Those virtues which, before untry'd,
The wife has added to the bride;
Those virtues, whose progressive claim,
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves
For conscience sake, as well as love's.
For why? They shew mê hour by hour, Honour's high thought, affection's pow'r, Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sentence; And teach mé all things but-Repentance.
ON RECEIVING A BOUQUET OF ERIOPHORUM POLYSTACHION,
OR COTTON GRASS, FROM A FRIEND.
Where fortune's partial hands withhold
Her splendid favors, gems and gold,
Some simple gift, from nature's store,
Delights the feeling bosom more ;
And, if a friend that gift impart,
A plant, a flow'r, can charm the heart!
The waving cotton grass that spread,
Light to the gale, its shining head,
Pure friendship's off'ring, more I prize Than Indian plumes of richest dyes; Pleas'd, in its silv'ry tufts, I view'd The spotless gift of gratitude.
Within my friend's unruffled breast
May peace and honor ever rest;
His every thought and act be clear
From vicious taint:-then far more dear
Than gems, or costly plumes, to me,
This simple cotton grass shall be.
Glide, little Barque, in safety glide,
The winds are hush'd to sleep;
No billows swell the flowing tide;
No tempests heave the deep.
Just now I mark'd the transient gleam
That, from thy oar's repeated stroke,
Thy pageant beauties scarcely broke,
Reflected in the stream:
Now slow and graceful swells thy sail,
Before the scarcely breathing gale :---
Wooe the light breezes as they fly,
And catch thy hour of joy,
Soon shall the blast and storm arise,
In winter's wrathful mood;
Soon clouds and mist obscure the skies
And stain the silver flood:
Then shalt thou cease to tempt the tide,
And though thy sail, or feather'd oar,
Delight the wand'ring eye no more,
Secure in harbour ride.
How happy he, whose soul benign,
When summers radiant suns decline,
Serenely views life's transports cease,
And finds in winter peace!
When raging storms deform the air,
And clouds of snow descend;
And the wide landscape, bright and fair,
No deepen'd colours blend;
When biting frost rides on the wind,
Bleak from the north and east,
And wealth is at its ease reclin'd,
Prepar'd to laugh and feast ;
When the poor trav❜ller treads the plain,
All dubious of his way,
And crawls with night increasing pain,
And dreads the parting day;
When poverty in vile attire,
Shrinks from the biting blast,
Or hovers o'er the pigmy fire
And fears it will not last;
When the fond mother hugs her child
Still closer to her breast;
And the poor infant, frost beguil❜d,
Scarce feels that it is prest-
Then let your bounteous hand extend
Its blessings to the poor;
Nor spurn the wretched while they bend
All suppliant at your door.
How quickly fades the vital flow'r!
Alas, my friend! each silent hour
Steals unperciev'd away;
The early joys of blooming youth,
Sweet innocence, and dove-ey'd truth,
Are destin'd to decay.
Can zeal drear Pluto's wrath restrain?
No; tho' an hourly victim stain
His hallow'd shrine with blood,
Fate will recall her doom for none;
The scept'red king must leave his throne
To pass the Stygian flood.
In vain, my Parnell, wrapt in ease,
We shun the merchant-marring seas;
In vain we fly from wars;
In vain we shun th' autumnal blast,
(The slow Cocytus must be past)
How needless are our cares!
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