"Yet the lily has drank of the show'r,
And the rose 'gins to peep on the day;
And yon bee seems to search for a flow'r,
As busy as if it were May •

In vain, thou senseless flutt'ring thing,
My heart informs me, 'tis not Spring."

May pois'd her roseate wings, for she had heard
The mourner, as she passed the vales along;
And, silencing her own indignant bird,

She thus reprov'd poor Silvio's song.
"How false is the sight of a lover;
How ready his spleen to discover
What reason would never allow !
Why, Silvio, my sunshine and showers,
My blossoms, my birds, and my flow'rs,
Were never more perfect than now.
"The water's reflection is true,
The green is enamell'd to view,

And Philomel sings on the spray;
The gale is the breathing of Spring,
'Tis fragrance it bears on its wing,

And the bee is assur'd it is May."
"Pardon (said Silvio with a gushing tear),

'Tis Spring, sweet nymph, but Laura is not here."

In sending these verses to Mrs. Sheridan, who was on a visit to her father and mother at Bath, Sheridan had also written her a description of some splendid party, at which he had lately been present, where all the finest women of the world of fashion were assembled. His praises of their beauty, as well as his account of their flattering attentions to himself, awakened a feeling of, at least, poetical jealousy in Mrs. Sheridan, which she expressed in the following answer to his verses-taking oc casion, at the same time, to pay some generous compliments to the most brilliant among his new fashionable friends. Though her verses are of that kind which we read more with interest than admiration, they have quite enough of talent for the gentle themes to which she aspired; and there is, besides, a charm about them, as coming from Mrs. Sheridan, to which far better poetry could not pretend.

520

TO SILVIO.

SOFT flow'd the lay by Avon's sedgy side,
While o'er its streams the drooping willow hung,
Beneath whose shadow Silvio fondly tried

To check the opening roses as they sprung.

In vain he bade them cease to court the gale,
That wanton'd balmy on the zephyr's wing;
In vain, when Philomel renew'd her tale,

He chid her song, and said, "It was not Spring."

For still they bloom'd, though Silvio's heart was sad,
Nor did sweet Philomel neglect to sing;

The zephyrs scorn'd them not, though Silvio had,
For love and nature told them it was Spring.

*

To other scenes doth Silvio now repair,

To nobler themes his daring Muse aspires;
Around him throng the gay, the young, the fair,
His lively wit the list'ning crowd admires.
And see, where radiant Beauty smiling stands,
With gentle voice and soft beseeching eyes,
To gain the laurel from his willing hands,
Her every art the fond enchantress tries.

What various charms the admiring youth surround,
How shall he sing, or how attempt to praise?
So lovely all-where shall the bard be found,
Who can to one alone attune his lays?

Behold with graceful step and smile serene,

Majestic Stella* moves to claim the prize, ""Tis thine," he cries, "for thou art Beauty's queen." Mistaken youth and see'st thou Myra'st eyes?

With beaming lustre see they dart at thee;

Ah! dread their vengeance-yet withhold thy handThat deep'ning blush upbraids thy rash decree;

Hers is the wreath-obey the just demand.

Mr. Moore says, according to the Key which had been given him, the name of Stella was meant to designate the Duchess of Rutland. + The Duchess of Devonshire.

"Pardon, bright nymph," (the wond'ring Silvio cries,) "And oh, receive the wreath, thy beauty's due❞— His voice awards what still his hand denies,

For beauteous Amoret* now his eyes pursue.

With gentle step and hesitating grace,

Unconscious of her power, the fair one carne; If, while he view'd the glories of that face, Poor Sylvio doubted,-who shall dare to blame?

A rosy blush his ardent gaze reprov'd,

The offer'd wreath she modestly declined;-"If sprightly wit and dimpled smiles are lov'd, My brow," said Flavia,† "shall that garland bind.” With wanton gaiety the prize she seizedSylvio in vain her snowy hand repell'd; The fickle youth unwillingly was pleas'd, Reluctantly the wreath he yet withheld. But Jessie's all-seducing form appears, Nor more the playful Flavia could delight: Lovely in smiles, more lovely still in tears,

Her every glance shone eloquently bright.
Those radiant eyes in safety none could view,
Did not those fringed lids their brightness shade—
Mistaken youths! their beams, too late ye knew,
Are by that soft defence more fatal made.
"O God of Love !" with transport Silvio cries,
"Assist me thou, this contest to decide;
And since to one I cannot yield the prize,
Permit thy slave the garland to divide.

