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Tramples alike on customs and on toes,
- Till tamed and tortured into foreign graces,
Too soon a flirt, approach her and she flies! Frowns when pursued, and, when entreated, sighs ! Plays with unhappy men as cats with mice; Till fading beauty hints the late advice. Her prudence dictates what her pride disdained, And now she sues to slaves herself had chained !
Then comes that good old character, a Wife, With all the dear, distracting cares of life; A thousand cards a day at doors to leave, And, in return, a thousand cards receive; Rouge high, play deep, to lead the ton aspire, With nightly blaze set PortLAND-PLACE on fire; Snatch half a glimpse at Concert, Opera, Ball, A meteor, traced by none, tho' seen by all; And, when her shattered nerves forbid to roan, In very spleen--rehearse the girls at home.
Last the grey Dowager, in ancient flounces, With snuff and spectacles the age denounces; Boasts how the Sires of this degenerate Isle Knelt for a look, and duelled for a smile.
The scourge and ridicule of Goth and Vandal,
Thus WOMAN makes her entrance and her exit; Not least an actress when she least suspects it. Yet Nature oft peeps out and mars the plot, Each lesson lost, each poor pretence forgot; Full oft, with energy that scorns controul, At once lights up the features of the soul; Unlocks each thought chained down by coward Art, And to full day the latent passions start! --And she, whose first, best wish is your applause, Herself exemplifies the truth she draws. Born on the stage-thro' every shifting scene, Obscure or bright, tempestuous or serene, Still has your smile her trembling spirit fired! And can she act, with thoughts like these inspired ? Thus from her mind all artifice she flings, All skill, all practice, now unmeaning things ! To you, unchecked, each genuine feeling flows; For all that life endears—to you she owes.
and dream of Heaven awhile. Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes, Thy rosy lips still wear a smile, And move, and breathe delicious sighs!
Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks,
She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! Her fair hands folded on her breast. -And now, how like a saint she sleeps! A seraph in the realms of rest!
Sleep on secure! Above controul,
the secret of thy soul Remain within its sanctuary!
FROM A GREEK EPIGRAM.
While on the cliff with calm delight she kneels,
Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare, And the fond boy springs back to nestle there.
There is a streamlet issuing from a rock.
Dear is that valley to the murmuring bees;
The small birds build there; and, at summer-noon,
FROM AN ITALIAN SONNET.
Love, under Friendship's vesture white,
But now as Rage the God appears !
As thro' the hedge-row shade the violet steals,