Classic Poem

How many an idly trifling song
Abashed had died upon my tongue,
Rudely hadst thou disdained my muse,
Rudely didst thou to praise refuse.
Your judgement oft hath blushed with shame
Tho' partial love could never blame.
Indulgent thus when critics frown,
Good nature smiling yields renown,
Hates the stern task of finding fault
Employed l'excuse as kindest taught
Made to engage all hearts, & charm all eyes,
Artless tho' keen, & tho' so witty, wise;
Reason in her assumes the gayest face
Yet still asserts her own distinguished place.
Ah lovely maid! the Muse these lines inspires
Not with such genius as thy pencil fires,
No — powers like thine shall every breast inflame
Content thus humbly to admire thy fame
Act like the censes, perfume taught to raise
Receive & waft the insence of thy praise.
Or still attendant on thy merit sail
Live in thine honours & partake the gale
If heaven propitious shall attend my prayer
Nor half my vows reject, dispersed in air
Eternal smiles thy days shall still attend
Thy charms still blooming, & still loved thy friend
In partial fondness still behold my Love.
Gently condemn, & where thou canst, approve.
Hide my defects, & be no fault of mine
Exposed to the keen lash of wit like thine
Sweet is the breath of Rosy Morn.
Unnumbered charms display'd.
Sweeter the blush which can adorn
A bashful modest Maid
No! beauty's own celestial hue
Not half so charmed we see
As when attracted thee we view
Bewitching Modesty
Of rosy lips & sparkling eyes
Unfeeling hearts may tell
These too she has, but still these lies
To please a stronger spell —
Ingenuous worth, discretions seat
Celestial pity's tear
A heart prepared for all to feel
Zealous th'opprest to cheer.