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And pleasure's fatal wiles?
For whom, alas! dost thou prepare
The sweets, that I was wont to share,
The banquet of thy smiles?

The great, the gay, shall they partake
The heav'n that thou alone canst make?
And wilt thou quit the stream
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The grove and the sequester'd shed,
To be a guest with them?

For thee I panted, thee I priz❜d,
For thee I gladly sacrific'd
Whate'er I lov'd before;

And shall I see thee start away,
And helpless, hopeless hear thee say-
Farewell! we meet no more?


UNAW'D by threats, unmov'd by force,
My steady soul pursues her course,
Collected, calm, resign'd;

Say, you who search with curious eyes
The source, whence human actions rise,
Say, whence this turn of mind?

"Tis Patience-lenient goddess, hail!
O let thy votary's vows prevail,
Thy threaten'd flight to stay!
Long hast thou been a welcome guest;
Long reign'd an inmate in this breast,
And ruled with gentle sway.


Through all the various turns of fate,
Ordain'd me in each several state

My wayward lot has known,
What taught me silently to bear,
To curb the sigh, to check the tear,
When sorrow weigh'd me down?

'Twas Patience-temperate goddess, stay! For still thy dictates I obey,

Nor yield to passion's power;
Though by injurious foes borne down,
My fame, my toil, my hopes o'erthrown,
In one ill-fated hour.

When, robb'd of what I held most dear,
My hands adorn'd the mournful bier
Of her I lov'd so well;

What, when mute sorrow chain'd my tongue,
As o'er the sable hearse I hung,
Forbade the tide to swell?

"Twas Patience!—goddess ever calm !
into my breast thy balm,
That antidote to pain;

Which flowing from thy nectar'd urn,
By chemistry divine can turn
Our losses into gain.

When sick and languishing in bed
Sleep from my restless couch had fled,
(Sleep which e'en pain beguiles)
What taught me calmly to sustain
A feverish being rack'd with pain,

And dress'd my looks with smiles?

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"Twas Patience!-Heaven descended maid!
Implor'd, flew swiftly to my aid,

And lent her fostering breast;
Watch'd my sad hours with parent care,
Repell'd th' approaches of despair,
And sooth'd my soul to rest.

Say, when dissever'd from his side,
My friend, protector, and my guide-
When my prophetic soul,
Anticipating all the storm,
Saw danger in its direst form,
What could my fears control?

"Twas Patience-gentle goddess, hear!
Be ever to thy suppliant near,
Nor let one murmur rise ;

Since still some mighty joys are given,
Dear to her soul the gifts of Heaven,

The sweet domestic ties. Frances Sheridan.


THOU, the nymph with placid eye!
O seldom found, yet ever nigh!
Receive my temperate vow:
Not all the storms that shake the pole
Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul,
And smooth unalter'd brow.

O come, in simplest vest array'd,
With all thy sober cheer display'd,



To bless my longing sight;
Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace,
Thy meek regard, thy matron grace,
And chaste subdued delight.

No more by varying passions beat,
O gently guide my pilgrim feet
To find thy hermit cell;
Where, in some pure and equal sky,
Beneath thy soft indulgent eye,
The modest virtues dwell.

Simplicity, in attic vest,
And Innocence, with candid breast,
And clear undaunted eye;

And Hope, who points to distant years,
Fair opening through this vale of tears
A visit to the sky.

There Health, through whose calm bosom glide The temperate joys in even tide,

That rarely ebb or flow;

And Patience there, thy sister meek,
Presents her mild, unvarying cheek
To meet the offer'd blow.

Her influence taught the Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage
With settled smiles to meet:
Inur'd to toil and bitter bread,
He bow'd his meek submitted head,
And kiss'd thy sainted feet.

But thou, O nymph retir'd and coy!
In what brown hamlet dost thou joy

To tell thy tender tale?
The lowliest children of the ground,
Moss-rose and violet blossom round,
And lily of the vale.

Osay what soft propitious hour
I best may choose to hail thy power,
And court thy gentle sway y?
When Autumn, friendly to the Muse,
Shall thy own modest tints diffuse,
And shed thy milder day:

When Eve, her dewy star beneath,
Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,
And every storm is laid;

If such an hour was e'er thy choice,
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice
Low whispering through the shade.

Mrs. Barbauld.


Hail! Courtesy, thou gracious power,

Of Heaven-born Chastity the child;
Remote from all that's rude and sour,
A kin to all that's soft and mild!
Earth-bred Politeness is thy feeble are;
Without thy soul, she only wears the shape.

For selfish ends her tricks she plays;

She bows and smiles, devoid of heart: To impose she tries a thousand ways; The practis'd eye perceives her art;

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