TO A YOUNG LADY,
PURPOSING TO MARRY A MAN OF IMMORAL CHARACTER IN THE HOPE
OF HIS REFORMATION.
Time, and thy charms, thou fanciest will redeem
Yon aweless Libertine from rooted vice.
Misleading thought! has he not paid the price,
His taste for virtue?—Ah, the sensual stream
Has flow'd too long.—What charms can so entice,
What frequent guilt so pall, as not to shame
The rash belief, presumptuous and unwise,
That crimes habitual will forsake the Frame?—
[1]Thus, on the river's bank, in fabled lore,
The Rustic stands; sees the stream swiftly go,
And thinks he soon shall find the gulph below
A channel dry, which he may safe pass o'er.—
Vain hope!—it flows—and flows—and yet will flow,
Volume decreaseless, to the FINAL HOUR.
[1]:
“Rusticus exspectat dum defluit amnis: at ille
Labitur, et labetur in omne volubilis ævum.” Horace.
SONNET LXX.
TO A YOUNG LADY IN AFFLICTION,
WHO FANCIED SHE SHOULD NEVER MORE BE HAPPY.
Yes, thou shalt smile again!—Time always heals
In youth, the wounds of Sorrow.—O! survey
Yon now subsided Deep, thro' Night a prey
To warring Winds, and to their furious peals
Surging tumultuous!—yet, as in dismay,
The settling Billows tremble.—Morning steals
Grey on the rocks;—and soon, to pour the day
From the streak'd east, the radiant Orb unveils
In all his pride of light.—Thus shall the glow
Of beauty, health, and hope, by soft degrees
Spread o'er thy breast; disperse these storms of woe;
Wake, with sweet pleasure's sense, the wish to please,
Till from those eyes the wonted lustres flow,
Bright as the Sun on calm'd and crystal Seas.
SONNET LXXI.
TO THE POPPY.