When Stella strikes the tuneful String
In Scenes of imitated Spring,
Where Beauty lavishes her Powers
On Beds of never-fading Flowers;
And Pleasure propagates around
Each Charm of modulated Sound;
Ah! think not, in the dang'rous hour,
The Nymph fictitious as the Flower;
But shun, rash Youth, the gay Alcove,
Nor tempt the Snares of wily Love.
When Charms thus press on every Sense,
What Thought of Flight, or of Defence?
Deceitful Hope, and vain Desire,
Forever flutter o'er her Lyre;
Delighting, as the Youth draws nigh,
To point the Glances of her Eye;
And forming with unerring Art,
New Chains to hold the Captive-Heart.
But on those Regions of Delight,
MightTruth intrude, with daring Flight,
Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young,
One Moment hear the Moral Song,
Instruction with her Flowers might spring,
AndWisdom warble from her String.
Mark, when from thousand mingled Dyes
Thou seest one pleasing Form arise;
How active Light, and thoughtful Shade,
In greater Scenes each other aid;
Mark, when the diff'rent Notes agree
In friendly Contrariety;
How Passion's well-accorded Strife
Gives all the Harmony of Life:
Thy Pictures shall thy Conduct frame,
Consistent still, tho' not the same;
Thy Musick teach the nobler Art,
To tune the regulated Heart.