Classic Poem

Say, thou with endless beauty crown'd,
Of all the youth that sigh around
Thy worshippers, and anxious wait
From thy bright eyes their future fate;
Say, whom do most these eyes approve?
Whom does Montgomery choose to love?
Not him, who strives to build a name
From ruins of another's fame:
Who proud in self-conceit throws down
His neighbour's wit, to raise his own.
Should the vain man expect success,
The fool of compliment and dress?
Thy eyes undazzled can behold
The gaudy nothing deckt in gold.
Thy wise discernment soon descries
Where folly lurks in wit's disguise;
Trac'd through each shape in which 'tis seen
Through the grave look the solemn mien;
The proud man's front, the vain man's walk,
The fopling's dress, the coxcomb's talk.
A large estate, and little sense,
To charms like thine have no pretence.
Shalt thou, O insolent! prevail?
Heav'n never meant its goods for sale:
Beauty the pearl of price, is giv'n,
Not bought, 'tis the free grace of Heav'n.
The happy youth with arts refin'd,
Simple of heart, of stedfast mind:
Whom thirst of gain could never draw
To trespass friendship's sacred law:
Whose soul the charms of sense inspire;
Who loves, where reason bids admire:
Cautious to shun, with wise disdain,
The proud, the airy, and the vain.
Him whom these virtues shall adorn,
Thou, fair Montgomery, wilt not scorn:
Of all the gifts of Heav'n possest,
To him thou yield'st thy willing breast;
For him the blush, with modest grace,
Glows rosy, o'er thy blooming face:
For him thy panting bosom swells,
And on thy lips such sweetness dwells.
Crown'd with success, the happy boy
Shall revel in excess of joy:
While in thy presence, Heav'n appears
In sweets laid up for many years.
The beau and witling then shall fly,
The fop in secret corner sigh;
Condemn'd to cry in love's despair,
‘Ah! why so wise who was so fair?’
Did thy example, beauteous maid,
The rest of womankind persuade;
Nor injur'd merit would complain,
That it may love, and love in vain:
Nor flattery false, and impudence,
Usurp the room of bashful sense;
No more at midnight ball appear,
To gain on beauty's list'ning ear.
Beauty would hear the vows of truth;
Nor love would speak with folly's mouth.
Yet some there are, the better few,
Wise thy example to pursue;
Who rich in store of native charms,
Employ no artificial arms.
Such heav'nly Charlotte, form divine!
Love's universal kingdom's thine,
Anointed queen! all unconfin'd,
Thine is the homage of mankind:
Thy subjects, willing to obey,
Bless thy mild rule and gentle sway;
With loyal mind each zealous pays
His tribute duteous to thy praise.
Yet nought to greatness dost thou owe;
Thy merit from thyself does flow;
Alike our wonder and our theme,
In beauty as in place supreme.
Such thy fair sister, fram'd to please,
Of aspect gay, and graceful ease.
Pure flows her wit and unrestrain'd;
By envy and by hate unstain'd;
Not as the rushing torrent pours,
Increas'd by snows, and wintry show'rs;
Involving in its furious sway
The labouring hinds, a helpless prey;
Now wide o'erspreads the wat'ry scene,
And now decreas'd, no more is seen:
But as a constant river leads
Its winding stream through purple meads;
That through the blushing landscape roll'd,
Reflects the bordering flowers in gold;
And, borne along with gentle force,
Distributes wealth through all its course;
Nor does the faithful spring deny
The alimental just supply.
Thou Douglas too, in whom combine
A spirit and a noble line;
Engaging looks, that mild inspire
Fond delight and young desire;
All-winning sweetness, void of pride,
Thou hast no faults for art to hide.
Maria such, whose opening bloom
Foreshows the pregnant fruits to come.
O blest! for whom the Seasons' flight
Ripens that harvest of delight;
To whom the Autumn shall resign,
To press the rich luxuriant vine.
Unwounded who can thee espy,
Maid of the black and piercing eye?
Too rashly bold, we take the field
Against thy shafts with Wisdom's shield:
Pierc'd helpless in our guarded side,
We fall the victims of our pride.
