To STELLA.
WHETHER 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
Conscious worth, or foft 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 the lights the conscious flame; Still her charms appear the fame; If she strikes the vocal strings, If fhe's filent, fpeaks or fings, If the fit, or if the move, Still we love, and still 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 dress, E'er can make, or more, or less.
O more thus brooding o'er yon heap, With Avarice painful vigils keep;
Still unenjoy'd the prefent ftore,
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 pleasures 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 fcience tread the wondrous Or learn the Muses' moral lay;
In focial hours indulge thy foul, Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl; To virtuous love refign thy breaft, And be by bleffing beautybleft. Thus taste the feaft by nature spread, Ere youth and all its joys are fled; Come tafte 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.
ON HER GIVING THE AUTHOR A GOLD AND SILK NET-WORK PURSE OF HER OWN WEAVING.
THOUGH gold and filk their charms unite,
To make thy curious web delight,
In vain the varied work would fhine, If wrought by any hand but thine; Thy hand that knows the fubtler 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 reftrain. Why, Stella, was it then decreed The heart once caught should ne'er be freed?
A ROOM HUNG WITH FLOWER-PIECES OF
HER OWN PAINTING,
WHEN 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 Ah! think not in the dangerous hour, The nymph fictitious as the flower, But fhun, rafh youth, the gay alcove, Nor tempt the fnares of wily love.
When charms thus préfs on every fenfe, 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 those regions of delight Might truth intrude with daring flight, Could Steila, fprightly, 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 feeft 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 paffions well accorded ftrife,
Gives all the harmony of life
Thy pictures fhall thy conduct frame, Confiftent ftill, though not the fame Thy mufic teach the nobler art, To tune the regulated heart.
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