THE mind's soft guardian, who, tho' yet unsung, Inspires with harmony the female tongue, And gives, improving every tender grace, The smile of angels to a mortal face; Her powers I sing; and scenes of mental strife, Which form the maiden for th' accomplish'd wife; Where the sweet victor sees, with sparkling eyes, Love her reward, and happiness her prize. Daughters of beauty, who the song inspire, To your enchanting notes attune my lyre! And oh! if haply your soft hearts may gain Or use, or pleasure from the motley strain, Tho' formal critics, with a surly frown, Deny your artless bard the laurel crown, He still shall triumph, if ye deign to spread Your sweeter myrtle round his honour'd head. In your bright circle young Serena grew; A lovelier nymph the pencil never drew; For the fond Graces form'd her easy mien, And heaven's soft azure in her eye was seen. She seem'd a rose-bud, when it first receives The genial sun in its expanding leaves; For now she enter'd those important years, When the full bosom swells with hopes and fears; When conscious nature prompts the secret sigh, And sheds sweet languor o'er the melting eye; When nobler toys the female heart trepan, And dolls rejected, yield their place to man. Beneath a father's care Serena grew; The good Sir Gilbert, to his country true, A faithful Whig, who, zealous for the state, In freedom's service led the loud debate; Yet every day, by transmutation rare, Turn'd to a Tory in his elbow-chair, And made his daughter pay, howe'er absurd, Passive obedience to his sovereign word. In his domestic sway he borrow'd aid From prim Penelope, an ancient maid, His upright sister, conscious of her worth, Who valued still her beauty, and her birth; Tho' from her birth no envied rank she gain'd, And of her beauty but the ghost remain'd; A restless ghost! that with remembrance keen Proclaim'd incessant what it once had been; Delighted still the steps of youth to haunt, To watch the tender nymph, and warm gallant; And with an eye that petrified pursuit, Hang, like the dragon o'er th' Hesperian fruit. Tho' strictly guarded by this jealous power, The mild Serena no restraint could sour: Pure was her bosom as the silver lake, Ere rising winds the ruffled water shake, When the bright pageants of the morning sky Across th' expansive mirror lightly fly, By vernal gales in quick succession driven, While the clear glass reflects the light of heaven. In gay content a sportive life she led, The child of Modesty, by Virtue bred: Her light companions Innocence and Ease; Her hope was pleasure, and her wish to please: For this, to Fashion early rites she paid; For this, to Venus secret vows she made; Nor held it sin to cast a private glance O'er the dear pages of a new romance, Eager in fiction's touching scenes to find A field, to exercise her youthful mind: The touching scenes new energy imprest On all the virtues of her feeling breast. Sweet Evelina's fascinating power Had first beguil'd of sleep her midnight hour: Possest by sympathy's enchanting sway, She read, unconscious of the dawning day.
London, Publish'd Septr. 1st. 1787, by T. Cadell, Strand.
"Man as he is" her gentle heart alarm'd; His troubles griev'd her, but his spirit charm'd. The generous Paradyne had faults, she own'd, But sweet contrition for those faults aton'd: In her pure thought it gave him such a grace, He seem'd a model for the human race: Hermsprong arose; his rivals all declin'd; He sway'd, with sweet ascendancy, her mind: His savage virtues grew supremely dear, Gracefully frank, and amiably austere; Soon for the hero of her heart she chose This bright reverse of fashionable beaux, And, tho' a pattern of ideal truth, Hop'd the wide world might yield her such a youth. The Modern Anecdote was next convey'd Beneath her pillow by her faithful maid. The nymph, attentive as the brooding dove, Por'd o'er the tender scenes of Franzel's love: The sinking taper now grew weak and pale; Serena sigh'd, and dropt th' unfinish'd tale: But, as warm clouds in vernal æther roll, The soft ideas floated in her soul: Free from ambitious pride, and envious care, To love, and to be lov'd, was all her pray'r: While these fond thoughts her gentle mind possess'd, Soft slumber settled on her snowy breast. Scarce had her radiant eyes began to close, When to her view a friendly vision rose: A fairy Phantom struck her mental fight, Light as the gossamer, as æther bright; Array'd like Pallas was the pigmy form, When the sage goddess stills the martial storm: Her casque was amber, richly grac'd above With down, collected from the callow dove: Her burnish'd breast-plate of a deeper dye, Was once the armour of a golden fly: A lynx's eye her little ægis shone, By fairy spells converted into stone, And worn of old, as elfin poets sing, By Egypt's lovely queen, a favourite ring: Mysterious power was in the magic toy, To turn the frowns of care to smiles of joy. Her tiny lance, whose radiance stream'd afar, Was one bright sparkle from