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No more the ravag'd garden blow
With fpring's fucceeding bloffom?—No.
Pity may mourn, but not restore,
'And woman falls, to rife no more.

WITHIN this fublunary sphere,
A country lies-no matter where;
The clime may readily be found
By all, who tread poetic ground.
A ftream, call'd Life, across it glides,
And equally the land divides;
And here, of vice the province lies,
And there, the hills of virtue rife.

Upon a mountain's airy stand,
Whofe fummit look'd to either land,
An ancient pair their dwelling chofe,
As well for profpect, as repofe;
For mutual faith they long were fam'd,
And Temp'rance, and Religion, nam'd.
A num'rous progeny divine
Confefs'd the honours of their line;
But in a little daughter fair,

Was center'd more than half their care;
For heav'n to gratulate her birth,
Gave figns of future joy to earth;
White was the robe this infant wore,
And Chastity the name the bore.

As now the maid in ftature grew,
(A flow'r just op'ning to the view)
Oft through her native lawns fhe stray'd,
And wrestling with the lambkins play'd;
Her looks diffusive fweets bequeath'd,
The breeze grew purer as the breath'd,
The morn her radiant blush affum'd,
The spring with earlier fragrance bloom'd
And nature, yearly, took delight,
Like her, to drefs the world in white.

But when her rifing form was feen
To reach the crisis of fifteen,
Her parents up the mountain's head,
With anxious ftep their darling led;

By turns they fnatch'd her to their breast,
And thus the fears of age exprefs'd.

O joyful cause of many a care! O daughter, too divinely fair! Yon world, on this important day, Demands thee to a dangerous way; A painful journey, all must go, Whofe doubtful period none can know, Whose due direction who can find, Where Reason's mute, and Senfe is blind? Ah, what unequal leaders thefe, Through fuch a wide, perplexing maze! Then mark the warnings of the wife, And learn what love, and years advise. Far to the right thy prospect bend, Where yonder tow'ring hills afcend; Lo, there the arduous path's in view, Which Virtue, and her fons pursue! With toil o'er less'ning earth they rife, And gain, and gain upon the skies. Narrow's the way her children tread, No walk, for pleasure smoothly spread, But rough, and difficult, and steep, Painful to climb, and hard to keep. Fruits immature those lands dispense, A food indelicate to sense,

Of taste unpleasant; yet from thofe
Pure health, with cheerful vigour flows,
And strength, unfeeling of decay,
Throughout the long, laborious way.

Hence, as they scale that heav'nly road,
Each limb is lighten'd of its load;
From earth refining still they go,
And leave the mortal weight below;
Then spreads the ftrait, the doubtful clears,
And smooth the rugged path appears;

For custom turns fatigue to ease,
And, taught by virtue, pain can please.

At length, the toilfome journey o'er,
And near the bright, celestial shore,
A gulph, black, fearful, and profound,
Appears, of either world the bound,
Through darkness, leading up to light:
Senfe backwards fhrinks, and fhuns the fight;
For there the transitory train,

Of time, and form, and care, and pain,
And matter's grofs, incumb'ring mass,
Man's late affociates, cannot país,
But finking, quit th' immortal charge,
And leave the wand'ring foul at large;
Lightly fhe wings her obvious way,
And mingles with eternal day.

Thither, O! thither wing thy fpeed,
Though pleasure charm, or pain impede!
To fuch th' all-bounteous pow'r has giv'n,
For prefent earth, a future heav'n;
For trivial lofs, unmeasur'd gain,
And endless bifs, for tranfient pain.

Then fear, ah fear to turn thy fight,
Where yonder flow'ry fields invite;
Wide on the left the path-way bends,
And with pernicious eafe defcends;
There sweet to fenfe, and fair to show,
New-planted Edens feem to blow,
Trees, that delicious poison bear,
For death is vegetable there,

Hence is the frame of health unbrac'd,
Each finew flack'ning at the taste;
The foul to paffion yields her throne,
And fees with organs not her own;
While, like the flumb'rer in the night,
Pleas'd with the fhadowy dream of light,
Before her alienated eyes

The fcenes of fairy-land arife;
The puppet world's amusing show,
Dipt in the gayly-colpur'd bow;

Scepters, and wreaths, and glitt'ring things
The toys of infants, and of kings,
That tempt, along the baneful plain,
The idly wife, and lightly vain,
'Till verging on the gulphy shore,
Sudden they fink, and rife no more.

