Fugitive Pieces | Page 9

forget."

TO JULIA!
Julia! since far from you I've rang'd,
Our souls with fond affection
glow not;
You say 'tis I, not you have chang'd,
I'd tell you why,--but
yet I know not.
2.
Your polish'd brow, no cares have crost,
And Julia! we are not much
older,
Since trembling first my heart I lost,
Or told my love with
hope, grown bolder.
3.
Sixteen was then our utmost age,
Two years have lingering pass'd
away, love!
And now new thoughts our minds engage,
At least, _I_
feel disposed to stray, love!
4.
'Tis _I_, that am alone to blame,
_I_, that am guilty of love's treason;

Since your sweet breast, is still the same,
Caprice must be my only
reason.
5.
I do not, love, suspect your truth,
With jealous doubt my bosom
heaves not,
Warm was the passion of my youth,
One trace of dark
deceit it leaves not.
6.
No, no, my flame was not pretended,
For oh! I lov'd you most
sincerely,
And though our dream at last is ended,
My bosom still
esteems you dearly.

7.
No more we meet in yonder bowers,
Perhaps my soul's too prone to
roving,
But older, firmer hearts than ours,
Have found monotony in
loving.
8.
Your cheeks soft bloom is unimpair'd,
Your beauties still are daily
bright'ning,
Your eye for conquest comes prepar'd,
The forge of
love's resistless lightning.
9.
Arm'd thus to make their bosoms bleed,
Many will throng to sigh like
me, love,
More constant they may prove indeed,
Fonder alas! they
ne'er can be, love!

TO WOMAN.
Surely experience might have told me,
That all must love thee, who
behold thee;
Surely experience might have taught,
A woman's
promises are naught,
But plac'd in all thy charms before me,
All I
forget, but to adore thee.
Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,

When join'd with hope, when still possessing;
Thou whisperest, as
our hearts are beating,
"What oft we've done, we're still repeating."

But how much curst by every lover,
When hope is fled, and passion's
over.
Woman that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings
to believe her,
How throbs the pulse, when first we view,
The eye
that rolls in glossy blue;
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws,
A
beam from under hazel brows;
How quick we credit every oath,

And hear her plight the willing troth;
Fondly we hope 'twill last for
aye,
When lo! she changes in a day,
The Record will forever stand,

"That woman's vows, are writ in sand."

AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE DELIVERED BY THE
AUTHOR, PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF THE
WHEEL OF FORTUNE, AT A PRIVATE THEATRE.
Since the refinement of this polish'd age,
Has swept immoral raillery
from the stage;
Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit,
Which
stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ;
Since now to please with purer
scenes we seek,
Nor dare to call the blush from beauty's cheek;
Oh!
let the modest muse some pity claim,
And meet indulgence--though
she find not fame.
But not for her alone, we wish respect,
Others
appear more conscious of defect;
To night, no Veteran Roscii you
behold,
In all the arts of scenic action old;
No COOKE, no
KEMBLE, can salute you here,
No SIDDONS draw the sympathetic
tear,
To night, you thong to witness the debut,
Of embryo actors to
the drama new;
Here then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try,
Clip
not our pinions_, ere the _birds can fly;
Failing in this our first
attempt to soar,
Drooping, alas, we fall to rise no more.
Not one
poor trembler only, fear betrays,
Who hopes, yet almost dreads to
meet your praise;
But all our Dramatis Personæ wait,
In fond
suspense, this crisis of their fate;
No venal views our progress can
retard,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;
For them each
Hero all his power displays,
Each timid Heroine shrinks before your
gaze:
Surely these last will some protection find,
None to the softer
sex can prove unkind;
Whilst youth and beauty form the female
shield,
The sternest critic to the fair must yield.

But should our
feeble efforts nought avail,
Should, after all, our best endeavours fail;

Still let some mercy in your bosoms live,
And if you can't applaud,
at least forgive.

TO MISS E.P.
1.

Eliza! what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who to woman deny the
soul's future existence,
Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their
defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.
2.
Had their Prophet possess'd but an atom of sense,
He ne'er would
have woman from Paradise driven,
But instead of his Houris a flimsy
pretence,
With woman alone, he had peopled his Heaven.
3.
But still to increase your calamities more,
Not content with depriving
your bodies of spirit,
He allots but one husband to share amongst four,

With souls you'd dispense--but this last who could bear it.
4.
His religion to please neither party is made,
On husbands_ 'tis _hard,
to the wives most uncivil;
But I can't contradict what so oft has been
said,
"Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil."
5.
This terrible truth, even Scripture has told,
Ye Benedicks! hear me,
and listen with rapture;
If a glimpse of redemption you wish to
behold,
Of St. MATT.--read the second and twentieth chapter.
6.
'Tis surely enough upon earth to be vex'd,
With wives who eternal
confusion are