Classic Poem

A VERY GOOD ACTRESS.

Powerful is beauty, when to mortal seats
From Heaven descends the heaven-created good,
When fancy's glance the fairy phantom meets,
Nymph of the shade, or naiad of the flood.

So blooms Celena, daughter of the skies,
Queen of the joys romantic rapture dreams;
Her cheeks are summer's damask rose, her eyes
Steal their quick lustre from the morning's beams.

Her airy neck the shining tresses shade;
In every wanton curl a Cupid dwells:
To these, distrusting in the Graces' aid,
She joins the mighty charms of magic spells.

Man, hapless man, in vain destruction flies,
With wily arts the' enchantress nymph pursues;
To varying forms, as varying lovers rise,
Shifts the bright Iris of a thousand hues.

Behold the' austere Divine, oppress'd by years,
Colics, and bulk, and tythes engender'd care;
The sound of woman grates his aching ears,
Of other woman than a scripture fair.

Sudden she comes, a Deborah bright in arms,
Or wears the pastoral Rachel's ancient mien;
And now, as glow gay-flushing eastern charms,
He sighs like David's son for Sheba's Queen.

To Change the China-trader speeds his pace,
Nor heeds the chilly North's unripening dames;
'Tis her's with twinkling eyes, and lengthen'd face,
And pigmy foot, to wake forgotten flames.

She oft, in likeness of the' Egyptian crone,
Too well inform'd,, relates to wondring swains
Their amorous plaints prefer'd to her alone:
Her own relentless breast too well explains.

See, at the manor's hospitable board
Enters a Sire, by infant age rever'd;
From shorten'd tube exhaling fumes afford
The incense bland that clouds his forky beard.

Conundrums quaint, and puns of jocund kind,
With rural ditties, warm the' elated 'Squire,
Yet oft sensations quicken in his mind,
Other than ale and jocund puns inspire.

The forms where bloated Dropsy holds her seat
He views, unconscious of magician's guiles;
Nor deems a jaundic'd visage lov'd retreat
Of graces, young desires, and dimpled smiles.

Now o'er the portal of an antique hall
A Grecian form the raptur'd patriot awes,
The hoary bust and brow severe recal
Lycurgus, founder of majestic laws.

Awhile entrauc'd, he dreams of old renown,
And freedom's triumph in Platean fields,
Then turns — relaxing sees the furrow'd frown,
To melting airs the soften'd marble yields.

" I see the lips as breathing life," he cries,
" On icy cheeks carnation blooms display'd:
The pensive orbs are pleasure-beaming eyes,
And Sparta's lawgiver a blushing maid.

" There, at the curtains of the shuddering youth,
Stiff, melancholy, pale, a spectre stands,
Some love lorn virgin's shade — O! injur'd truth,
Deserted phantom, and ye plighted hands."

He scarce had utter'd — from his frantic gaze
The vision fades — succeeds a flood of light:
" O friendly shadows, veil him, as the blaze
Of beauty's sun emerging from the night.

" Here end thy triumphs, nymph of potent charms,
The laurel'd bard is Heavens immortal care;
Him nor illusion's spell nor philter harms,
Nor music floating on the magic air.

" The myrtle wand this arm imperial bears,
Reluctant ghosts and stubborn elves obey:
Its virtuous touch the midnight fairy fears,
And shapes that wanton in Aurora's ray."

I ceas'd; the virgin came in native grace,
With native smiles that strengthen beauty's chain
O vain the confidence of mortal race!
My laurel'd head and myrtle wand are vain.

Again wild raptures, kindling passions rise,
As once in Audover's autumnal grove;
When looks that spoke, and eloquence of sighs,
Told the soft mandate of another's love.