Affection thus, once light of heart, and gay, Chasten'd by memory, and, unnerv'd by fear, Shall sadden each endearment with a tear, Sorrowing the offices of love shall pay, And scarcely dare to think that good her own, Which fate's imperious hand may snatch away, In the warm sunshine of meridian day, And when her hopes are full and fairest blown. * * * * * TO MRS. T. FANCOURT, July 15, 1803. I love not yon gay, painted flower, Of bold and coarsely blended dye, But one, whose nicely varied power May long detain the curious eye. I love the tones that softly rise, And in a fine accordance close; That waken no abrupt surprise, Nor leave us to inert repose. I love the moon's pure, holy light, Pour'd on the calm, sequester'd stream; The gale, fresh from the wings of night, Which drinks the early solar beam; The smile of heaven, when storms subside, When the moist clouds first break away; The sober tints of even-tide, Ere yet forgotten by the day. Such sights, such sounds, my fancy please, And set my wearied spirit free: And one who takes delight in these, Can never fail of loving thee! * * * * * TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN. July 29th, 1803. Dear boy, when you meet with a rose, Admire you the thorns very much? Or like you to play with a ball, When the handling it blisters your touch! Yet should it be firm and compact, It is easy to polish it nice; If the rose is both pretty and sweet, The thorns will come off in a trice. The thistle has still many more, As visible too in our eyes, But who will take pains with a weed, That nobody ever can prize? 'Tis what we deem precious and rare, We most earnestly seek to amend; And anxious attention and care, Is the costliest gift of a friend. We all have our follies: what then? Let us note them, and never look bluff! Without any caressing at all, They will cling to us closely enough. Weeds are of such obstinate growth, They elude the most diligent hand; And, if they were not to be check'd, Would quickly run over the land. If some could be taken away, That hide part of your worth from the view; The conquest perhaps would be ours, But the profit is wholly to you. * * * * * FRAGMENT.