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Snarlers, to whose feeble sense
April's sunshine is offence;
Age and envy will advise
Even against the joy they prize,

Come, in pleasure's balmy bowl
Slake the thirstings of thy soul,
Till thy raptur'd powers are fainting
With enjoyment past the painting;
Fairest, dost thou yet delay
Brightest beauty, come away.
So sung the Sirens, as of yore,
Upon the false Ausonian shore;
And O! for that preventing chain,
That bound Ulysses on the main,
That so our Fair One might withstand
The covert ruin, now at hand.

The song her charm'd attention drew,
When now the tempters stood in view;
Curiosity, with prying eyes,
And hands of busy bold emprise;
Like Hermes, feather'd were her feet;
And, like fore-running Fancy, fleet;
By search untaught, by toil untir'd,
To novelty she still aspir'd,
Tasteless of every good possest,
And but in expectation blest.

With her, associate, Pleasure came,
Gay Pleasure, frolic-loving dame,
Her mien all swimming in delight,
Her beauties half reveal'd to sight;
Loose flow'd her garments from the ground,
And caught the kissing-winds around,
As erst Medusa's looks were known
To turn beholders into stone,
A dire reversion here they felt,
And in the eye of Pleasure melt.

Her glance with sweet persuasion charm'd,
Unnerv'd the strong, the steel disarm'd;
No safety ev'n the flying find,
Who, vent'rous, look but once behind.

Thus was the much-admiring Maid,
While distant, more than half betray'd.
With smiles, and adulation bland,
They join'd her side, and seis'd her hand;
Their touch envenom'd sweets instill'd,
Her frame with new pulsatious thrill'd,
While half consenting, half denying,
Reluctant now, and now complying,
Amidst a war of hopes and fears,
Of trembling wishes, smiling tears,
Still down and down, the winning pair
Compell'd the struggling, yielding Fair,
As when some stately vessel, bound
To blest Arabia's distant ground,
Borne from her courses, haply lights
Where Barca's flow'ry clime invites,
Conceal'd around whose treach'rous land
Lurk the dire rock and dang'rous sand;
The pilot warns, with sail and oar
To shun the much-suspected shore,
In vain; the tide, too subtly strong,
Still bears the wrestling bark along,
Till found'ring, she resigns to fate,
And sinks, o'erwhelm'd, with all her freight,

So, baffling ev'ry bar to sin,
And Heav'n's own pilot plac'd within,
Along the devious, smooth descent,
With pow'rs increasing as they went,
The dames, accustom'd to subdue,
As with a rapid current drew,
And o'er the fatal bounds convey'd
The lost, the long-reluctant Maid.

Here stop, ye fair ones, and beware,
Nor send your fond affections there;
Yet, yet your darling, now deplor'd,
May turn to you and heav'n restor❜d;
Till then, with weeping Honor wait,
The servant of her better fate,
With Honor, left upon the shore,
Her friend and handmaid now no more}
Nor, with the guilty world, upbraid
The fortunes of a wretch betray'd;
But o'er her failing cast a veil,
Rememb'ring you yourselves are frail:

And now from all-inquiring light,
Fast Hed the conscious shades of night;
The Dainsel, from a short repose,
Confounded at her plight, arose.

As when with slumb'rous weight opprest, Some wealthy miser sinks to rest, Where felons eye the glitt'ring prey, And steal his hoard of joys away; He, borne where golden Indus streams, Of pearl and quarry'd diamond dreams ; Like Midas, turns the glebe to ore, And stands all rapt amidst his store; But wakens, naked and despoil'd, Of that for which his years had toil'd:

So far'd the Nymph, her treasure flown,
And turn'd, like Niobe, to stone;
Within, without, obscure and void,
She felt all ravag'd, all destroy'd,
And, O thou curs'd, insidious coast!
Are these the blessings thou canst boast?
These, Virtue! these the joys they find,
Who leave thy heaven-topt hills behind?
Shade me, ye pines, ye caverns hide,
Ye mountains, cover me, she cried.

Her trumpet Slander rais'd on high,
And told the tidings to the sky;
Contempt discharg'd a living dart,
A side-long viper to her heart;
Reproach breath'd poisons o'er her face,
And soil'd and blasted ev'ry grace;
Officious Shame, her handmaid new,
Still turn'd the mirror to her view,
While these in crimes the deepest dyed
Approach'd to whiten at her side:
And ev'ry lewd insulting dame
Upon her folly rose to fame.

