464
MALONIANA.
III.
“Can doubt,” said she, “divide thy wavering mind?
In me immortal treasures shalt thou find.
Need I recount my merits or my fame?
Let it suffice that Beauty is my name.
Thy stream of life, if thou but follow me,
Shall peaceful flow from all rude tempest free,
And all shall sunshine be.
What mighty bliss can sober Wisdom give?
What joys, alas! can she impart?
With all her rigid precepts how to live,
With all her vain and boasted art,
She cannot please the eye or glad the heart.
Attend my counsel, hearken to my voice,
And rule by me alone thy future choice;
On thee eternal pleasures I’ll bestow,
Pleasures which Wisdom ne’er can know,
Pure and unalloyed with woe.
Such blessings will I shower upon thy head,
Which none but I can give,
If thou wilt with me live,
And take a beauteous consort to thy bed.”
“Can doubt,” said she, “divide thy wavering mind?
In me immortal treasures shalt thou find.
Need I recount my merits or my fame?
Let it suffice that Beauty is my name.
Thy stream of life, if thou but follow me,
Shall peaceful flow from all rude tempest free,
And all shall sunshine be.
What mighty bliss can sober Wisdom give?
What joys, alas! can she impart?
With all her rigid precepts how to live,
With all her vain and boasted art,
She cannot please the eye or glad the heart.
Attend my counsel, hearken to my voice,
And rule by me alone thy future choice;
On thee eternal pleasures I’ll bestow,
Pleasures which Wisdom ne’er can know,
Pure and unalloyed with woe.
Such blessings will I shower upon thy head,
Which none but I can give,
If thou wilt with me live,
And take a beauteous consort to thy bed.”
IV.
“Cease, cease” (cries Wisdom), “thy delusive tongue;
Heed not, my son, this charming syren’s song;
Let not the magic glass that she employs
To throw a mist before thine eyes—
Let not insipid pleasures, empty joys,
Delude thy reason ‘gainst my better voice.
Let her not teach thee to despise
What thou alone should prize—
The beauties of a nobler kind,
The graces of the mind;
These, these alone should be thy choice.
What will avail, alas! the skin of snow,
When the scarce-throbbing feeble pulse beats low
Soon will the spring of life be past,
And wintry age will come at last,
Of bloom and beauty that most bitter foe.
But if from me, thy surest guide,
Thou wilt receive thy future bride,
One who will soften every care,
And all thy sorrows kindly share,
At once thy truest joy and pride;
Then bliss refined, and happiness sincere
(The sure rewards of prudence and of truth),
Shall still attend thy youth;
And even at thy latest stage,
Shall gild the evening of thy age.”
“Cease, cease” (cries Wisdom), “thy delusive tongue;
Heed not, my son, this charming syren’s song;
Let not the magic glass that she employs
To throw a mist before thine eyes—
Let not insipid pleasures, empty joys,
Delude thy reason ‘gainst my better voice.
Let her not teach thee to despise
What thou alone should prize—
The beauties of a nobler kind,
The graces of the mind;
These, these alone should be thy choice.
What will avail, alas! the skin of snow,
When the scarce-throbbing feeble pulse beats low
Soon will the spring of life be past,
And wintry age will come at last,
Of bloom and beauty that most bitter foe.
But if from me, thy surest guide,
Thou wilt receive thy future bride,
One who will soften every care,
And all thy sorrows kindly share,
At once thy truest joy and pride;
Then bliss refined, and happiness sincere
(The sure rewards of prudence and of truth),
Shall still attend thy youth;
And even at thy latest stage,
Shall gild the evening of thy age.”
