’Till Adam had a partner given,
Much as fair Eden bloom’d like heaven,
His bliss was incomplete;
No social friend those joys to share,
Gave the gay scene a vacant air!
She came—’twas all replete.
And could not genuine Paradise,
The most extensive wish suffice,
Its guiltless lord possest?
No—not without a kindred mate;
How then in this degen’rate state,
Can man, alone be blest?
But now the Muse withdraws her aid;
Enough, thy folly to upbraid;
Enough to make thee wise:
No more of pensive hours complain,
No more, that all life’s joys are vain,
If thou this hint despise.
Feb. 13, 182—.
A Friend.
“Well now, this is capital!” exclaimed the laughing lass. “After such a Valentine, you must take the hint, my dear sir, it’s really a shame that so good-natured a man should remain a bachelor. I recollect, that when I could only just run about, you used to be so kind to me; besides, how you dandled and played with me! and since then, how you have read to me and instructed me till I grew up! Such a man is the very man to be married: you are every way domestic, and it’s settled; you must get married.”—“Well, then, will you have me?” he inquired, with a cheerful laugh. “I have you? No! Why, you are too old; but not too old to find a wife: there are many ladies whom we know, of your age, wholly disengaged; but you don’t pay them any particular attention.” Her father interposed; and the gentleman she addressed playfully said, “It is a little hard, indeed, that I should have these fine compliments and severe reproaches at the same time: however,” taking her by the hand, “you will understand, that it is possible I may have paid particular attention to a lady at an age when the affections are warmer; I did; and I reconciled myself to rejection by courting my books and the pleasures of solitude—
Hast thou been ever waking
From slumbers soft and light,
And heard sweet music breaking
The stillness of the night;
When all thy soul was blending
With that delightful strain,
And night her silence lending
To rivet fancy’s chain;
Then on a sudden pausing,
Those strains have ceas’d to play
A painful absence causing
Of bliss that died away!
So from my soul has vanish’d
The dream of youthful days;
So Hope and Love are banish’d,
And Truth her pow’r displays.”