Thus canst thou, Rochemont, view this pictured chart, And trace thy voyage to the promised shore; Canst thou recall the days when jealous Doubt, And say;—the land through Fancy's glass descried, The bright Elysian fields her pencil drew,— Has time the dear ideas realized? Or are her optics false, her tints untrue? O say they are not !-Though life's ceaseless cares, Life's ceaseless toils demand thy golden hours, Tell her glad heart whose hand these lines confess, That Peace resides in Hymen's happy bowers. But soon the restless seaman longs to change His bounded view and tempt the deeps again; Careless he breaks from weeping Susan's arms, To fight with billows and to plough the main. So shalt not thou, for no returning prow LOVE AND TIME. TO MRS. MULSO. ON Stella's brow as lately envious Time His crooked lines with iron pencil traced, That brow, erewhile like ivory tablets smooth, With Love's high trophies hung, and victories graced, Digging him little caves in every cell, And every dimple, once where Love was wont to dwell; He spied the God: and wondered still to spy, At his sour crabbed speech sat mocking all the while. "What dost thou here, fond boy? Away, for shame! Love cannot reap his joys where Time has ploughed, Go revel with fresh Youth in scenes of folly, Sage Thought I bring, and Care, and pale-eyed Melancholy. "Thy streams are froze, that once so briskly ran, Thy bough is shaken by the mellow year; Boreas and Zephyr dwell not in one cave, And swallows spread their wings when winter's near; See where Florella's cheeks soft bloom disclose, Go seek the springing bud, and leave the faded rose." Thus spake old Time, of Love the deadliest foe,— From that rich palace where my choicest treasures lie. "Dost thou not see,—or art thou blind with age, How many Graces on her eyelids sit, Linking those viewless chains that bind the soul, And sharpening smooth discourse with pointed wit; How many where she moves attendant wait, The slow smooth step inspire, or high commanding gait? "Each one a several charm around her throws, Some to attract, some powerful to repell, Some mix the honeyed speech with winning smiles, Or call wild Laughter from his antic cell; Severer some, to strike with awful fear Each rude licentious tongue that wounds the virtuous ear. "Not one of them is of thy scythe in dread, Or for thy cankered malice careth aught, Thy shaking fingers never can untwist The magic cæstus by their cunning wrought; And I, their knight, their bidding must obey, For where the Graces are, will Love for ever stay. |