And now farewell, O early in renown,
Illustrious, young, in labours for the crown,
Just, and benign, and vigilant, in power,
And elegant to grace the vacant hour,
Relaxing sweet! Nor are we born to wear
The brow still bent, and give up life to care.
And thou, mild glory, beaming round his fame,
Francisca, thou, his first, his latest flame;
Parent of bloom! in pleasing arts refined !
Farewell thy hand, and voice, in music join'd;
Thy courtesy, as soothing as thy song,
And smiles soft-gleaming on the courtly throng:
And thou, Charissa, hastening to thy prime,
And Carolina, chiding tardy Time,
Who every tender wish of mine divide,
For whom I strung the lyre, once laid aside,
Receive, and bear in mind, my fond farewell,
Thrive on in life! and, thriving on, excell!
Accept this token, Carteret, of good-will,
The voice of nature, undebased by skill,
These parting numbers, cadenced by my grief,
For thy loved sake, and for my own relief,
If aught, alas, thy absence may relieve,
Now I am left, perhaps, through life to grieve:
Yet would I hope, yet hope I know not why,
(But hopes and wishes in one balance lie)
Thou mayst revisit, with thy wonted smiles,
Tërna, island set around with isles:
May the same heart, that bids thee now adieu, Salute thy sails, and hail thee into view!
FROM White's and Will's
To purling rills
The love-sick Strephon flies;
There, full of woe,
His numbers flow,
And all in rhyme he dies.
The fair coquette,
With feign'd regret,
Invites him back to town;
But, when in tears
The youth appears,
She meets him with a frown.
Full oft the maid
This prank had play'd, Till angry Strephon swore, And, what is strange,
Though loath to change, Would never see her more.
WHY we love, and why we hate,
Is not granted us to know:
Random chance, or wilful fate,
Guides the shaft from Cupid's bow.
If on me Zelinda frown,
Madness 'tis in me to grieve:
Since her will is not her own,
Why should I
If I for Zelinda die,
Deaf to poor Mizella's cries:
Ask not me the reason why?
Seek the riddle in the skies.
LITTLE syren of the stage,
Charmer of an idle age,
Empty warbler, breathing lyre,
Wanton gale of fond desire,
Bane of every manly art,
Sweet enfeebler of the heart!
O, too pleasing in thy strain,
Hence, to southern climes again!
Tuneful mischief, vocal spell,
To this island bid farewell;
Leave us as we ought to be,
Leave the Britons rough and free.
WEEPING o'er thy sacred urn,
Ever shall the Muses mourn;
Sadly shall their numbers flow,
Ever elegant in woe.
Thousands, nobly born, shall die,
Thousands in oblivion lie;
Names, which leave no trace behind,
Like the clouds before the wind,
When the dusky shadows pass,
Lightly fleeting o'er the grass.
But, O Halifax, thy name
Shall through ages rise in fame :
Sweet remembrance shalt thou find,
Sweet in every noble mind.
HONOURABLE MISS CARTERET.
BLOOM of beauty, early flower
Of the blissful bridal bower,
Thou, thy parents' pride and care,
Fairest offspring of the fair,
Lovely pledge of mutual love,
Angel seeming from above,
Was it not thou day by day
Dost thy very sex betray,
Female more and more appear,
Female, more than angel dear,
How to speak thy face and mien,
(Soon too dangerous to be seen)
How shall I, or shall the Muse,
Language of resemblance choose?
Language like thy mien and face,
Full of sweetness, full of grace!
By the next returning spring,
When again the linnets sing,
When again the lambkins play,
Pretty sportlings full of May,
When the meadows next are seen,
Sweet enamel! white and green,
And the year in fresh attire
Welcomes every gay desire,
Blooming on shalt thou appear,
More inviting than the year,
Fairer sight than orchard shows,
Which beside a river blows:
Yet another spring I see,
And a brighter bloom in thee:
And another round of time,
Circling, still improves thy prime:
And, beneath the vernal skies,
Yet a verdure more shall rise,
Ere thy beauties, kindling slow,
In each finish'd feature glow,
Ere, in smiles and in disdain,
Thou exert thy maiden reign,
Absolute to save, or kill,
Fond beholders, at thy will.
Then the taper-moulded waist
With a span of ribbon braced,
And the swell of either breast,
And the wide high-vaulted chest,
And the neck so white and round,
Little neck with brilliants bound,
And the store of charms which-shine
Above, in lineaments divine,
Crowded in a narrow space
To complete the desperate face,
These alluring powers, and more,
Shall enamour'd youths adore;
|