"On Myra's breast the opening rose shall blow,
Reflecting from her cheek a livelier bloom;
For Stella shall the bright carnation glow-
Beneath her eyes' bright radiance meet its doom.
"Smart pinks and daffodils shall Flavia grace,
The modest eglantine and violet blue

On gentle Amoret's placid brow I'll place-
Of elegance and love an emblem true."

* Mrs. (afterwards Lady) Crewe.

Lady Craven, afterwards Margravine of Anspach.
The late Countess of Jersey.

In gardens oft a beauteous flow'r there grows,
By vulgar eyes unnotic'd and unseen;
In sweet security it humbly blows,

And rears its purple head to deck the green.

This flow'r, as nature's poet sweetly sings,

Was once milk-white, and heart's ease was it's name; Till wanton Cupid pois'd his roseate wings,

A vestal's sacred bosom to inflame.

With treacherous aim the god his arrow drew,
Which she with icy coldness did repel;
Rebounding thence with feathery speed it flew,
Till on this lonely flow'r at last it fell.

Heart's ease no more the wandering shepherds found,
No more the nymphs its snowy form possess,
Its white now chang'd to purple by Love's wound,
Heart's ease no more, 'tis Love in Idleness.'

"This flow'r, with sweet-briar join'd, shall thee adorn,
Sweet Jessie, fairest 'mid ten thousand fair!
But guard thy gentle bosom from the thorn,

Which, though conceal'd, the sweet-brier still must bear

"And place not Love, though idle, in thy breast, Though bright its hues, it boasts no other charmSo may thy future days be ever blest,

And friendship's calmer joys thy bosom warm !"

But where does Laura pass her lonely hours?
Does she still haunt the grot and willow-tree?
Shall Silvio from his wreath of various flow'rs
Neglect to cull one simple sweet for thee?

“Ah Laura, no,” the constant Silvio cries,
"For thee a never-fading wreath I'll twine,
Though bright the rose, its bloom too swiftly flies,
No emblem meet for love so true as mine.

For thee, my love, the myrtle, ever-green,
Shall every year its blossoms sweet disclose,
Which when our spring of youth no more is seen,
Shall still appear more lovely than the rose."

"Forgive, dear youth," the happy Laura said,

Forgive each doubt, each fondly anxious fear
Which from my heart for ever now is fled-

Thy love and truth, thus tried, are doubly dear.
"With pain I mark'd the various passions rise,
When beauty so divine before thee mov'd;
With trembling doubt beheld thy wandering eyes,
For still I fear'd ;-alas! because I lov'd.
"Each anxious doubt shall Laura now forego,
No more regret those joys so lately known,
Conscious that though thy breast to all may glow
Thy faithful heart shall beat for her alone.
"Then, Silvio, seize again thy tuneful lyre,
Nor yet sweet Beauty's pow'r forbear to praise
Again let charms divine thy strains inspire,
And Laura's voice shall aid the poet's lays."

I NE'ER COULD ANY LUSTRE SEE
"I NE'ER could any lustre seet

In eyes that would not look on me:
When a glance aversion hints,
I always think the lady squints.
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,
But where my own did hope to sip.
No pearly teeth rejoice my view,
Unless a 'yes' displays their hue-
The prudish lip, that noes me back,
Convinces me the teeth are black.
To me the cheek displays no roses,
Like that th' assenting blush discloses;
But when with proud disdain 'tis spread,
To me 'tis but a scurvy red.
Would she have me praise her hair?
Let her place my garland there.
Is her hand so white and pure ?
I must press it to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it grateful press again.

• From these verses one of the songs in "The Duenna" was taken.
✦ Another mode of beginning this song in the MS. :—

"Go tell the maid who seeks to move

My lyre to praise, my heart to love,

No rose upon her cheek can live,

Like those assenting blushes give."