EVENING:  AN ODE.

  TO STELLA.

  Evening now, from purple wings,
  Sheds the grateful gifts she brings;
  Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
  Cooling breezes shake the reed—­
  Shake the reed, and curl the stream,
  Silver’d o’er with Cynthia’s beam;
  Near, the chequer’d, lonely grove,
  Hears, and keeps thy secrets, Love. 
  Stella, thither let us stray
  Lightly o’er the dewy way! 10
  Phoebus drives his burning car,
  Hence, my lovely Stella, far;
  In his stead, the Queen of Night
  Round us pours a lambent light;
  Light that seems but just to show
  Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow;
  Let us now, in whisper’d joy,
  Evening’s silent hours employ,
  Silence best, and conscious shades,
  Please the hearts that love invades; 20
  Other pleasures give them pain,
  Lovers all but love disdain.

* * * * *

  TO THE SAME.

  Whether Stella’s eyes are found
  Fix’d on earth, or glancing round,
  If her face with pleasure glow,
  If she sigh at others’ woe,
  If her easy air express
  Conscious worth or soft distress,
  Stella’s eyes, and air, and face,
  Charm with undiminish’d grace.

   If on her we see display’d
  Pendent gems, and rich brocade, 10
  If her chintz with less expense
  Flows in easy negligence;
  Still she lights the conscious flame,
  Still her charms appear the same;
  If she strikes the vocal strings,
  If she’s silent, speaks, or sings,
  If she sit, or if she move,
  Still we love, and still approve.

    Vain the casual transient glance,
  Which alone can please by chance—­ 20
  Beauty, which depends on art,
  Changing with the changing heart,
  Which demands the toilet’s aid,
  Pendent gems, and rich brocade. 
  I those charms alone can prize
  Which from constant Nature rise,
  Which nor circumstance, nor dress,
  E’er can make, or more, or less.

* * * * *

  TO A FRIEND.

  No more thus brooding o’er yon heap,
  With Avarice painful vigils keep;
  Still unenjoy’d the present store,
  Still endless sighs are breathed for more. 
  Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize,
  Which not all India’s treasure buys! 
  To purchase Heaven, has gold the power? 
  Can gold remove the mortal hour? 
  In life, can love be bought with gold? 
  Are friendship’s pleasures to be sold? 10
  No; all that’s worth a wish—­a thought,
  Fair Virtue gives unbribed, unbought. 
  Cease, then, on trash thy hopes to bind,
  Let nobler views engage thy mind.

    With Science tread the wondrous way,
  Or learn the Muse’s moral lay;
  In social hours indulge thy soul,
  Where Mirth and Temperance mix the bowl;
  To virtuous love resign thy breast,
  And be, by blessing beauty, blest. 20