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To S T E L L A.
Whether Stella's eyes are foued
Fix'd on earth, or glancing round,
If her face with pleasure glow,
If she sigh at others woe,
If her eafy air express
Conscious worth, or soft diftress,
Stella's eyes, and air, and face,
Charm with undiminish'd grace.
If on her we see display'd
Pendant 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 the 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 art,
Which demands the toilet's aid,
Pendant gems, and rich brocade.
I those charms alone can prize,
Which from conftant nature rise,
Which nor circumstance, nor dress,
E'er can make, or more, or less.
In social hours indulge thy soul,
Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl ;
To virtuous love resign thy breaft,
And be by blessing beautybleft.
Thus taste the feast by nature spread,
Ere youth and all its joys are fled;
Come taste with me the balm of life,
Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife.
I boast whate'er for man was meant,
In health, and Stella, and content;
And scorn! Oh! let that fcorn be thine !
Mere things of clay, that dig the mine.
NET-WORK PURSE OF HER OWN WEAVING,
HOUGH gold and Gilk 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?
HEN Stella strikes the tuneful ftring
In scenes of imitated Spring,
Where beauty lavishes her powers
On beds of never-fading flowers,
And pleasure propagates around
Each charm of modulated found;
Ah! think not in the dangerous hour,
The nymph fictitious as the flower,
But shun, rath youth, the gay alcove,
Nor tempt the snares of wily love.
When charms thus préss on every sense,
What thought of light, 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 those regions of delight
Might truth intrude with daring flight,
Could Steila, 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 dyes
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 paflions well accorded strife,
Gives all the harmony of life ;
Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame,
Consistent still, though not the same ;
Thy music teach the nobler art,
To tune the regulated heart.