But lift to what thy fates declare;
Though thou art woman, frail as fair,
If once thy fliding foot fhould ftray,
Once quit yon heav'n-appointed way,
For thee, loft maid, for thee alone,
Nor pray'rs thall plead, nor tears atone;
Reproach, fcorn, infamy, and hate,
On thy returning fteps fhall wait,
Thy form be loath'd by every eye,
And every foot thy prefence fly.

Thus arm'd with words of potent found
Like guardian angels plac'd around,

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A charm, by truth divinely caft,
Forward our young advent'rer pafs'd.
Forth from her facred eye-lids fent,
Like morn, fore-running radiance went,
While honour, hand-maid, late affign'd,
Upheld her lucid train behind.

Awe-ftruck, the much admiring crowd
Before the virgin vifion how'd,
Gaz'd with an ever-new delight,
And caught fresh virtues at the fight:
For not of earth's unequal frame

They deem'd the heav'n-compounded Dame,
If matter, fure the most refin'd,
High wrought, and temper'd into mind,
Some darling daughter of the day,
And body'd by her native ray.

Where-e'er the paffes, thousands bend,
And thousands, where the moves, attend;
Her ways obfervant eyes confess,
Her fteps pursuing praises bless;
While to the elevated Maid
Oblations, as to heav'n, are paid.

'Twas on an ever-blithsome day,
The jovial birth of rofy May,
When genial warmth, no more fupprefs'd,
New-melts the frost in every breast,
The cheek with fecret flufhing dyes,

And looks kind things from chastest eyes ;
The fun with healthier visage glows,
Afide his clouded kerchief throws,
And dances up th' etherial plain,
Where late he us'd to climb with pain,
While Nature, as from bonds fet free,
Springs out, and gives a loose to glee.

And now, for momentary rest,
The Nymph her travel'd step reprefs'd,
Juft turn'd to view the stage attain'd,
And glory'd in the height the gain'd.

Out-ftretch'd before her wide survey,
The realms of fweet perdition lay,
And pity touch'd her foul with woe,
To fee a world so loft below;
When ftrait the breeze began to breathe
Airs, gently wafted from beneath,
That bore commiffion'd witchcraft thence,
And reach'd her sympathy of sense;
No founds of difcord, that disclose
A people funk, and loft in woes,
But as of prefent good poffefs'd,
The very triumph of the blefs'd.
The Maid in wrapt attention hung,
While thus approaching Sirens sung,

Hither, faireft, hither hafte,
Brightest beauty, come and tafte
What the pow'rs of bliss unfold,
Joys, too mighty to be told;
Tafte what extafies they give,
Dying raptures taste, and live.

In thy lap, difdaining measure,
Nature empties all her treasure,
Soft defires, that fweetly languish,
Fierce delights that rife to anguish;
Faireft, doft thou yet delay?
Brightest beauty, come away.

Lift not, when the froward chide,
Sons of pedantry, and pride,

Snarlers, to whose feeble fenfe
April funfhine is offence;
Age and envy will advise
Ev'n against the joy they prize.
Come, in pleasure's balmy bowk
Slake the thirftings of thy foul,
'Till thy raptur'd pow'rs are fainting
With enjoyment, past the painting i
Faireft, doft thou yet delay ?
Brightest beauty, come away.

So fung the Sirens, as of yore,
Upon the falfe Aufonian fhore;
And, O! for that preventing chain,
That bound Ulyffes on the main,
That fo our Fair-One might withstand
The covert ruin, now at hand.

