Marion ! Why that pensive brow ?
What disgust to life hast thou?
Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
'Tis not Love disturbs thy rest,
Love's a stranger to thy breast;
He, in dimpling smiles, appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears;
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,
Some will love, and all admire;
While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cool indiff'rence thrills us.
Would'st thou wand'ring hearts beguile,
Smile, at least, or seem to smile;
Eyes, like thine, were never meant
To hide their orbs, in dark restraint;
Spite of all thou fain would'st say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips, --- but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse,
She blushes, curtsies, frowns, --- in short she
Dreads, lest the subject should transport me;
And flying off, in search of reason,
Brings prudence back in proper season.
All I shall, therefore, say, ( whate'er
I think, is neither here nor there, )
Is that such lips, of looks endearing,
Were form'd for better things, than sneering;
Of soothing compliments divested,
Advice, at least's, disinterested;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of flatt'ry free;
Counsel, like mine, is as a brother's,
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill'd to cosen,
It shares itself amongst a dozen.
Marion ! adieu ! oh ! prithee slight not
This warning, tho' it may delight not;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing,
To those, who think remonstrance teazing,
At once, I'll tell thee our opinion,
Concerning woman's soft dominion:
Howe'er we gaze with admiration,
On eyes of blue, or lips carnation;
Howe'er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe'er those beauties may distract us;
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love,
It is not too severe a stricture,
To say they form a pretty picture.
But, would'st thou see the secret chain,
Which binds us in your humble train,
To hail your queens of all creation,
Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION.