Shall I, who oft have woo’d the Muse For gentle Ladies’ sake, So fair a theme as this refuse— The Ladies of the Lake? Hail, happy pair! ’tis yours to share Life’s elegance and ease: The bliss of wealth without the care, The will and power to please— To please, but not alone our eyes, Nor yet alone our mind; 10 Your taste, your goodness, charm the wise— Your manners all mankind. The pleasant scenes that round you glow, Like caskets fraught with gold, Though beauteous in themselves, yet owe Their worth to what they hold. Trees may be found, and lakes, as fair; Fresh lawns, and gardens green; But where again the Sister-pair Who animate the scene? 20 Where sense of that superior kind, Without man’s haughty air? And where, without the trifling mind, The softness of the fair? Folly, with wealth, may idly raise Her hopes to shine like you, And humble flattery sound her praise, Till she believes it true; But wealth no more can give that grace To souls of meaner kind, 30 Than summer’s fiery sun can chase Their darkness from the blind. But drop, you’ll say, the useless pen! Reluctant, I obey; Yet let me take it once again, If not to praise, to pray: That you, with partial grace, may deign This poor attempt to take, And I may oft behold again The Ladies of the Lake. 40 INFANCY—A FRAGMENT. Who on the new-born light can back return, And the first efforts of the soul discern— Waked by some sweet maternal smile, no more To sleep so long or fondly as before? No! Memory cannot reach, with all her power, To that new birth, that life-awakening hour. No! all the traces of her first employ Are keen perceptions of the senses’ joy, And their distaste—what then could they impart?— That figs were luscious, and that rods had smart. 10 But, though the Memory in that dubious way Recalls the dawn and twilight of her day, And thus encounters, in the doubtful view, With imperfection and distortion too: Can she not tell us, as she looks around, Of good and evil, which the most abound? Alas! and what is earthly good? ’tis lent Evil to hide, to soften, to prevent, By scenes and shows that cheat the wandering eye, While the more pompous misery passes by— 20 Shifts and amusements that awhile succeed; And heads are turn’d, that bosoms may not bleed. For what is Pleasure, that we toil to gain? ’Tis but the slow or rapid flight of Pain. Set Pleasure by, and there would yet remain, For every nerve and sense the sting of Pain: Set Pain aside, and fear no more the sting, And whence your hopes and pleasures can ye bring? No! there is not a joy beneath the skies, That from no grief nor trouble shall arise. 30 Why does the Lover with such rapture fly To his dear mistress?—He shall show us why:—