THE CHOICE.
Awake, my Muse! awake, and sing
Of all my fancy would desire;
While, flutt’ring on her ærial wing,
Or touch’d with thy etherial fire.
Inspir’d by thee, I learn to fly
The gilded follies of the day;
To keep my thoughts from tow’ring high,
To mad Ambition’s pompous way.
Perhaps, unguided by thy aid,
I might have lov’d the heights of pow’r;
Have sigh’d to sport the gay parade,
The tinsel mortal of an hour.
Me, now, far other views engage,
For, sick with ev’ry vulgar joy,
I fly the projects of the age,
To Reason’s charms, which never cloy.
O give my soul content to know,
In whatsoever station plac’d:
Nor raise me high, nor sink me low,
But let the medium line be trac’d!
Enough of Fortune’s goods I’d have,
To keep me from dependent state;
The frowns of Poverty to brave,
Or domination of the Great.
Enough each comfort to procure,
Which gives to life a pleasing zest;
And something over, for the poor,
The stranger, and the weak oppress’d.
And O! to chear the hours of life,
Grant, mighty Heav’n! thy chiefest boon—
The blessing of a virtuous wife!
A gift, thou can’st not give too soon.
And, might I dare the choice define,
Pourtray the mouldings of her frame;
Let grace in every action shine,
And modesty her worth proclaim!
Let for good-nature passion still;
And mildness speak the feeling soul,
That could the cares of life fulfil,
And ev’ry idle wish controul.
Though pride should never touch her breast,
Nor sighs to mingle with the gay;
I’d have her always neatly dress’d,
And thus her person best display.
To such a wife I could disclose
The inmost secrets of my heart;
Each trifling project, as it rose,
And ev’ry growing wish impart.
And, sure, if bliss the earth contains,
It dwells where Love and Peace reside;
Where confidence unbounded reigns,
And peevish passions ne’er divide.
Yet one thing more, to crown our lot,
To pleasure youth, to comfort age—
Let not the infant be forgot,
Whose smiles should both our hearts engage.
Thus, held in Friendship’s silken ties,
Must each domestic pleasure know;
And health enhance the hour that flies,
Till life shall ebb, no more to flow.