136 THE POEMS OF ANNE �Beauty, where Vanities abound, �No serious Passion claims; Then, 'till a Phoenix can be found, �Do not admit the Flames. �But griev'd She finds, that his Replies (Since prepossess'd when Young) �Take all their Hints from Silvia's Eyes, None from ARDELIA's Tongue. �Thus, Cupid, of our Aim we miss, �Who wou'd unbend thy Bow; And each slight Nymph a Phoenix is, �When Love will have it so. �HOPE �The Tree of Knowledge we in Eden prov'd ; The Tree of Life was thence to Heav'n remov'd: Hope is the growth of Earth, the only Plant, Which either Heav'n, or Paradice cou'd want. �Hell knows it not, to Us alone confin'd, And Cordial only to the Human Mind. Receive it then, t'expel these mortal Cares, Nor wave a Med'cine, which thy God prepares. �LIFE'S PROGRESS �How gayly is at first begun �Our Life's uncertain Race! Whilst yet that sprightly Morning Sun, With which we just set out to run �Enlightens all the Place. �How smiling the World's Prospect lies How tempting to go through ! ������ �
