Upon a Visit to a Lady of Quality

On fair Asteria's blissful plains,
Where ever-blooming fancy reigns,
How pleased we pass the winter's day,
And charm the dull-eyed Spleen away!

No linnet, from the leafless bough,
Pours forth her note melodious now,
But all admire Asteria's tongue,
Nor wish the linnet's vernal song.

No flowers emit their transient rays;
Yet sure Asteria's wit displays
More various tints, more glowing lines,
And with perennial beauty shines.

Though rifled groves and fetter'd streams
But ill befriend a poet's dreams;
Asteria's presence wakes the lyre,
And well supplies poetic fire.

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poem by William Shenstone
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Anacreontic

'Twas in a cool Aonian glade,
The wanton Cupid, spent with toil,
Had sought refreshment from the shade,
And stretch'd him on the mossy soil.

A vagrant Muse drew nigh, and found
The subtle traitor fast asleep;
And is it thine to snore profound,
She said, yet leave the world to weep?

But hush!-from this auspicious hour
The world, I ween, may rest in peace,
And, robb'd of darts, and stript of power,
Thy peevish petulance decrease.

Sleep on, poor Child! whilst I withdraw,
And this thy vile artillery hide-
When the Castalian fount she saw,
And plunged his arrows in the tide.

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poem by William Shenstone
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Comparison

'Tis by comparison we know
On every object to bestow
Its proper share of praise
Did each alike perfection bear,
What beauty, though divinely fair,
Could admiration raise?

Amidst the lucid bands of night,
See! Hesperus, serenely bright,
Adorns the distant skies:
But languishes amidst the blaze
Of sprightly Sol's meridian rays,-
Or Silvia's brighter eyes.

Whene'er the nightingale complains,
I like the melancholy strains,
And praise the tuneful bird:
But vainly might she strain her throat,
Vainly exalt each swelling note,
Should Silvia's voice be heard.

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poem by William Shenstone
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To a Lady of Quality, Fitting Up Her Library

Ah! what is science, what is art,
Or what the pleasure these impart?
Ye trophies, which the learn'd pursue
Through endless, fruitless toils, adieu!

What can the tedious tomes bestow,
To soothe the miseries they show?
What like the bliss for him decreed,
Who tends his flock and tunes his reed?

Say, wretched Fancy! thus refined
From all that glads the simplest hind,
How rare that object which supplies
A charm for too discerning eyes!

The polish'd bard, of genius vain,
Endures a deeper sense of pain;
As each invading blast devours
The richest fruits, the fairest flowers.

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poem by William Shenstone
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Elegy V. He Compares the Turbulence of Love With the Tranquillity of Friendship

From Love, from angry Love's inclement reign
I pass awhile to Friendship's equal skies;
Thou, generous Maid! reliev'st my partial pain,
And cheer'st the victim of another's eyes.

'Tis thou, Melissa, thou deserv'st my care;
How can my will and reason disagree?
How can my passion live beneath despair?
How can my bosom sigh for aught but thee?

Ah! dear Melissa! pleased with thee to rove,
My soul has yet survived its dreariest time
Ill can I bear the various clime of Love!
Love is a pleasing, but a various clime.

So smiles immortal Maro's favourite shore,
Parthenope, with every verdure crown'd;
When straight Vesuvio's horrid cauldrons roar,
And the dry vapour blasts the regions round.

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poem by William Shenstone
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Ode to Indolence

Ah! why for ever on the wing
Persists my wearied soul to roam?
Why, ever cheated, strives to bring
Or pleasure or contentment home?

Thus the poor bird, that draws his name
From Paradise's honour'd groves,
Careless fatigues his little frame,
Nor finds the resting-place he loves.

Lo! on the rural mossy bed
My limbs with careless ease reclined;
Ah, gentle Sloth! indulgent spread
The same soft bandage o'er my mind.

For why should lingering thought invade,
Yet every worldly prospect cloy?
Lend me, soft Sloth! thy friendly aid,
And give me peace, debarr'd of joy.

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poem by William Shenstone
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Ode - So dear my Lucio is to me

So dear my Lucio is to me,
So well our minds and tempers blend,
That seasons may for ever flee,
And ne'er divide me from my friend;
But let the favour'd boy forbear
To tempt with love my only fair.

O Lycon! born when every Muse,
When every Grace, benignant smiled,
With all a parent's breast could choose
To bless her loved, her only child;
'Tis thine, so richly graced, to prove
More noble cares than cares of love.

Together we from early youth
Have trod the flowery tracks of time,
Together mused in search of truth,
O'er learned sage, or bard sublime;
And well thy cultured breast I know,
What wondrous treasure it can show!

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poem by William Shenstone
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Cupid and Plutus

When Celia, love's eternal foe,
To rich old Gomez first was married;
And angry Cupid came to know
His shafts had err'd, his bow miscarried;

He sigh'd, he wept, he hung his head,
On the cold ground, full sad, he laid him;
When Plutus, there by fortune led,
In this desponding plight survey'd him.

'And sure,' he cried, 'you'll own at last
Your boasted power by mine exceeded:
Say, wretched boy, now all is past,
How little she your efforts heeded.

'If with success you would assail,
Gild, youngster, doubly gild your arrows:
Little the feather'd shafts avail,
Though wing'd from mamma's doves and sparrows.

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poem by William Shenstone
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To the Virtuosi

Hail curious Wights! to whom so fair
The form of mortal flies is!
Who deem those grubs beyond compare,
Which common sense despises.

Whether o'er hill, morass or mound,
You make your sportsman sallies;
Or that your prey, in gardens found
Is urged through walks and alleys,

Yet, in the fury of the chase,
No slope could e'er retard you;
Blest, if one fly repay the race,
Or painted wing reward you.

Fierce as Camilla, o'er the plain,
Pursued the glittering stranger;
Still ey'd the purple's pleasing stain,
And knew not fear nor danger.

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poem by William Shenstone
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Ode, written 1739

Urit spes animi credula mutui.-Hor.

Imitation.

Fond hope of a reciprocal desire
Inflames the breast.

'Twas not by beauty's aid alone
That Love usurp'd his airy throne,
His boasted power display'd;
'Tis kindness that secures his aim,
'Tis hope that feeds the kindling flame
Which beauty first convey'd.

In Clara's eyes the lightning view;
Her lips with all the rose's hue
Have all its sweets combined;
Yet vain the blush, and faint the fire,
Till lips at once, and eyes, conspire

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poem by William Shenstone
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