What should she do? Attempt once more
To gain the late deserted shore?
So trusting, back the Mourner flew,
As fast the train of fiends pursue.
Again the farther shore's attain'd,
Again the land of virtue gain'd;
But echo gathers in the wind,
And shows her instant focs behind,


Amaz'd with headlong speed she tends,
Where late she left au host of friends;
Alas! those shrinking friends decline,
Nor longer own that form divine:
With fear they mark the following cry,
And from the lonely trembler fly,
Or backward drive her on the coast,
Where peace was wreck'd and honor lost.
From earth thus hoping aid in vain,
To Heaven not daring to complain;
No truce by hostile clamor given,
And from the face of friendship driven,
The Nymph sunk prostrate on the ground
With all her weight of woes around.
Enthron'd within a circling sky,
Upon a mount o'er mountains high,
All radiant sat, as in a shrine,
Virtue, first effluence divine;
Far, far above the scenes of woe,

That shut this cloud-wrapt cloud below;
Superior goddess, essence bright,
Beauty of uncreated light,
Whom should mortality survey,
As doom'd upon a certain day,
The breath of frailty must expire,
The world dissolve in living fire,
The gems of heaven and solar flame,
Be quench'd by her eternal beam,
And nature, quick'ning in her eye,
To rise a new-born phoenix.die.

Hence, unreveal'd to mortal view,
A veil around her form she threw,
Which three sad sisters of the shade,
Pain, Care, and Melancholy, made
Thro' this her all-inquiring eve
Attentive from her station high,
Beheld, abandon'd to despair,
The ruins of her fav'rite fair;
And with a voice whose awful sound
Appall'd the guilty world around,
Bid the tumultuous winds be still,
To numbers bow'd each list'ning hill,
Uncurl'd the surging of the main
And smooth'd the thorny bed of pain ;
The golden harp of heaven she strung,
And thus the tuneful goddess sung:

Lovely Penitent arise,
Come, and claim thy kindred skies;
"Come, thy sister angels say
Thou has wept thy stains away.
Let experience now decide
Twixt the good and evil tried;
In the smooth, enchanted ground,
Say, unfold the treasures found.

Structures, rais'd by morning dreams;
Sands, that trip the flitting streams;
Down, that anchors on the air;
Clouds, that paint their changes there;

Seas, that smoothly dimpling lie,
While the storm impends on high,
Showing, in an obvious glass,
Joys that in possession pass;

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Soon this elemental mass,
Soon the incumb'ring world shall pass:
Form be wrapt in wasting fire,
Time be spent, and life expire.

Then, ye boasted works of men,
Where is your asylum then?
Sons of pleasure, sons of care,
Tell me, mortals, tell me where?

Gone, like traces on the deep,
Like a sceptred grasp'd in sleep,
Dews exhal'd from morning glades,
Melting snows, and gliding shades.

Pass the world, and what's behind?
Virue's gold, by fire refin'd;
From an universe deprav'd,
From the wreck of nature sav'd.

Like the life-supporting grain,
Fruit of patience and of pain,
On the swains autumnal day,
Winnow'd from the chaff away.

Little trembler, fear no more,
Thou hast plenteous crops in store,
Seed, by genial sorrows sown,
More than all thy scorners own.

What tho' hostile earth despise, Heaven beholds with gentler eyes; Heavon thy friendless steps shall guide, Cheer thy hours and guard thy side.

When the fatal trump shall sound, When th' immortals pour around, Heaven shall thy return attest, Hail'd by myriads of the blest.

Little native of the skies,
Lovely penitent, arise;

Calm thy bosom, clear thy brow,
Virtue is thy sister now.

More delightful are my woes
Than the rapture pleasure knows :
Richer far the weeds I bring
Than the robes that grace a king.

On my wars of shortest date,
Crowns of endless triumph wait;
On my cares a period blest;
On my toils eternal rest.

Come, with Virtue at thy side
Come, be ev'ry bar defied,
Till we gain our native shore;
Sister, come, and tura ne more.

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§ 295. TABLE XVI. Love and Vanity.
THE breezy morning breath'd perfume,
The wak'ning flow'rs unveil their bloom,
Up with the sun, from short repose,
Gay health and lusty labor rose;
The milkmaid caroll'd at her pail,
And shepherds whistled o'er the dale:
When Love, who led a rural life,
Remote from bustle, state, and strife,
Forth from his thatch-roof'd cottage stray'd,
And stroll'd along the dewy glade.

A Nymph, who lightly tripp'd it by,
To quick attention turn'd his eye;
He mark'd the gesture of the Fair,
Her self-sufficient grace and air,
Her steps that mincing, meant to please,
Her studied negligence and ease;
And curious to inquire what meant
This thing of prettiness and paint,
Approaching spoke, and bow'd observant;
The lady slightly, -Sir, your servant.
Such beauty in so rude a place!
Fair one, you do the country grace;
At court no doubt the public care,
But Love has small acquaintance there.
Yes, Sir, replied the flutt'ring Dame,
This form confesses whence it came ;
But dear variety, you know,
Can make us pride and pomp forego,
My name is Vanity. I sway
The utmost islands of the sea;
Within my court all honor centres;
I raise the meanest soul that enters,
Endow with latent gifts and graces.
And model fools for posts and places.

As Vanity appoints at pleasure,
The world receives its weight and measure;
Hlence all the grand concerns of life,
Joys, cares, plagues, passions, peace, and strife.
Reflect how far my pow'r prevails,
When I step in where nature fails,
And ev'ry breach of sense repairing,
Am bounteous still where heaven is sparing.
But chief in all their arts and airs,
Their playing, painting, pouts, and pray'rs,
Their various habits, and complexions,
Fits, frolics, foibles, and perfections,
Their robing, curling, and adorning,
From noon to night, from night to morning,
From six to sixty, sick or sound,
I rule the female world around.
Hold there a moment, Cupid cried,
Nor boast dominion quite so wide.
Was there no province to invade,
But that by Love and Meekness sway'd?
All other empire I resign;
But be the sphere of beauty mine.
For in the downy lawn of rest,
That opens on a woman's breast,
Attended by my peaceful train,
I choose to live, and choose to reign.
Far-sighted faith I bring along,
And truth above an army strong;

And chastity of icy mould,
Within the burning tropics cold;
And lowliness to whose mild brow
The pow'r and pride of nations bow;
And modesty, with downcast eye,
That lends the morn her virgin dye;
And innocence, array'd in light;
And honor, as a tow'r upright;
With sweetly winning graces more
Than poets ever dreamt of yore,
In unaffected conduct free,

All smiling sisters, three times three;
And rosy peace, the cherub blest,
That nightly sings us all to rest.

Hence, from the bud of nature's prime,
From the first step of infant time,
Woman, th' world's appointed light,
Has skirted ev'ry shade with white;
Has stood for imitation high,
To ev'ry heart and ev'ry eye,
From antient deeds of fair renown,
Has brought her bright memorials down ?
To time affix'd perpetual youth,
And form'd each tale of love and truth.

Upon a new Promethean plau
She moulds the essence of a man,
Tempers his mass, his genius fires,
And, as a better soul inspires.

The rude she softens, warms the cold,
Exalts the meek, and checks the hold,
Calls sloth from his supine repose,
Within the coward's bosom glows,
Of pride unplumes the lofty crest,
Bids bashful merit stand confest,

And, like coarse metal from the mines,
Collects, irradiates, and refines.
The gentle science she imparts,

All manners smooths, informs all hearts;
From her sweet influence are felt
Passions which please, and thoughts that melt ;
To story rage she bids control,
And sinks serenely on the soul,
Soften's Deucalion's flinty race,
And tunes the warring world to peace.

Thus arm'd to all that's light and vain,
And freed from thy fantastic chain,
She fills the sphere by Heaven assign'd,
And, rul'd by me, o'er-rules mankind.

He spoke, The Nymph impatient stood,
And, laughing, thus her speech renew'd:

And pray, Sir, may I be so bold
To hope your pretty tale is told;
And next demand without a cavil,
What new Utopia do you travel?
Upon my word these high-flown fancies,
Show depth of learning-in romances.

Why, what unfashion'd stuff you tell us
Of buckram dames and tiptoe fellows!
Go, child; and when your grown maturer,
You'll shoot your next opinion surer,

O such a pretty knack at painting!
And all for soft'ning and for sainting ;
Guess now, who can, a single feature,
Thro' the whole piece of female nature;


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Then mark, my looser hand may
The lines, too coarse for Love to hit.
"Tis said that woman, prone to chauging,
Thro' all the rounds of folly ranging,
On life's uncertain ocean riding,
No reason, rule, nor rudder guiding,
Is like the comet's wand'ring light,
Eccentric, ominous, and bright;
Trackles, and shifting as the wind;
A sea, whose fathom none can find ;
A moon, still changing and revolving;
A riddle, past all hunan solving;
A bliss, a plague, a heaven, a hell;
Asomething that no man can tell.
Now learn a secret from a friend,
But keep your counsel, and attend.

