* * *
Say, lovely fair! whene’er you rove,
Along the flow’r-enamell’d vale,
Or, careless tread the perfum’d grove
Whose sweets impregnate ev’ry gale:
As then the varying scene you view,
Does not instruction freely pour,
From ev’ry shrub that tastes the dew,
The treasures of his copious store?
Let these attract the mental eye,
These prompt Maria’s thought profound
To call the gems, which ambush’d lie
In Nature’s vegetable round.
But then, as myriads confuse,
And each the other’s sweets annoy,
Wilt thou condemn the friendly muse
Who aids thee in the great employ?
Who bids thee now neglect the rose,
Which long has claim’d the moral lay,
For the bright amaranth, that glows
In regal purple ever gay--
Bright boasted flow’r, of boasted plains!
Whilst myriads around thee fade,
Thy living lustre still remains
Untainted by, or sun, or shade!
The dappled pink, and lily pale,
With ev’ry gaudy-tinted flow’r
That decks the hill, or scents the dale,
If gather’d, fade to bloom no more.
But thou, Elysian flow’r divine!
If sprinkled o’er with balmy dew,
Again thy wonted colours shine,
Again thy purple beams anew!
--Let this instructive flow’r, my fair,
A grateful secret thus impart,
How you may beauty’s charms repair,
Unaided by cosmetic art.
When time (that worst of female foes)
Has torn, with ruthless hand, away
From beauty’s cheek the blushing rose,
Which far outvies the blooms of May,
For orient, renovating dew,
Which purples o’er this regal flow’r;
Let mild good humour beam in you,
Aided by virtues magic pow’r.
These, lasting beauties will create,
These, give new lustre to the eye;
The cheeks bright bloom reanimate,
And plant the rose that ne’er will die.
Thus, lovely maid, where’er you rove,
’Cross verdant hill, or fragrant dale,
Make the gay flowrets of the grove,
More useful than to scent the gale.
[* “A flower of purple velvet colour, which, though gathered,
keeps its beauty; and when all other flowers fade, recovers
its lustre by being sprinkled with a little water.”