The fong her charm'd attention drew,
When now the tempters stood in view;
Curiosity with prying eyes,

And hands of bufy, bold emprise;
Like Hermes, feather'd were her feet,
And, like fore-running fancy, fleet.
By fearch untaught, by toil untir'd,
To novelty she still aspir'd,
Taftelefs of every good poffefs'd,
And but in expectation blefs'd.

With her, affociate, Pleasure came,
Gay Pleasure, frolic-loving dame,
Her mien, all swimming in delight,
Her beauties half reveal'd to fight;

Loofe flow'd her garments from the ground,
And caught the kiffing winds around.
As erft Medufa's looks were known
To turn beholders into stone,

A dire reverfion here they felt,
And in the eye of Pleasure melt.
Her glance with sweet perfuafion charm'd,
Unnerv'd the strong, the fteel'd difarm'd';
No fafety ev'n the flying find,
Who vent'rous, look but once behind.

Thus was the much-admiring Maid,
While diftant, more than half betray'd:
With fmiles, and adulation bland,

They join'd her fide, and feiz'd her hand :
Their touch envenom'd sweets inftill'd,
Her frame with new pulfations thrill'd,
While half confenting, half denying,
Reluctant now, and now complying,
Amidst a war of hopes, and fears,
Of trembling wishes, fmiling tears,
Still down, and down, the winning Pair
Compell'd the struggling, yielding Fair.

As when some stately veffel, bound
To bleft Arabia's distant ground,
Borne from her courses, haply lights
Where Barca's flow'ry clime invites,
Conceal'd around whofe treach'rous land,
Lurk the dire rock, and dangerous fand;
The pilot warns with fail and oar,
To fhun the much-fufpected shore,
In vain; the tide, too fubtly strong,
Still bears the wrestling bark along,
'Till found'ring, the refigns to fate,
And finks o'erwhelm'd, with all her freight,
So baffling every bar to fin,

And heaven's own pilot, plac'd within,

Along the devious, smooth defcent,
With pow'rs increafing as they went,
The Dames, accustom❜d to subdue,
As with a rapid current drew,
And o'er the fatal bounds convey'd
The loft, the long-reluctant Maid.

Here ftop, ye fair-ones, and beware,
Nor fend your fond affections there;
Yet, yet your darling, now deplor'd,
May turn, to you, and heav'n, reftor'd;
'Till then, with weeping honour wait,
The fervant of her better fate;
With honour, 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 the veil,
Rememb'ring, you yourselves are frail.
And now, from all-enquiring light
Faft fled the conscious fhades of night;
The Damfel, from a short repose,
Confounded at her plight, arofe.

As when, with flumb'rous weight opprefs'd
Some wealthy miser sinks to reft,
Where felons eye the glitt'ring prey,
And steal his hoard of joys away;
He, borne where golden Indus ftreams,
Of pearl, and quarry'd di'mond dreams,
Like Midas, turns the glebe to ore,
And stands all wrapt amidst his store,
But wakens, naked, and defpoil'd
Of that, for which his years had toil'd.
So far'd the Nymph, her treasure flown,
And turn'd, like Niobe, to ftone;
Within, without, obfcure, and void,
She felt all ravag'd, all deftroy'd.
And, O thou curs'd, infidious coast!
Are these the bleffings thou canst boast?
Thefe, virtue! these the joys they find,
Who leave thy heav'n-topt hills behind?
Shade me, ye pines, ye caverns, hide,
Ye mountains, cover me, the cry'd !
Her trumpet flander rais'd on high,
And told the tidings to the sky;
Contempt discharg❜d a living dart,
A fide-long viper to her heart;
Reproach breath'd poisons o'er her face,
And foil'd, and blasted every grace;
Officious fhame, her handmaid new,
Still turn'd the mirror to her view;
While thofe, in crimes the deepest dy'd,
Approach'd, to whiten at her fide,
And every lewd, infulting dame
Upon her folly rofe to fame.

What fhould fhe do? Attempt once more
To gain the late-deserted shore?
So trufting, back the Mourner flew,
As faft the train of fiends pursue.