Tho' in their tempers thought so distant,
Nor with their sex nor selves consistent,
'Tis but the difference of a name,
And ev'ry woman is the same;
For as the world, however varied,
And through unnumber'd changes carried,
Of elemental modes and forms,

Clouds, meteors, colors, calms, and storms,
Tho' in a thousand suits array'd,
Is of one subject matter made;
So, Sir, a woman's constitution,
The world's enigma, finds solution;
And let her form be what you will,
I am the subject essence still.

With the first spark of female sense,
The speck of being, I commence,
Within the womb make fresh advances,
And dictate future qualms and fancies;
Thence in the growing form expand,
With childhood travel hand in hand,
And give a taste for all their joys
In gewgaws, rattles, pomp, and noise.
And now, familiar and unaw'd,
I send the flutt'ring soul abroad,
Prais'd for her shape, her air, her mien,
The little goddess, and the queen,
Takes at her infant shrine oblation,
And drinks sweet draughts of adulation.
Now blooming, tall, erect, and fair,
To dress becomes her darling care;
The realms of beauty then I bound;
I swell the hoop's enchanted round,
Shrink in the waist's descending size,
Heav'd in the snowy bosom, rise,
High on the flowing lappet sail,
Or, curl'd in tresses, kiss the gale.
Then to her glass I lead the fair,
And show the lovely idol there;
Where, struck as by divine emotion,
She bows with most sincere devotion,
And, numb'ring ev'ry beauty o'er,
In secret bids the world adore.

Then all her parking and parading,
Coquetting, dancing, masquerading:
For balls, plays, courts, and crowds what passion
And churches, sometimes if the fashion;
For woman's sense of right and wrong
Is rul'd by the almighty throng;

Still turns to each meander tame,
And swims the straw of ev'ry stream.
Her soul intrinsic worth rejects,
Accomplish'd only in defects;
Such excellence is her ambition,
Folly her wisest acquisition;
And even from pity and disdain
She'll cull some reason to be vain.

Thus, Sir, from ev'ry form and feature,
The wealth and wants of female nature,
And ev'n from vice, which you'd admire,
I gather fuel to my fire;

And on the very base of shame
Erect my monument of fame.

Let me another truth attempt,
Of which your godship has not dreamt.
Those shining virtues which you muster,
Whence think you they derive their lustre ?
From native honor and devotion?
O yes, a mighty likely notion!
Trust me, from titled danes to spinners,
Tis I make saints, whoe'er make sinners;
"Tis I instruct them to withdraw,
And hold presumptuous man in awe;
For female worth, as I inspire,

In just degrees, still mounts the higher;
And virtue, so extremely nice,
Demands long toil and mighty price,
Like Samson's pillars, fix'd elate,
I bear the sex's tott'ring state;
Sap these, and in a moment's space
Down sinks the fabric to its base.

Alike from titles and from toys
I spring the fount of female joys;
In ev'ry widow, wife, and miss,
The sole artificer of bliss;
For them each topic I explore,
I cleave the sand of ev'ry shore;
To them uniting Indias sail,
Sabaa breathes her farthest gale:
For them the bullion I refine,
Dig sense and virtue from the mine,
And from the bowels of invention
Spin out the various arts you mention,

Nor bliss alone my pow'rs bestow,
They hold the sov'reign balm of woe,
Beyond the stoic's boasted art
I sooth the heavings of the heart;
To pain give splendor and relief,
And gild the pallid face of grief.

Alike the palace and the plain
Adinit the glories of my reign!
Thro' ev'ry age, in ev'ry nation,
Taste, talents, tempers, state, and station.
Whate'er a woman says, I say;
Whate'er a woman spends, I pay;
Alike I fill and empty bags,
Flutter in finery and rags,
With light coquettes thro' folly range,
And with the proud disdain to change.