the bridal star. A filmy mantle round her figure play'd, Fine as the texture by Arachne laid O'er some young plant, when glittering to the view With many an orient pearl of morning dew. The Phantom hover'd o'er the conscious Fair With such a lively smile of tender care, As on her elfin lord Titania cast, When first she found his angry spell was past. Round her rich locks Serena chanc'd to tie An ample ribband of cærulean dye; High o'er her forehead rose the graceful bow, Whose arch commanded the sweet scene below: The hovering Spirit view'd the tempting spot, And lightly perch'd on this unbending knot; As the fair flutterer, of Psyche's race, Is seen to terminate her airy chase, When, pleas'd at length her quivering wings to close, Fondly she settles on the fragrant rose. Now in soft notes, more musically clear Than ever Fairy breath'd in mortal ear, These words the visionary voice convey'd To the charm'd spirit of the sleeping maid: "Thou darling of my care! whose ripen'd worth Shall spread my empire o'er the smiling earth; Whom Nature blest, forbidding modish Art, To cramp thy spirit, or contract thy heart; Screen'd from thy thought, nor in thy visions felt, Long on thy opening mind I've fondly dwelt; In childhood's sorrows brought thee quick relief, And dry'd thy April-showers of infant grief; Taught thee to laugh at the malicious boy, Who broke thy playthings with a barbarous joy, To bear what ills the little female haunt, The testy nurse, th'imperious gouvernante, And that tyrannic pest, the prying maiden aunt. Now ripening years a nobler scene supply; For life now opens on thy sparkling eye: Thy rising bosom swells with just desire Rapture to feel, and rapture to inspire: Not the vain bliss, the transitory joys, That childish woman feels in radiant toys; The costly diamond, or the lighter pearl, The massive Nabob, or the tinsel Earl. Thy heart demands, each meaner aim above, Th' imperishable wealth of sterling love; Thy wish, to please by every softer grace Of elegance and ease, of form and face! By lively fancy and by sense refin'd, The stronger magic of the cultur'd mind! Thy pure ambition, and thy virtuous plan, To fix the variable heart of man! Short is the worship paid at Beauty's shrine; But lasting love and happiness are mine: Mine, tho' the earth's mistaken, blinded race, Despise my influence, and my name debase; Nor breathe one vow to that ætherial friend, On whom the colours of their life depend. But to thy innocence I now display The mystic marvels of my secret sway; And tell, in this thy fate-deciding hour, My race, my name, my office, and my power. First, hear what wonders human forms contain! And learn the texture of the female brain! By Nature's care in curious order spread, This living net is fram'd of tender thread; Fine as thy hand, some favour'd youth to grace, Knits with nice art to form the mimic lace. Within the centre of this fretted dome, Her secret tower, her heav'n-constructed home, Soft Sensibility, sweet Beauty's soul! Keeps her coy state, and animates the whole, Invisible as Harmony, who springs, Wak'd by young Zephyr, from Æolian strings: Her subtle power, more delicately fine, Dwells in each thread, and lives in every line, Whose quick vibrations, without end, impart Pleasure and pain to the responsive heart. As Zephyr's breath the willing chord inspires, Whispering soft music to the trembling wires, So with fond care I regulate, unseen, The softer movements of this nice machine; Temper, my earthly name, the nurse of Love! But call'd Sophrosyne in realms above! When lovely Woman, perfect at her birth, Blest with her early charms the wond'ring earth, Her soul, in sweet simplicity array'd, Nor shar'd my guidance, nor requir'd my aid. Her tender frame, nor confident nor coy, Had every fibre tun'd to gentle joy: No vain caprices swell'd her pouting lip; No gold produc'd a mercenary trip; Soft innocence inspir'd her willing kiss, Her love was nature, and her life was bliss. Guide of his reason, not his passion's prey, She tam'd the savage, Man, who bless'd her sway. No jarring wishes fill'd the world with woes, But youth was ecstacy, and age repose. The Powers of Mischief met in dark divan, To blast these mighty joys of envied Man: The fiends, at their infernal leader's call, Framed their base wiles in Demogorgon's hall, In the deep centre of that dreadful dome, A hellish cauldron boil'd with fiery foam: In this wide urn the circling spirits threw Ingredients harsh, and hideous to the view; While the terrific master of the spell With adjurations shook the depths of hell, And in dark words, unmeet for mortal ear, Bade the dire offspring of his art appear. Forth from the vase, with sullen murmurs, broke A towering mass of pestilential smoke: Emerging from this fog of thickest night, A phantom swells, by slow degrees, to sight; But ere the view can seize the forming shape, From the mock'd eye its lineaments escape:
London. Published Septr. 1st. 1785, by T. Cadell, Strand.
It seem'd all passions melted into one, Assum'd the face of all, and yet was none: Hell stood aghast at its portentous mien, And shuddering demons call'd the spectre Spleen. 'Hie thee to earth!' its mighty master cried, 'O'er the vex'd globe in heavy vapours ride! Within its centre fix thy shadowy throne! With shades thy subjects, and that hell thy own! Reign there unseen! but let thy strong controul Be hourly felt in woman's wayward soul! With darkest poisons from our deep abyss, Taint that pure source of sublunary bliss!' Th' enormous phantom, at this potent sound, Roll'd forth obedient from the vast profound: The quaking fiends recover'd from their dread, And hell grew lighter as the monster fled. But now round earth the gliding vapours run, Blot the rich æther, and eclipse the sun; All Nature sickens; and her fairest flower, Enchanting Woman, feels the baneful Power: As in her soul the clouds of Spleen arise, The sprightly essence of her beauty flies: In youth's gay prime, in hours with rapture warm, Love looks astonish'd on her altering form: To pleasing frolics, and enchanting wiles, Life-darting looks, and soul-subduing smiles, Dark whims succeed: thick-coming fancies fret; The sullen passion, and the hasty pet; The swelling lip, the tear-distended eye, The peevish question, the perverse reply; The moody humour, that, like rain and fire, Blends cold disgust with unsubdu'd desire, Flies what it loves, and, petulantly coy, Feigns proud abhorrence of the proffer'd joy: For Nature's artless aim, the wish to please By genuine modesty, and simple ease, Fashion's pert tricks the crowded brain oppress With all the poor parade of tawdry dress: The sickly bosom pants for noise and show, For every bauble, and for every beau; The voice, that health made harmony, disowns That native charm for languor's mimic tones: And feigns disease, till, feeling what it feigns, Its fancied maladies are real pain Such, and a thousand still superior woes, From Spleen's new empire o'er the earth arose: Each simple dictate of the soul forgot, Then first was form'd the mercenary plot; And Beauty practis'd the pernicious art, Of angling slyly for an old man's heart; Tho' crawling to his bride with tottering knees, His words were dotage, and his love disease. From sex to sex this base contagion ran, And gold grew beauty in the eyes of man: Courtship was traffic: and the married life But one loud jangle of incessant strife. The gentle Sprite, who on his radiant car, Shines the mild regent of the evening star, And joys from thence those genial rays to shed, That lead the bridegroom to the nuptial bed, While earth's new ills his friendly soul absorb. From Cynthia call'd me to his kindred orb; And, eager to redress the woes of man, The brilliant son of Vesper thus began: 'Thou softest being of th' ætherial kind, By thy benignant cares no more confin'd To smooth the ruffled plume of Zephyr's wing, To guard from cruel frost the infant spring, To drive gross atoms from the rays of noon! Or chase the halo from the vapourish moon! Thy friendly nature will not now deny To quit for nobler toils thy native sky; Thou seest how Spleen's infernal vapours roll Across the sweet serene of Woman's soul; And earth, which darkens as her beauties fade, Must grow a second hell without thy aid: Take then thy station! fix thy nobler reign O'er those fine chords that form the female brain, That us'd, ere injur'd by the rust of Spleen, To fill with harmony the human scene! Go! lest her touch their tender tones destroy, Teach them to vibrate to thy notes of joy! Go! and restore, by stilling mental strife, Health to faint Love, and happiness to life!' So spake that friend of Man, who lights above His heavenly lamp of Hymeneal love: In his just aim my kindred spirit join'd, And flew obedient to the charge assign'd. Hence, as the bias sways the unconscious bowl, I long unseen have sway'd the careless soul; Tho' oft I feel my power by Spleen subdu'd, In the shrill Vixen, and the sullen prude, In some fair forms my soft dominion grows, Like fragrance, rising from the opening rose: Still I preserve, in many a lovely face, That gay good-humour, and that constant grace, Which heavenly powers united to infold In perfect Woman's new-created mould; When Nature, in her infant beauty blest, The last and loveliest of her works carest. But of those nymphs, who, delicately fair, Draw soft attractions from my forming care, My young Serena shines her peers above, Pride of my hopes, and