274 A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN. For God unfolds, by slow degrees, The purport of His deep decrees; And spreads, at length, before the soul, Say, Anna, had you never known The works of man tend, one and all, As needs they must, from great to small; And vanity absorbs at length The monuments of human strength. Not that I deem, or mean to call But merely to remark, that ours, Like some of Nature's sweetest flowers, That seem'd to promise no such prize; And made almost without a meaning And placed it in our power to prove, That Solomon has wisely spoken; "A three-fold cord is not soon broken." TO MRS. KING, ON HER KIND PRESENT TO THE AUTHOR; A PATCHWORK COUNTERPANE OF HER OWN MAKING. [August 14, 1790.] THE Bard, if e'er he feel at all, Who deigns to deck his bed. A bed like this, in ancient time, (As Homer's Epic shows), Composed of sweetest vernal flowers, Less beautiful, however gay, Is that which, in the scorching day, Who, laying his long scythe aside, What labours of the loom I see! To scramble for the patch that bears And oh, what havoc would ensue ! All in a moment fled ! As if a storm should strip the bowers Thanks, then, to every gentle fair And thanks to One above them all, Who put the whole together. SONNET, TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ. [April 16, 1792.] THY Country, Wilberforce, with just disdain, Thou hast achieved a part; hast gain'd the ear Hope smiles, Joy springs, and, though cold Caution pause And weave delay, the better hour is near That shall remunerate thy toils severe By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws. Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love From all the Just on earth, and all the Blest above. TO DR. AUSTIN, OF CECIL STREET, LONDON. [May 26, 1792.] AUSTIN! accept a grateful verse from me, Verse oft has dash'd the scythe of Time aside, Were in the power of verse like mine to give, I would not recompense his art with less, Who, giving Mary health, heals my distress. Friend of my friend!* I love thee, though unknown, And boldly call thee, being his, my own. SONNET, TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ. On his picture of me in Crayons, drawn at Eartham, in the 61st year of my age, and in the months of August and September, 1792. [October, 1792.] ROMNEY, expert infallibly to trace On chart or canvass, not the form alone The mind's impression too on every face- Thou hast so pencil'd mine that, though I own The subject worthless, I have never known The artist shining with superior grace. * Hayley. |