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And fainting, scarce support the liquid weight:
Then shall some Argive, loud insulting, cry,
Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy!
Tears, at my name, shall drown those beauteous

And that fair bosom heave with rising sighs!
Before that day, by some brave hero's hand,
May I lie slain, and spurn the bloody sand-

TO MISS ****.


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On her playing upon a Harpsichord, in a Room hung with Flower-pieces of her own painting.

WHEN Stella strikes the tuneful string
In scenes of imitated spring,
Where beauty lavishes her powers
On beds of never-fading flowers,
And pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated sound;
Ah! think not in the dangerous hour,
The nymph fictitious as the flower,
But shun, rash youth, the gay alcove,
Nor tempt the snares of wily love.

When charms thus press on every sense,

What thought of flight or of defence?
Deceitful hope, and vain desire,

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 these regions of delight
Might truth intrude with daring flight,
Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young,
One moment hear the moral song,
Instruction with her flowers might spring,
And wisdom warble from her string.

Mark when from thousand mingled dies
Thou seest one pleasing form arise,
How active light, and thoughtful shade,
In greater scenes each other aid.
Mark when the different notes agree
In friendly contrariety,

How passion's well accorded strife,
Gives all the harmony of life;
Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame,
Consistent still, though not the same;
Thy musick teach the nobler art,
To tune the regulated heart.



EVENING now from purple wings
Sheds the grateful gifts she brings;
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
Cooling breezes shake the reed;
Shake the reed, and curl the stream
Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam;
Near the chequer'd, lonely grove,
Hears, and keeps thy secrets, love.
Stella, thither let us stray!
Lightly o'er the dewy way-
Phoebus drives his burning car,
Hence, my lovely Stella, far;
In his stead, 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 whispered joy,
Evening's silent hours employ,
Silence best, and conscious shades,
Please the heart that love invades;
Other pleasures give them pain,
Lovers, all but love disdain.

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WHETHER Stella's eyes are found,
Fix'd on earth, or glancing round,
If her face with pleasure glow;
If she sigh at others' woe;
If her easy air express

Conscious worth or soft distress;
Stella's eyes, and air, and face,
Charm with undiminished grace.
If on her we see displayed
Pendent gems, and rich brocade,


If her chintz with less
Flows in easy negligence;
Still she lights the conscious flame,
Still her charms appear the same;
If she strikes the vocal strings,
If she's silent, speaks, or sings,
If she sit, or if she move,
Still we love, and still approve.

Vain the casual transient glance, Which alone can please by chance, Beauty, which depends on art, Changing with the changing heart, Which demands the toilet's aid, Pendent gems, and rich brocade.

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I those charms alone can prize,
Which from constant nature rise,
Which nor circumstance, nor dress.
E'er can make or more or less.


No more thus brooding o'er yon
With avarice painful vigils keep;
Still unenjoyed the present store,
Still endless sighs are breathed for more.
O! quit the shadow, 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 pleasures to be sold?
No-all that's worth a wish-a thought,
Fair virtue gives unbribed, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.

With science tread the wonderous way,
Or learn the muse's moral lay;
In social hours indulge thy soul,
Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl;
To virtuous love resign thy breast,

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