darling of my love. Hence I to thee such mysteries unfold, As man's pedantic eye shall ne'er behold; Whose narrow science, tho' it proudly boast To pierce the sky, and count the starry host, Sees not the lucid band of airy powers, Who flutter round him in his secret hours: But if to me, thy guardian now display'd, Thy duteous orisons are justly paid, Thou to those realms shalt pass with me thy guide, Where Spleen's pale victims, after death, reside; Then to that orb, in vision shalt thou rise, (Not seen by mortal astronomic eyes, Not e'en by Herschel, whose angelic ken Finds a mute star, and bids it speak to men) Where I—but first let me thy soul prepare To meet our secret foe's insidious snare! To live untouch'd by subtle Spleen requires The ceaseless care of disciplin'd desires. 'Tis my fond purpose in thy form to show The sweetest model of my skill below: A youth I destine to thy dear embrace, Crown'd with each mental charm, and manly grace, With whom thy innocence, secure from strife, Shall reap the beauteous joys of blameless life. Pleas'd I observe thy little heart begin To ask, what charms the mighty prize may win: But know, tho' Elegance herself be seen To guide thy motion, and to form thy mien; Tho' Beauty o'er thy filial cheek diffuse The soft enchantment of her roseate hues, Not from their favour shall this glory rise! Temper shall singly gain the splendid prize: The sudden conquest shall be mine alone, And Love with transport shall my triumph own, Such are my hopes; but I with pain relate What hard conditions are annexed by fate: As chemic fires, that patient labour blows, Draw the rich perfume from the Persian rose. So mud thou form, by fiery toils refin'd, The living essence of thy sweeter mind. Dimly I see, on Destiny's dull glass, Three dangerous trials 'tis thy doom to pass; And, oh! if once forgetful of my power, Good humour fail thee in the fateful hour, Farewell those joys that wait the happy wife! Farewell the vision of unclouded life! Fain would my love thy secret perils show, Which fate allows not even me to know: In Spleen's dark court a thousand agents dwell, Who bind their victim's in the wayward spell! Perchance three prime supporters of her sway, The busiest of her fiends may cross thy way: Stern Contradiction, her ill-favour'd child, Of fierce demeanor, and of spirit wild, Bane of delight! and horror of the sex! His plan to puzzle, and his pride to vex!— Or Scandal, filthy hag! who blindly limps Round the wide earth, supported by her imps, Her inky demons, who delight to print Her base suggestion, and her envious hint:— Or groundless Jealousy, pert changeling! born Of amorous Vanity, and angry Scorn, Whose bitter taunts with public insult dare Basely to wound the unoffending fair; Proud the sweet joys of innocence to crush, And spread o'er Beauty's cheek the burning blush. Whether these kindred fiends, or one, or all, Shall aim thy airy spirit to enthrall, Are points, my fondness tries in vain to reach; But trust my caution! and beware of each! Lest to thy lively mind my words may seem The vain chimera of a common dream, By one unquestionable sign be taught To prize my presence in thy waking thought! An azure ribband, on thy toilet thrown, Shall make the magic of my empire known: On this thy sportive needle tried its powers, And silver spangles form'd the mimic flowers; On these my love shall breathe a secret charm; With this, my cestus, thy soft bosom arm! Above it let the decent tucker rise, To hide the mystic band from mortal eyes! When Spleen's dark powers would teach that breast to swell, This guardian cincture shall those powers repel: As the touch'd talisman, more swift than thought, To save her charge, th' Arabian fairy brought, So shall this zone, if my command's obey'd, Bring my quick spirit to thy certain aid. In Love's great name observe this high behest! Revere my power—Be gentle, and be blest!' Here the kind Sprite her friendly counsel clos'd, And lightly vanish'd—Still Serena doz'd; Still in sweet trance she fondly seem'd to hear The soft persuasion vibrate in her ear. But waking now far different notes she found; Less pleasing echoes in her chamber sound: For now the heralds of the London day Sing their loud matins in th' uncrowded way; Th' impatient milk-maid now, with early din, Screams to the rattle of her pail of tin; With sweep's faint cry, and, latest of the crew, The deep-ton'd music of the murmuring Jew.
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