Nor Erskine less the song demands,
Not least in beauty's blooming bands.
Erskine, peculiar care of Heav'n,
To whom the pow'r of sound is giv'n;
Artist divine! to her belong
The heav'nly lay, and magic song:
How do we gaze with vast delight
Her fingers' swift harmonious flight,
When o'er the' obedient keys they fly,
To waken sleeping harmony?
Whene'er she speaks, the joy of all,
Soft the silver accents fall:
Whene'er she looks, in still amaze
The eyes of all enamour'd gaze:
Each word steals gently on the ear;
'Tis heav'n to see, 'tis heav'n to hear.
In everlasting blushes seen,
Such Pringle shines of sprightly mien:
To her the pow'r of love imparts,
Rich gift! the soft successful arts
That best the lovers' fires provoke,
The lively step, the mirthful joke,
The speaking glance, the amorous wile,
The sportful laugh, the winning smile;
Her soul, awakening every grace,
Is all abroad upon her face;
In bloom of youth still to survive,
All charms are there, and all alive.
Fair is the lily, sweet the rose,
That in thy cheek, O Drummond! glows;
Pure is the snow's unsullied white
That clothes thy bosom's swelling height.
Majestic looks her soul express,
That awe us from desir'd access;
Till sweetness soon rebukes the fear,
And bids the trembling youth draw near.
See, how sublime she does advance,
And seems already in the dance;
Exalted how she moves along,
Ten thousand thousand graces strong!
Such Marchmont's daughter, unreprov'd,
The maid by men of sense belov'd;
Who knows with modesty to scorn
The titles that may fools adorn:
She claims no merit from her blood,
Her greatest honour to be good:
Heedless of pomp, with open heart
Well has she chose the better part.
Such Hamilla's looks divine,
Earth's wonder, Tinnegham, and thine!
Her soul all tenderness and love,
Gentle as the harmless dove:
Who artless, charms without design,
She! of the modest look benign.
Eliza young in beauty bright,
Though new to every soft delight,
Yet soon her conquests shall extend,
Soon shall the sprightly maid ascend
The rival of each kindred name,
And triumph to her mother's fame.
Full in the pleasing list appears
Robertoun, in prime of years;
With skill she does her smiles bestow,
For Pallas bends her Cupid's bow:
Wisely she shuns to entertain
The designing, and the vain;
To these 'tis all forbidden ground,
Prudence, a cherub guards her round,
With flaming sword fools to expel;
In paradise fools must not dwell.
Strike again the golden lyre,
Let Hume the notes of joy inspire.
O lovely Hume! repeat again
My lyre the ever-pleasing strain.
Dear to the muse, the muse approves
Each charm, the muse the virgin loves:
The muse preserves in lasting lays
The records of soft beauty's praise;
In vain would triumph beauty's eye,
Unsung, these triumphs soon would die;
Fate overcomes the fair and strong,
But has no pow'r o'er sacred song;
Verse the dying name can save,
And make it live beyond the grave.
Thus Hume shall unborn hearts engage,
Her smile shall warm another age;
Her race of mortal glory past,
The immortal fame shall ever last;
Last shall the look that won my heart,
The pleasing look sincere of art.
O! pow'rful of persuasive face,
Adorn'd and perfected in grace;
What joys await, joys in excess,
The youth whom thou decree'st to bless;
Ordain'd thy yielding breast to move,
Thy breast yet innocent of love!
But who is she, the general gaze
Of sighing crowds, the world's amaze,
Who looks forth as the blushing morn
On mountains of the east new born?
Is it not Cochrane fair? 'Tis she,
The youngest grace of graces three.
The eldest fell to death a prey,
Ah! snatch'd in early flower away;
The second, manifold of charms,
Blesses a happy husband's arms;
The third, a blooming form remains;
O'er all the blameless victor reigns:
Where'er she gracious deigns to move,
The public praise, the public love.
Superior these shall still remain,
The lover's wish, the poet's strain;
Their beauties shall all hearts engage,
Victorious over spite and age:
Like thee, Montgomery, shall they shine,
And charm the world with arts like thine.