Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/22

vi Hath pass'd Lausanne's still waters)—now appear Each sweet reflected form that Shakespeare drew; Verona's pallid flower surcharged with dew, Young Juliet—ere her bridal robes were worn, Sleeping with death—alas! that fatal morn! And she whom Hamlet lov'd, the Danish maid forlorn.

Sweets to the sweet!—not flowers, but tears we pay, Charm'd by Thalia's laughing eyes away. The goddess comes! ah! let not that gay smile, Breathing each varied grace, thy heart beguile; Though Mirth and Pleasure kindle on her brow, Though bright the gleams of love and laughter glow, Yet thou each soft seductive glance distrust, And feel that beauty is not always just. E'en as I speak, behold the Enchantress flies, While at her feet departing pleasure lies. Ah! had she still adorn'd the comic scene, Then all that Oldfield was, had Mordaunt been. The Poet's page had hail'd her growing fame, And future Drydens dignified a name, Of beauty more profuse, and more secure from blame.

One moment linger!—lo! from Venus' bowers Descends the youngest of the roseate Hours: She comes in all her blushing beauty borne, From the far fountains of the purple morn. Aurora's self! what time her brow resumes,