126
THE POEMS
ON MRS. ARABELLA FERMOR LEAVING LONDON.
From town fair Arabella flies;
The beaux unpowder'd grieve:
The rivers play before her eyes;
The breezes, softly breathing, rise;
The Spring begins to live.
Her lovers swore, they must expire,
Yet quickly find their ease;
For, as she goes, their flames retire;
Love thrives before a nearer fire,
Esteem by distant rays.
Yet soon the fair one will return,
When Summer quits the plain:
Ye rivers, pour the weeping urn;
Ye breezes, sadly sighing, mourn;
Ye lovers, burn again!
'Tis constancy enough in love
That nature's fairly shown:
To search for more, will fruitless prove;
Romances, and the turtle-dove,
The virtue boast alone.