And now you'd think, 'twixt you and I,
That thing were ripe for a reply-
But soft, and while I'm in the mood,
Kindly permit me to conclude,

Their utmost mazes to unravel,
And touch the farthest step they travel.
When ev'ry pleasure's run aground,
And folly tir'd thro' many a round,
The nymph, conceiving discontent hence,
May ripen to an hour's repentance,
And vapors, shed in pious moisture,
Dismiss her to a church, or cloyster;
Then on I lead her, with devotion
Conspicuous in her dress and motion,
Inspire the heavenly-breathing air,
Roll up the lucid eye in pray'r,
Soften the voice, and in the face
Look melting harmony and grace.
Thus far extends my friendly pow'r,
Nor quits her in her latest hour;
The couch of decent pain 1 spread,
In form recline her languid head;
Her thoughts I methodise in death,
And part not with her parting breath;
Then do I set, in order bright,
A length of fun'ral pomp to sight.
The glitt'ring tapers and attire,
The plumes that whiten o'er the bier;
And last, presenting to her eye
Angelic fineries on high,

To scenes of painted bliss I waft her,
And form the heaven she hopes hereafter.
In truth, rejoin'd love's gentle god,
You've gone a tedious length of road,
And, strange, in all the toilsonie way
No house of kind refreshment lay;

No nymph, whose virtues might have tempted
To hold her from her sex exempted.

For one we'll never quarrel, man;
Take her, and keep her, if you can;
And pleas'd yield to your petition,
Since ev'ry fair, by such permission,
Will hold herself the one selected;
And so my system stands protected.

O, deaf to virtue, deaf to glory,
To truths divinely vouch'd in story!
The Godhead in his zeal return'd,
And, kindling at her malice, burn'd:
Then sweetly rais'd his voice, and told
Of heav'nly nymphs, rever'd of old;
Hypsipyle, who sav'd her sire,
And Portia's love, approv'd by fire;
Alike Penelope was quoted,
Nor laurel'd Daphne pass'd unnoted,
Nor Laodamia's fatal garter,
Nor fam'd Lucretia, honor's martyr,
Alceste's voluntary steel,

And Catharine, smiling on the wheel.
But who can hope to plant conviction
Where cavil grows on contradiction?
Some she evades or disavows,
Deinurs to all, and none allows-
A kind of antient thing call'd fables!
And thus the Goddess turn'd the tables.
Now both in argument grew high,
A choler flash'd from either eye;
Nor wonder each refus'd to yield
The conquest of so fair a field.

When happily arriv'd in view

A Goddess whom our grand-dames knew,
Of aspect grave, and sober gait,
Majestic, awful, and sedate,

As heaven's autumnal eve serene,

When not a cloud o'ereasts the scene;
Once Prudence call'd, a matron fam'd,
And in old Rome Cornelia nam'd.
Quick at a venture both agree
To leave their strife to her decree.

And now by each the facts were stated,
In form and manner as related.
The case was short. They crav'd opinion,
Which held o'er females chief dominion:
When thus the Goddess, answ'ring mild,
First shook her gracious head, and smil'd:
Alas, how willing to comply,
Yet how unfit a judge am I!
In times of golden date, 'tis true,
I shar'd the fickle sex with you;
But from their presence long precluded,
Or held as one whose form intruded
Full fifty annual suns can tell,
Prudence has bid the sex farewell.

In this dilemma what to do,
Or who to think of, neither knew;
For both, still biass'd in opinion,
And arrogant of sole dominion,
Were forc'd to hold the case compounded,
Or leave the quarrel where they found it.
When in the nick, a rural fair,
Of inexperienc'd gait and air,
Who ne'er had cross'd the neighb'ring lake,
Nor seen the world beyond a wake,
With cambric coif, and kerchief clean,
Tripp'd lightly by them o'er the green.
Now, now! cried Love's triumphant child,
And at approaching conquest smil'd,
If Vanity will once be guided,
Our diff'rence soon may be decided;
Behold yon wench, a fit occasion
To try your force of gay persuasion.
Go you while I retire aloof,

Go, put those boasted pow'rs to proof;
And if your prevalence of art
Transcends my yet unerring dart,
I give the fav'rite contest o'er,
And ne'er will boast my empire more.

At once, so said, and so consented;
And well our Goddess seem'd contented;
Nor pausing made a moment's stand,
But tripp'd, and took the girl in hand.

Meanwhile the Godhead, unalarm'd,
As one to each occasion arin'd,
Forth from his quiver cull'd a dart,
That erst had wounded many a heart;
Then bending, drew it to the head;
The bowstring twang'd, the arrow fled,
And to her secret soul addrest,
Transfix'd the whiteness of her breast.
But here the Dame, whose guardian care
Had to a moment watch'd the fair,
At once her pocket-mirror drew,
And held the wonder full in view;


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