Classic Poem

Æmilia yet once more indulge your Friend
Nor let my blunt Impertinence offend
Tho' I may seem to act the Flatt'rers Part
I must disclose without Disguise or Art
The warm Emotions of an honest Heart.
I see your Cheek with decent blushes glow
While I so often Wreaths of Praise bestow
Yet oh indulge me in the fond Design
The Garland must be yours; — but oh the Bliss is mine!
The Num'rous Graces of Æmilia's Form
Might e'en a Stoic's frozen Bosom warm
Her intellectual Charms still more inspire
And with soft Passions set his Soul on fire; —
Th' enchanting Smiles her lovely Features wear
Her gentle Aspect & engaging Air
Her nat'ral easy Mien devoid of Art
Her steady Temper & her gen'rous Heart
The soft delightfull Accents of her Tongue
And the melodious Musick of her Song
Are winning Graces; I their Influence feel
But the dear Maid has nobler Beauties still
The pious Ardor which her Bosom warms
Adorns her Soul with far superior Charms
Charms which the Love of Heav'n itself engage
But Ah! how rare in this degen'rate Age!
Most of your Sex as well as ours despise
These heav'nly Charms wherein true Beauty lies
Disdain the Graces that from virtue spring
And shun Religion as a Shameful Thing
(Unhappy Souls!) each serious Tho't disclaim
And blush to mention their Creator's Name:
They while they scan their lovely Features o'er
High-flush'd with Pride, (frail Blossoms of an hour)
Forget the Giver and themselves adore;
But from Religion You, dear maid, derive
Caelestial Beauties nothing else can give
You own the Author of your smiling Face
To him ascribe your ev'ry youthful Grace
And think it Glory to proclaim his Praise
To others Sorrow & their own Disgrace
Alas! how many waste their youthful Days
Follow where'er forbidden Joys entice
And blot their Lives with Infamy & Vice.
Conscious pursue the broad infernal Road
Court their own Ruin & forsake their God
Or if they shun Destruction's open Way
In the By-paths of Vanity they stray
" Where thorny Sorrows vex them as they go
And their false Pleasures terminate in Woe
But, You, My Friend, have chose a better Part
You to your Maker have resign'd your heart;
You find, while Wisdom's heav'nly steps you trace,
Her Ways are Pleasure & her Paths are Peace.
Hail blest Amilia! lately to your Aid
Descended from the Skies the heav'n-born-Maid
Divine Religion and your Breast inspir'd
In midnight Darkness from the World retir'd
How did your Thoughts on tow'ring Pinions rise
And make delightfull Visits to the Skies!
How did your Heart with Fires seraphic glow
And heav'nly Raptures all your Soul o'erflow
In that blest Moment O had I been there
Had I beheld you thus divinely fair
Oh might not I have felt in part the same
And from your Bosom caught the sacred Flame:
Kind, Oh Æmilia, is th' Advice you send
By Heav'n dictated to your worthless Friend
And oh how needfull too; oft has kind Heav'n
Its gentle silent Admonitions giv'n
Oft to my Soul in words of Thunder spoke
And taught me Wisdom by some awfull stroke
And how Earth's Comforts disappoint our Trust
Death wrote of late in dear Maria's Dust
Yet ah! how grov'ling still my Passions are
How I'm entangled by each flatt'ring Snare
Too many Charms in this vain World I view
And oh! Æmilia is too charming too.
But hold — no more; the cruel hint forbear
What can the good Æmilia prove a Snare?
And is She then Religion's Rival? — No;
Who loves the one must love the other too —
Asham'd, My blameless Friend, I own my Fault
And ask your Pardon of th' injurious Tho't
Convinc'd I now dismiss my idle Care,
Nor shall the honest Flame alarm my Fear
Such virtuous Charms will pious Aims befriend
On Friendships Wings Devotion may ascend
And I may love my Maker while I love my Friend