On Miss Prue

Would that I were a tuneful lyre, Of burnished ivory fair, Which, in the Dionysian choir, Some blooming boy should bear!Would that I were a golden vase.…

Fill me, boy, as deep a draught, As e'er was filled, as e'er was quaffed; But let the water amply flow, To cool the grape's intemperate glow;…

WEEP on, weep on, your hour is past, Your dreams of pride are o’er; The fatal chain is round you cast, And you are men no more.…

When Gold, as fleet as zephyr's' pinion, Escapes like any faithless minion, And flies me (as he flies me ever), Do I pursue him? never, never!…

As late I sought the spangled bowers To cull a wreath of matin flowers, Where many an early rose was weeping, I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.…

YES, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling, In shame and in sorrow, thy wither’d-up heart — If drinking deep, deep, of the same "cup of trembling" Could make us thy children, our parent thou art.Like thee doth our nation lie conquer’d and broken,…

Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools; This moment’s a flower too fair and brief, To be withered and stained by the dust of the schools.…