TO A YOUNG LADY

Why thus decline my troubled eyes,
If hither their mild lustre bending
Those azure orbs to meet me rise?
Why thus with thee conversing, dies
My voice, in broken murmurs ending?

Yet, dawning from my looks distrest,
Yet, wooing in the coy expression
Of faltering sounds, that half-supprest
In sighs ill stifled breathe the rest,
Read — ah too dear! the fond confession.

In vain! What these soft tumults show,
From thee, yet new to love, is hidden;
Untaught thy wishes yet to know,
If sighs ascend, if blushes glow,
What means the sigh, the blush unbidden.

But hope not ever thus secure
To dart thy wildly-wandering glances;
What others now for thee endure,
Thou soon shalt feel in bloom mature;
On hasty wing thy youth advances.

O, skilled in every graceful art
That adds a polish'd charm to beauty;
Be mine those pleasing cares to' impart,
Which best refine the gentle heart,
Be mine to teach the tender duty!