILLIAM COngreve. ON THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. CHAT do scholars and bards and astronomers wise Mean by stuffing our heads with nonsense and lies, By telling us Venus must always appear In a car, or a shell, or a twinkling star, Without all this bustle I saw the bright dame; Two chairmen her doves, and a flambeau her star. M TO MRS. CREWE. HERE the loveliest expression to features is join'd, By Nature's most delicate pencil design'd; Where blushes unbidden, and smiles without art, Speak the softness and feeling that dwell in the heart; Where in manners, enchanting, no blemish we trace, But the soul keeps the promise we had from the face : Sure philosophy, reason, and coldness must prove My heart is so fenced that for once I am wise, Is it reason? No, that my whole life will belie, Is my mind on distress too intensely employ'd, That I've felt each reverse that from Fortune can flow, That I've tasted each bliss that the happiest know, Has still been the whimsical fate of my life, Where anguish and joy have been ever at strife: But, tho' versed in extremes, both of pleasure and pain, I am still but too ready to feel them again. If then, for this once in my life, I am free, me: 'Tis that beauty alone but imperfectly charms; For though brightness may dazzle, 'tis kindness that warms; As on suns in the winter with pleasure we gaze, But feel not their warmth, though their splendour we praise, So beauty our just admiration may claim, D BECAUSE. WEET Nea! for your lovely sake Because we've pass'd some joyous days, Because you've got those long, soft curls, Because a little child and you Would make one's home so cozy! Because your little tiny nose beaux Turns up so pert and funny; Because I know you choose your More for their mirth than money; Because I think you'd rather twirl Because you don't object to walk, Because you have not learnt to talk Of flowers, and Poonah-painting; Because I think I'm just so weak A church-a priest-a sigh-a ring- EDWARD FITZGERALD. ADVICE TO A LADY IN AUTUMN. SSES' milk, half-a-pint, take at seven, or before, Then sleep for an hour or two, and no more. At nine stretch your arms, and oh! think when alone There's no pleasure in bed.-Mary, bring me my gown; |