And Dwells There In A Female Heart, By Bounteous Heaven Design'D, The Choicest Raptures To Impart, To Feel The Most Refined' Dwells There A Wish In Such A Breast Its Nature To Forego, To Smother In Ignoble Rest At Once Both Bliss And Woe! Far Be The Thought, And Far The Strain, Which Breathes The Low Desire, How Sweet Soe'Er The Verse Complain, Though Ph'Bus String The Lyre. Come, Then, Fair Maid (In Nature Wise), Who, Knowing Them, Can Tell From Generous Sympathy What Joys The Glowing Bosom Swell: In Justice To The Various Powers Of Pleasing, Which You Share, Join Me, Amid Your Silent Hours, To Form The Better Prayer. With Lenient Balm May Oberon Hence To Fairy-Land Be Driven, With Every Herb That Blunts The Sense Mankind Received From Heaven. 'Oh! If My Sovereign Author Please, Far Be It From My Fate To Live Unblest In Torpid Ease, And Slumber On In State; 'Each Tender Tie Of Life Defied, Whence Social Pleasures Spring, Unmoved With All The World Beside, A Solitary Thing'' Some Alpine Mountain, Wrapt In Snow, Thus Braves The Whirling Blast, Eternal Winter Doom'D To Know, No Genial Spring To Taste. In Vain Warm Suns Their Influence Shed, The Zephyrs Sport In Vain, He Rears Unchanged His Barren Head, Whilst Beauty Decks The Plain. What Though In Scaly Armour Dress'D, Indifference May Repel The Shafts Of Woe'In Such A Breast No Joy Can Ever Dwell. 'Tis Woven In The World'S Great Plan, And Fix'D By Heaven'S Decree, That All The True Delights Of Man Should Spring From Sympathy. 'Tis Nature Bids, And Whilst The Laws Of Nature We Retain, Our Self-Approving Bosom Draws A Pleasure From Its Pain. Thus Grief Itself Has Comforts Dear The Sordid Never Know; And Ecstacy Attends The Tear When Virtue Bids It Flow. For, When It Streams From That Pure Source, No Bribes The Heart Can Win To Check, Or Alter From Its Course, The Luxury Within. Peace To The Phlegm Of Sullen Elves, Who, If From Labour Eased, Extend No Care Beyond Themselves, Unpleasing And Unpleased. Let No Low Thought Suggest The Prayer, Oh! Grant, Kind Heaven, To Me, Long As I Draw Ethereal Air, Sweet Sensibility! Where'Er The Heavenly Nymph Is Seen, With Lustre-Beaming Eye, A Train, Attendant On Their Queen, (Her Rosy Chorus) Fly; The Jocund Loves In Hymen'S Band, With Torches Ever Bright, And Generous Friendship, Hand In Hand With Pity'S Wat'Ry Sight. The Gentler Virtues Too Are Join'D In Youth Immortal Warm; The Soft Relations, Which, Combined, Give Life Her Every Charm. The Arts Come Smiling In The Close, And Lend Celestial Fire; The Marble Breathes, The Canvas Glows, The Muses Sweep The Lyre. 'Still May My Melting Bosom Cleave To Sufferings Not My Own, And Still The Sigh Responsive Heave Where'Er Is Heard A Groan. 'So Pity Shall Take Virtue'S Part, Her Natural Ally, And Fashioning My Soften'D Heart, Prepare It For The Sky.' This Artless Vow May Heaven Receive, And You, Fond Maid, Approve: So May Your Guiding Angel Give Whate'Er You Wish Or Love! So May The Rosy-Finger'D Hours Lead On The Various Year, And Every Joy, Which Now Is Yours, Extend A Larger Sphere! And Suns To Come, As Round They Wheel, Your Golden Moments Bless With All A Tender Heart Can Feel, Or Lively Fancy Guess!