Again the farther fhore's attain'd,
Again the land of virtue gain'd;
But echo gathers in the wind,
And shows her inftant foes behind.
Amaz'd, with headlong speed the tends,
Where late fhe left a host of friends:
Alas! thofe fhrinking 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 honour loft.
From earth thus hoping aid in vain,
To heav'n not daring to complain,
No truce by hostile clamour giv'n,
And from the face of friendship driv❜n,
The Nymph funk proftrate 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 fate, as in a fhrine,
Virtue, firft effluence divine;
Far; far above the scenes of woe,
That shut this cloud-wrapt world below;
Superior goddefs, effence bright,
Beauty of uncreated light,
Whom should mortality survey,
As doom'd upon a certain day,
The breath of frailty must expire,
The world diffolve in living fire,
The gems of heav'n, and folar flame
Be quench'd by her eternal beam,
And nature, quick'ning in her eye,
To rife a new-born phoenix; die.

Hence, unreveal'd to mortal view,
A veil around her form fhe threw,
Which three fad fifters of the shade;
Pain, care, and melancholy, made.

Through this her all-enquiring eye,
Attentive from her station high,
Beheld, abandon'd to despair,
The ruins of her fav'rite Fair ;
And with a voice, whofe awful found
Appal'd the guilty world around,
Bid the tumultuous winds be still;
To numbers bow'd each lift'ning hill,
Uncurl'd the furging of the main,
And smooth'd the thorny bed of pain;
The golden harp of heav'n fhe strung,
And thus the tuneful goddess fung.

Lovely Penitent, arife,

Come, and claim thy kindred skies;
Come, thy fifter-angels fay,
Thou haft wept thy stains away.

Let experience now decide,
"Twixt the good and evil try'd;
In the smooth, enchanted ground,
Say, unfold the treafures found.

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

Seas, that fmoothly dimpling fie,
While the ftorm impends on high,
Showing, in an obvious glass,
Joys, that in poffeffion pafs;

Tranfient, fickle, light, and gay,
Flatt'ring, only to betray;
What, alas, can life contain !
Life, like all its circles, vain!

Will the ftork, intending rest,
On the billow build her neft ?
Will the bee demand his store
From the bleak, and bladelefs fhore?
Man alone, intent to stray,
Ever turns from wisdom's way,

Lays up wealth in foreign land,
Sows the fea, and plows the fand.

Soon this elemental mass,
Soon th' incumb'ring world shall país,
Form be wrapt in wafting fire,
Time be spent, and life expire.

Then, ye boasted works of men,
Where is your asylum then?
Sons of pleasure, fons of care;
Tell me, mortals, tell me where ?
Gone, like traces on the deep,
Like a scepter, grafp'd in fleep,
Dews, exhal'd from morning glades,
Melting fnows, and gliding fhades.

Pafs the world, and what's behind?
Virtue's gold, by fire refin'd;
From an universe deprav'd,
From the wreck of nature fav'd.
Like the life-fupporting grain,
Fruit of patience, and of pain,
On the fwain's autumnal day,
Winnow'd from the chaff away.

Little trembler, fear no more, Thou haft plenteous crops in store, Seed, by genial forrows sown, More than all thy fcorners own.

What though hoftile earth despise,
Heav'n beholds with gentler eyes;
Heav'n thy friendless steps fhall guide,
Chear thy hours, and guard thy fide.
When the fatal trump fhall found,
When th' immortals pour around,
Heav'n fhall thy return atteft.
Hail'd by myriads of the blefs'd.
Little native of the skies,
Lovely penitent, arife,
Calm thy bofom, clear thy brow,
Virtue is thy fister 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 triumphs wait;
On my cares, a period blefs'd;
On my toils, eternal rest.

Come, with virtue at thy fide,
Come, be every bar defy'd,
'Till we gain our native shore;
Sifter, come, and turn no more.

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Forth from his thatch'd-roof cottage stray'd,
And stroll'd along the dewy glade.

