To Miss Hickman Playing the Spinet
Bright Stella, form'd for universal reign,
Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain;
When in your eyes resistless lightnings play,
Awed into love our conquer'd hearts obey,
And yield reluctant to despotic sway;
But when your music soothes the raging pain,
We bid propitious heaven prolong your reign,
We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain. When old Timotheus struck the vocal string,
Ambition's fury fired the Grecian king:
Unbounded projects labouring in his mind,
He pants for room in one poor world confined.
Thus waked to rage by music's dreadful power,
He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour.
Had Stella's gentle touches moved the lyre,
Soon had the monarch felt the nobler fire:
No more delighted with destructive war,
Ambitious only now to please the fair;
Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms,
And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms.
Mrs.
Hickman: afterwards Mrs.
Turton.
Samuel Johnson
Other author posts
The Winters Walk
Behold, my fair, where'er we rove, What dreary prospects round us rise, The naked hill, the leafless grove, The hoary ground, the frowning skies
Written at the Request of a Gentleman to Whom a Lady Had Given a Sprig of Myrtle
What hopes - what terrors does this gift create Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate The myrtle (ensign of supreme Consign'd to Venus by Melissa's hand),
The Vanity of Wealth
No more thus brooding o'er yon heap, With avarice painful vigils keep: Still unenjoy'd the present store, Still endless sighs are breathed for more
Stella In Mourning
When lately Stella's form The beauties of the gay brocade, The nymphs, who found their power decline, Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine
