The women said, who thought him rough,
But now no longer foolish,
The creature may do well enough,
But wants a deal of polish.
At length, improv'd from head to heel,
'Twere scarce too much to say,
No dancing bear was so genteel,
Or half so dégagé.
Now, that a miracle so strange
May not in vain be shown,
Let the dear maid who wrought the change
E'er claim him for her own.
THE SYMPTOMS OF LOVE
[Written 1752 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
WOULD my Delia know if I love, let her take
My last thought at night, and the first when I wake;
With my prayers and best wishes preferr'd for her
Let her guess what I muse on, when rambling alone
I stride o'er the stubble each day with my gun,
Never ready to shoot till the covey is flown.
Let her think what odd whimsies I have in my brain,
When I read one page over and over again,
And discover at last that I read it in vain.
Let her say why so fix'd and so steady my look,
Without ever regarding the person who spoke,
Still affecting to laugh, without hearing the joke. 12
Or why when with pleasure her praises I hear,
(That sweetest of melody sure to my ear)
I attend, and at once inattentive appear.
And lastly, when summon'd to drink to my flame,
Let her guess why I never once mention her name, 17
Though herself and the woman I love are the same.
FOR NOT SHOWING HER WHAT I HAD WROTE
[Written at Catfield, July, 1752. Published by Croft, 1825.]
DID not my muse (what can she less?)
Perceive her own unworthiness,
Could she by some well chosen theme,
But hope to merit your esteem,
She would not thus conceal her lays,
Ambitious to deserve your praise.
But should my Delia take offence,
And frown on her impertinence,
In silence, sorrowing and forlorn,
Would the despairing trifler mourn,
Curse her ill-tun'd, unpleasing lute,
Then sigh and sit for ever mute.
In secret, therefore, let her play,
Squand'ring her idle notes away;
In secret as she chants along,
Cheerful and careless in her song;
Nor heed she whether harsh or clear,
Free from each terror, ev'ry fear,
From that, of all most dreaded, free,
The terror of offending Thee.
[Written at the same place, 1752. Published by Croft, 1825.]
DELIA, th' unkindest girl on earth,
When I besought the fair,
That favour of intrinsic worth,
A ringlet of her hair,-
Refus'd that instant to comply
With my absurd request,
For reasons she could specify,
Some twenty score at least.
Trust me, my dear, however odd
It may appear to say,
I sought it merely to defraud
Thy spoiler of his prey.
Yet, when its sister locks shall fade,
As quickly fade they must,
When all their beauties are decay'd,
Their gloss, their colour, lost,
Ah then if haply to my share
Some slender pittance fall,
If I but gain one single hair,
Nor age usurp them all ;-
When you behold it still as sleek,
As lovely to the view,
As when it left thy snowy neck—-
That Eden where it grew—
Then shall my Delia's self declare,
That I profess'd the truth,
And have preserv'd my little share
In everlasting youth.
Apology.-17 heed] heeds Southey. Delia,-13 Yet] Yes Bruce,
272 'THIS EV'NING, DELIA, YOU AND I'
[Written at the same place, 1752. Published by Croft, 1825.]
THIS ev'ning, Delia, you and I
Have manag'd most delightfully,
For with a frown we parted;
Having contrived some trifle that
We both may be much troubled at,
And sadly disconcerted.
Yet well as each perform'd their part,
We might perceive it was but art,
And that we both intended
To sacrifice a little ease;
For all such petty flaws as these
Are made but to be mended.
Happy! when we but seek t' endure
A little pain, then find a cure
By double joy requited;
For friendship, like a sever'd bone,
Improves and joins a stronger tone
When aptly reunited.
AN ATTEMPT AT THE MANNER OF WALLER
[Written at Drayton, March 1753. Published by Croft, 1825.]
DID not thy reason and thy sense,
With most persuasive eloquence,
Convince me that obedience due
None may so justly claim as you,
By right of beauty you would be
Mistress o'er my heart and me.
Then fear not I should e'er rebel,
My gentle love! I might as well
A forward peevishness put on,
And quarrel with the mid-day sun;
Or question who gave him a right
To be so fiery and so bright.
Nay, this were less absurd and vain
Than disobedience to thy reign:
His beams are often too severe;
But thou art mild, as thou art fair;
First from necessity we own your sway, Then scorn our freedom, and by choice obey.
[Written (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
THE sparkling eye, the mantling cheek,
The polish'd front, the snowy neck,
How seldom we behold in one!
Glossy locks, and brow serene,
Venus' smiles, Diana's mien,
All meet in you, and you alone.
Beauty, like other pow'rs, maintains
Her empire, and by union reigns;
Each single feature faintly warms,
But where at once we view display'd
Unblemish'd grace, the perfect maid
Our eyes, our ears, our heart alarms.
So when on earth the God of day
Obliquely sheds his temper'd ray,
Through convex orbs the beams transmit,
The beams that gently warm'd before,
Collected, gently warm no more,
But glow with more prevailing heat.
UPON A VENERABLE RIVAL
[Written (?). Published by Croft, 1825.] FULL thirty frosts since thou wert young Have chill'd the wither'd grove,
Thou wretch! and hast thou liv'd so long,
Nor yet forgot to love?
Ye Sages! spite of your pretences
To wisdom, you must own
Your folly frequently commences
When you acknowledge none.
Not that I deem it weak to love,
Or folly to admire,
But ah! the pangs we lovers prove
Far other years require.
Song-4 Glossy Southey: Glassy Croft.
Unheeded on the youthful brow
The beams of Phoebus play,
But unsupported Age stoops low
Beneath the sultry ray.
For once, then, if untutor'd youth,
Youth unapprov'd by years,
May chance to deviate into truth,
When your experience errs;
For once attempt not to despise
What I esteem a rule:
Who early loves, though young, is wise—
Who old, though grey, a fool.
WRITTEN IN A QUARREL,
THE DELIVERY OF IT PREVENTED BY A
RECONCILIATION
[Written 1753 (?). Published by Croft, 1825.]
THINK, Delia, with what cruel haste
Our fleeting pleasures move,
Nor heedless thus in sorrow waste
The moments due to love.
Be wise, my fair, and gently treat
These few that are our friends;
Think, thus abus'd, what sad regret
Their speedy flight attends!
Sure in those eyes I lov'd so well,
And wish'd so long to see,
Anger I thought could never dwell,
Or anger aim'd at me.
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