Hail Fashion! thou mysterious Queen! Whose reign omnipotent hath been: Ay, since the times remote and dark, When Mistress Noah left her ark! Sovereign, whose subjects ne’er rebel, Though of tyrannic sway they tell! Thy sceptre, Queen, whom all adore, Hath strange and elephantine power,— Can rout an army with its strength, Or raise a pin an atom’s length; The young, the noble, and the gay, Hear thy loved voice, and straight obey. What though the Spring with open arms Spreads to their gaze her wealth of charms, With primrose and with king-cup gilds The hedge-row banks, the sunny fields, Thou callest—and from these scenes they part, To mingle in thy busy mart, And thought, and health, and pleasure drown, In the dull mazes of a town! Then, when the Dog-star rages high, Thou bidd’st the obedient throng to fly To coasts where not a leaf of green Their beauty from the blaze may screen, Let scorched-up eyes, and sun-browned faces, Declare thy might at watering places! Then, when rough Winter’s frost and snow His dismal coming makes them know, And all is gloom, and storm, and rain, And bowers are stripped, and hill, and plain, And garden path, and sheltered wood, Are carpeted alike with mud, Thou drivest the herd, most stern of Queens, To the repose of country scenes; O prithee! for one little season, Rule this poor weary world by reason! At thy decree must Mary go The town’s tumultuous joys to know. In simple garb, the lovely maid Is for the journey soon arrayed; But ere she leaves that haunted ground, With tearful gaze she looks around, And every flower and every tree Awakens her fond sympathy, As sparkling with fresh morning dew, They seem to wave a kind adieu! She knows not yet of courtlier joys, No anxious thought her mind employs; She never dreamed of tricks or arts Used by coquettes to win light hearts; The snow-white lily of the lea Is not more free from guile than she! The journey o’er—in Grosvenor Square Behold arrived our timid fair, Perplexed and deafened by the din Of crowds and carriages that spin In dizzy whirl through every street Where busy trade and luxury meet. At first the strangeness and surprise Brings her no joy—she softly sighs, “O my own home! that I were there ’Mid its green fields and purer air!”