Оn form'd alike for Virtue and Delight,
To Reason lovely, as to Fancy bright!
Thy Friend has seen, with fond enquiring eyes,
The hopeful buds of every virtue rise,
Like beauteous plants, that in some happy soil,
With opening flowers repay the gardener's toil.
A prattling infant when you grasp'd my knee,
Oft I foretold what womanhood should be ;
Delighted, mark'd your innocence and truth,
In playful childhood, and ingenuous youth;
And saw you rise, mature in virgin charms,
To fill the gazer's heart with fond alarms.
In thought, I saw you, thro' domestic life,
Give the fair pattern of the faultless wife;
*For the first Epistle, see P. Register, Vol. 1802, p. 90.`
And teach th' unhallow'd Libertine to find
The wond'rous value of the female mind.
Angelic soother of the mental storm,
What winds can ruffle, or what waves deform,
When woman smiles to bid the turmoil cease,
The halcyon of the soul announcing peace?
Why from that heav'nly destination range,
A fatal Siren, with pernicious change,
Resistless all, whose fraudful song prevails,
On life's rude ocean, as we spread the sails?→
The helm abandon'd, the frail barks are tost,
On rocks, where Fortitude and Fame are lost;
Where greedy monsters, lurking in the caves,
Devour the wretches that escape the waves.
Oh never shall my dear Miranda prove
False to the presage of parental love.
Oh never shall that sweet angelic face,
Her airy form, that beams celestial grace,
The cherub lips, where sweetest music flows,
Become the messengers of pain and woes:
The darling boon, that heav'n itself imparts,
Become the fiend of agonizing hearts.
In Thee the virtues take such lasting root,
That widely shall they spread, and fairly shoot,
And strong, with inborn hardihood, defy
The scowling thunders of Misfortune's sky.
Thine pity, for the wretched prone to grieve,
Awake to see, and thoughtful to relieve;
Instinctive wisdom, and unstudied skill,
And purity untaught, that shrinks from ill;
And sportive fancy thine, and taste refin'd,
The flowers and ornaments of blooming mind.
Like vernal blossoms, changeful, bright, and gay,
Sudden and sweet, the young ideas play.
My child, my lov'd Miranda, ne'er forget,
To bounteous heav'n how mighty is thy debt.
Each fair endowment, every radiant grace,
That shines confest, in person, mind, or face,
Becomes a claim, an obligation breeds,
To praise the Donor, in thy virtuous deeds.
And all the more you see your form and mind,
The perfect archetype of womankind,
The more be present to your pious thought,
With what high purposes her birth is fraught;
How lovely woman, with congenial art,
Supreme in softness, sways the human heart,
Yielding to bind, aud pliant to controul
Unfelt dominion o'er the rudest soul;
How high her rank, her duties, and her place,
Her awful influence on the rising race;
What good, what ills her chequer'd state attend,
And how to shun those ills, the good extend.
With song to wake thee to the hallow'd task,
The noblest effort of the Muse would ask.—
Full many a Bard of old and modern song,
Records the glories of the female throng.
Among the first, the sweet Athenian Bee
That cull'd the flowers of mournful melody,
Has trac'd the scenes, that bear Alcestis' name,
That brightest monument of female fame;
Heroic Tenderness encountering Death,
The consort fondly prodigal of breath,
Tho' Being draws her by the strongest ties,
And all the forms of earthly comfort rise.-
Behold, her children weep around the fair;
Her arms alternate fold the little pair;
She feels their blandishments a pang impart;
Their infant claspings thrill the heart of hearts
The mother yielding to the wife alone,
She bursts existence with a smile, and groan.
Full many a matron graces private life,
Whose virtues vie with that illustrious wife;
But private worth is lost to mortal ears,
It's praise is heard above the starry spheres.
Thee, dear Miranda, nature form'd to grace
The fairest stations of the female race.
The gentle feelings, and affections mild,
The placid virtues of the duteous child,
Give early pledge of every virtuous part,
Each kind affection of the social heart.
When, with thy years thy duties shall expand,
And blessings flow diffusive from thy hand;
When wedded love shall come, a hallow'd guest,
And grave new lessons on the throbbing breast
With golden shaft ;-the tender nuptial care,
The fond solicitude that parents share.
Believe me, love, the cruel fiends, in wrath
With varied perils will beset thy path.-
Delusive pleasures all around may teem,
And wrap thy senses in a fatal dream;
Ev'n thou, perhaps, thus heav'nly fair, mayst prove The keenest pangs of unrequited love;
The hollow friend, th' insidious flatterer's tongue,
And slander, prompt the fairest fame to wrong;
The vapid ridicule on goodness thrown,
May torture thee, with vices not thine own.
I cannot think that a polluted guest
Shall ever bide within thy hallow'd breast;
The rage of pleasure, or the thirst of gain,
Whose deadly force perverts the female train.-
And, haply, yet a more prevailing cause
Of bold deflexion from decorum's laws,
That fools a woman to her highest bent,
The strange affected thing, called SENTIMENT,
Cloak'd in the specious garb of good and fair.-
This to restrain requires your wakeful care.--
The worst illusions that the spirit stain,
In Virtue's name unquestion'd entrance gain.
-Oh SENTIMENT, thou comprehensive name!
Spleen, Vapours, Spite, Ill-humour, am'rous Flame;
Pride, Superstition, Vanity, Caprice!-
Ape of all virtues, nurse of every vice!
Thou something, loosing moral ties by stealth,
Thou sore disease, beneath the name of health!
Compendious charter of imposing fools,
That decent order wound, and sober rules!
How are our follies privileg'd by thee,
Thou elder sister of divine Ennui !
Thro' thee we scold, we rave, we laugh, we cry,
We love, we hate; and all, we scarce know why. 130
Behold the sentimental Lady's mind,
With flimsy novels, like a band-box lin❜d;
While the thin froth of all the trash she's read,
Whipp'd up by Fancy fills the giddy head.
Divinely languid now the fair appears;
And now the crest of frantic spirit rears.
Now the low muffled bell announcing death,
Now the loud clarion's spirit-stirring breath.
pangs ideal of her own creation,
She runs thro' every form of exclamation.
The modes of speech, for vulgar mortals made,
Exalted sentiments, like hers, degrade.-
No common feelings in her bosom reign,
Eternal trance of pleasure, or of pain :
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