A Nymph, who lightly tript it by,
To quick attention turn'd his eye;
He mark'd the gefture of the Fair,
Her felf-fufficient grace, and air,
Her fteps, that mincing meant to please,
Her ftudy'd negligence, and ease;
And, curious to enquire what meant
This thing of prettiness, and paint,
Approaching fpoke, and bow'd obfervant;
The Lady, flightly,-Sir, your servant.
Such beauty in fo 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, reply'd the flutt'ring Dame,
This form confeffes whence it came;
But dear variety, you know,

Can make us pride, and pomp forego.
My name is Vanity. Ifway
The utmost islands of the fea;
Within my court all honour centers,
I raise the meaneft foul that enters,
Endow with latent gifts, and graces,
And model fools for pofts and places.

As Vanity appoints at pleasure,
The world receives its weight, and measure;
Hence all the grand concerns of life,

Joys, cares, plagues, paffions, peace and ftrife.
Reflect how far my pow'r prevails,
When I step in, where nature fails,
And every breach of fense repairing,
Am bounteous ftill, where heav'n is fparing.
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 robeing, curling, and adorning,
From noon to night, from night to morning,
From fix to fixty, fick, or found,

I rule the female world around.

Hold there a moment, Cupid cry'd,
Nor boast dominion quite fo wide;
Was there no province to invade,
But that by love, and meekness sway'd?
All other empire I refign,

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 chufe to live, and chufe to reign.
Far-fighted faith I bring along.
And truth, above an army ftrong,
And chastity, of icy mould,
Within the burning tropics cold,
And lowliness, to whofe mild brow
The pow'r and pride of nations bow,
And modefty, with downcait eye,
That lends the morn her virgin dye,
And innocence, array'd in light,
And honour, as a tow'r upright;
With fweetly winning graces, more
Than poets ever dreamt of yore,
In unaffected conduct free,
All fmiling fifters, three times three,
And rofy peace, the cherub blefs'd,
That nightly fings us all to reit.

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So, Sir,

a woman's conftitution,

The world's enigma, finds solution,
And let her form be what you will,
I am the subject effence ftill.

With the first spark of female fenfe,

The fpeck 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 to all their joys,

In gewgaws, rattles, pomp, and noife.
And now, familiar, and unaw'd,

I send the Autt'ring foul abroad;
Prais'd for her shape, her face, her mien,
little goddefs, and the queen
her infant fhrine oblation,

The

Takes

at

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11

And laughing, thus her fpeech renew❜d.
And pray, Sir, may

I be fo bold

a cavil,

To hope your pretty tale is told? next demand, without What new Utopia

And

Upon

do you travel?

my word, thefe high-flown fancies Shew depth of learning-in romances. Of buckram dames, and tiptoe fellows!

Why, what unfashion'd ftuff you tell us,

Go, child; and when you're grown maturer,

You'll fhoot your next opinion furer.

O fuch a pretty knack at painting!

And

all for foft'ning, and for fainting!

Guess now, who can, a fingle feature,

Through the whole piece of female nature!
The lines, too coarfe for Love to hit.

Then mark! my loofer hand may fit

'Tis faid that woman, prone to changing,

Through all the rounds of folly ranging,
On life's uncertain ocean riding,
No reafon, rule, or rudder guiding,
Is like the comet's wand'ring light,
Eccentric, ominous, and bright,
A fea, whofe fathom none can find,
A moon, ftill changing, and revolving,

Tracklefs, and shifting as the wind,

A riddle, paft all human folving,

A blifs,

a plague, a heav'n, a hell, A-fomething, which no man can tell.

Now learn a fecret from a friend,

But keep your counfel, and attend.
Nor with their fex, nor felves confiftent,

Though in their tempers thought fo diftant,

And show the lovely

Where, ftruck as

idol there,

by divine emotion,

She bows with most sincere devotion,

And

numb'ring every beauty o'er,

In fecret bids the world adore.

Then

all

for parking, and parading,

Coquetting, dancing, masquerading,

For

balls, plays, courts, and crowds what paffion! And churches, fometimes-if the fashion; For woman's fense of right, and wrong,

Is rul'd

by the almighty throng;

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