THE BELLE’S INVOCATION TO WINTER.
Winter, dear season of delights,
Of joyous days and brilliant nights!
Oh haste, on swiftest pinions haste,
For summer’s lingering hours are past,
And dreary Autumn ready stands
To yield the sceptre to thy hands.
Too long by potent heats subdued,
I’ve sought refreshment in the wood;
Where dull retirement’s drowsy charms
Have raised no bustling dear alarms.
Then winter haste, and bring again
Enchanting pleasure’s golden reign:
Oh! waft me on thy snowy wings,
To charming York’s bewitching scenes;
Where fashion all her offerings brings,
And dulness never intervenes.
The sprightly dance, the magic song,
Shall then the festive night prolong;
The tragic muse shall lend her aid,
In Johnson’s matchless charms array’d;
Or Melmoth rouse the tender tear,
Now melt in woe—now start with fear;
While every sportive Thalian grace,
In either Hodgkinson we trace.
Enticing cards shall next invite
To scenes of ever new delight,
We’ll spend the night at dear vingt-un,
Retire at two, and sleep till noon.
Now seated in the social sleigh,
To Haerlem or the Bridge, away;
While frolic joy usurps the hour,
Unaw’d by form’s despotic power;
For though her laws we all obey,
We sometimes love a holiday.
At thy approach, dear winter, too,
The Beaux present themselves to view:
Their nerves by piercing Boreas brac’d,
And summer’s languor’s all eras’d;
They then, attendant at our side,
Through every scene of pleasure glide;
Admire our dress, our beauty more,
And (as in duty bound) adore.
Since such delights I tasted last,
Near eight insipid months have past;
Each circling hour a dreary void,
Despis’d, neglected, unenjoy’d:
But when the heart in transport swims,
How light, how active are the limbs!
And fashion’s mutable commands
Finds business for the head and hands.
Then, Winter, haste thy golden reign,
And bring those halcyon days again.
MONIMIA.