You violets that first appear,
By your pure purple mantles known,
Like the proud virgins of the year,
As if the spring were all your own!
What are you when the rose is blown?
So, when my mistress shall be seen
In form and beauty of her mind;
By virtue first, then choice, a queen!
Tell me if she were not design'd
The' eclipse and glory of her kind?
HONOURABLE MISS CARTERET.
BLOOM of beauty, early flower
Of the blissful bridal bower,
Thou, thy parents' pride and care,
Fairest offspring of the fair,
Lovely pledge of mutual love,
Angel seeming from above,
Was it not thou day by day
Dost thy very sex betray,
Female more and more appear,
Female, more than angel dear;
How to speak thy face and mien
(Soon too dangerous to be seen),
How shall I, or shall the Muse,
Language of resemblance choose?
Language like thy mien and face,
Full of sweetness, full of grace!
By the next returning spring,
When again the linnets sing,
When again the lambkins play,
Pretty sportlings full of May,
When the meadows next are seen,
Sweet enamel! white and green,
And the year in fresh attire
Welcomes every gay desire,
Blooming on shalt thou appear,
More inviting than the year,
Fairer sight than orchard shows,
Which beside a river blows:
Yet another spring I see,
And a brighter bloom in thee:
And another round of time,
Circling, still improves thy prime :
And, beneath the vernal skies,
Yet a verdure more shall rise,
Ere thy beauties, kindling slow,
In each finish'd feature glow,
Ere, in smiles and in disdain,
Thou exert thy maiden reign,
Absolute to save or kill
Fond beholders at thy will.
Then the taper-moulded waist
With a span of ribbon braced,
And the swell of either breast,
And the wide high-vaulted chest,
And the neck so white and round,
Little neck with brilliants bound,
And the store of charms which shine
Above, in lineaments divine,
Crowded in a narrow space
To complete the desperate face,
These alluring powers and more
Shall enamour'd youths adore;
These and more, in courtly lays,
Many an aching heart shall praise.
Happy thrice, and thrice again,
Happiest he of happy men,
Who, in courtship greatly sped,
Wins the damsel to his bed,
Bears the virgin prize away,
Counting life one nuptial day:
For the dark-brown dusk of hair,
Shadowing thick thy forehead fair,
Down the veiny temples growing,
O'er the sloping shoulders flowing,
And the smoothly pencil'd brow,
Mild to him in every vow,
And the fringed lid below,
Thin as thinnest blossoms blow,
And the hazely lucid eye,
Whence heart-winning glances fly,
And that cheek of health, o'erspread
With soft-blended white and red,
And the witching smiles which break
Round those lips, which sweetly speak,
And thy gentleness of mind,
Gentle from a gentle kind,
These endowments, heavenly dower!
Brought him in the promised hour,
Shall for ever bind him to thee,
Shall renew him still to woo thee.
WHILE flushing o'er thy olive cheek,
Like the morning's dubious break,
Virgin shame delights to spread
Her roses of a deeper red;
And those ruddy lips of thine
Emulate the bleeding vine;
Think'st thou Celia's languid white
Can allure my roving sight,
Or my bosom catch a glow
From that chilling form of snow?
In those orbs, O nymph divine!
Stars may well be said to shine,
Stars whose pointed rays are made
More brilliant by surrounding shade;
Shade thy raven locks supply
To relieve my dazzled eye.
Trust me, thy transcendant face
Takes from its brown a mellower grace;
A ripe autumnal bloom benign
Whence all the loves exulting shine;
As jet emits a glossy light
From its own polish'd surface bright.
PRINTED BY C. WHITTINGHAM,
FOR CHARLES S. ARNOLD, TAVISTOCK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON.
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