[On a Project of Retiring to Bethlehem]
Sick of the world, in prime of days
Constantia took a serious fit—
Resolved to shun all balls and plays
And only read what saints had writ—
To Convent Hall she would repair
And be a pensive sister there.
"What are they all—this glare of things,
These insects that around me shine;
These beaux and belles on silken wings—
Indeed their pleasures make not mine—
My happiness is all delayed—
I'll go, and find it in the shade."
A sailor, loitering from his crew,
As chance would have it, passed along—
She told him what she had in view,
And he replied—"Fair maid you're wrong,
"Let faded nymphs to cloisters go,
"Where kisses freeze and love is snow.
"The druids' oak and hermits' pine
"Afford a gloomy, sad delight;
"But why that blush of health resign,
"The mingled tint of red and white?
"In moistening cells the flowers expire
"That, on the plain, all eyes admire.
"With such a pensive, pious train
"Who, but a hermit, could agree—
"Ah, rather stay to grace the plain,
"Or wander on the wave with me:
"For you the painted barque shall wait
"And I would die for such a freight."
"No wandering stranger (she replied)
"Can tempt me to forego my plan;
"No barque that wafts him o'er the tide,
"Nor many a better looking man:
"Go, wanderer, plough your gloomy sea,
"Constantia must a sister be.
"To gain so fair a flower as you,
"(The Tar returned) who would not plead?
"Nor shall you, nymph, to convents go
"While love can write what you must read:
"Come, to yon' meadow let us stray,
"I have some handsome things to say."
"Love has its wish when reason fails—
"In vain he sighed, in vain he strove:
"Forsake (said she) those swelling sails
"If you would have me—think of love:
"Great merit has your sailing art,
"But absence would distract my heart."
What else was said, we secret keep;—
The Tar, grown fonder of the shore,
Neglects his prospects on the deep,
And she of convents talks no more:—
He slyly quits the coasting trade
She pities her—who seeks the shade.