POETRY. TO LAURA. AWAKE, my Laura, break the silken chain; Forsake thy drowsy couch, and sprightly rise, For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise? The fleeting moments of too short a life? H Thomson Scorch'd every flower, embrown'd each drooping green, Pall'd the pure air, and chased the pleasing scene. Still dost thou sleep? O rise, imprudent fair: Few hours has life, nor of those few can spare. But this, perhaps, was but a summer song, And winter nights are dark, and cold, and long. Weak reason that, for sleeping past the morn; Yet urged by sloth, and by indulgence born. O, rather haste to rise, my slumbering friend, While feeble suns their scanty influence lend; While cheerful day-light yet adorns the skies, Awake, my friend! my Laura, haste to rise. For soon the uncertain short-lived day shall fail, And soon shall night extend her sooty veil. Blank nature fades, black shades and phantoms drear Haunt the sick eye, and fill the court of Fear. O therefore sleep no more, imprudent fair : Think of the task those hours have yet in view; Reason to arm, and passion to subdue; While life's fair calm and flattering moments last, To fence your mind against the stormy blast; Early to hoard blest Wisdom's peace-fraught store, Ere yet your bark forsakes the friendly shore, And the winds whistle, and the billows roar. Imperfect beings! weakly arm'd to bear Pleasure's soft wiles, or Sorrow's open war; Alternate shocks from different sides to feel, And act through life's short scene the useful part: ON READING the love elegies, 1742. HITHER your wreaths, ye drooping Muses, bring; The short-lived rose, that blooms but to decay; Love's fragrant myrtles, that in Paphos spring; And deathless Poetry's immortal bay. And O, thou gentlest shade, accept the verse, And steals, in secret shades, the pious tear. What heart, by Heaven with generous softness bless'd, But in thy lines its native language reads; Where helpless Love, in classic plainness dress'd, Gracefully mourns, and elegantly bleeds? In vain, alas, thy fancy, fondly gay, Traced the fair scenes of dear domestic life! The sportive Loves forsook their wanton play, To paint for thee the mistress, friend, and wife. One caught from Delia's lips the winning smile ; Then wept, and trembled, and with sobs admired. |