Such as, to human fancy, muft improve
The nameless raptures of the blefs'd above:
Where is the wretch fo hardy to deny,

But female fkill with boafted man's may vie!
The facred art of Poetry, we owe

To that blefs'd fource of chiefcft blifs below,
The fond affection which can live, alone,

Between two hearts that love has render'd one:
Where Nature.feems to fpeak, with meaning plain,
i Thy joys, proud man, were without woman vain!
Like thee, fhe feels each paffion of the heart,

Her bhi as groat as thine, as great her fmart

And well the knows, with words of magick found,
To check the rifing hope, or heal the faithful wound.
Then why refuse them to an equal share

In arts which owe their being to the fair?

Say, can't thou meanly think that science strives

To taint the female breaft where most it thrives?

Yet, if a fpark within your own refides,"

Expect diftinction from the lowly crowd,

And fcorn to fear YOUR virtue difallow'd!

Unjuft it is-regard the paft with shame;

And let them henceforth fhare the road to fame."
Happy for England, were each female mind,
To science more, and lefs to pomp inclin❜d';
If parents, by example, prudence taught,

And from their QUEEN the flame of virtue caught!:
Skill'd in each art that ferves to polish life,

Behold, in HER, a fcientifick wife!

Tho' most entitled to the glare of dress,"

No private lady can regard it lefs:

Yet ftill fhe keeps the glorious golden mean,
And always wears what best becomes a queen ;
Rich, tho' not tawdry; elegant, tho' neat ;
And all her perfon, like her mind, compleat.

While

While, in each duty of domeftick life,
She yields not to the lefs-exalted wife;
Attends, herself, the royal offspring's care,
And pours the virtuous precept in their ear;
Teaches the duty which to God they owe,
And tells how poor the thanks they can bestow.
Nor doth herself neglect each day to join
Their much-lov'd prefence in the rites divine:
And oft her pious lips to Heav'n address

The fervent with, that Britain's woes were lefs

;

That War might fheathe his deeply-crimson'd fword,
And Peace, throughout the world, be once again reftor'd.
Whether we view her as a wife, poffefs'd

Of ev'ry charm to make her confort bless'd;
(New fource of envy in the breafts of those
His virtues, with his pow'r, have render'd foes :)
Or as a mother, chriftian, queen, or friend;
Alike we must admire, alike commend!
But vain are words her merits to impart,
For CHARLOTTE's virtues reign-in ev'ry heart.
Great is the task my Genius has affign'd,
And much it needs a more enlighten'd mind;
To traverse Nature's garden all around,
Where ev'ry weed and ev'ry flow'r is found;
Distinguish well the properties of all,
And harm no grateful herb, however fmall:
Yet crop each painted pageant of a day,
That hardly blooms before it knows decay;
Nor leave a fingle flow'r, tho'gay or fair,
Which owns a scent less fragrant than the air;
Least it's foul breath contaminate the whole,
And make the food-the poifon of the foul.

The task is great, indeed! But, when I fear,

My better Genius cries, Still perfevere!

Think, by your means, each fair-one may adorn

Her brow with rofes, fearlefs of the thorn;

• May range thro' Nature's rich parterres with ease,
⚫ And fafely pluck whatever flow'r she please;
Nor fear, howe'er incautiously fhe tread,

• To place her foot upon the adder's head:

• Affur'd each plant or flow'r that meets her eyes,
Is to the virtuous mind a welcome prize.

• E'en CHARLOTTE's felf fome leisure hour may rove
In thofe delightful scenes fhe must approve,
With rapture view the skilful Gard❜ner's care,
And deem THY WORK a bleffing to the Fair!
• Dare, then, proceed-nor think your labours hard;
For what of toil can merit fuch reward!'

THE FEMALE

'T!

SEDUCERS.

BY MR. EDWARD MOORE.

IS faid of widow, maid, and wife,
That honour is a woman's life;
Unhappy fex! who only claim

A being in the breath of fame,
Which tainted, not the quick'ning gales
That sweep Sabéa's spicy vales,
Nor all the healing fweets restore,
That breathe along Arabia's fhore.
The trav'ller, if he chance to ftray,
May turn uncenfur'd to his way;
Polluted ftreams again are pure,
And deepest wounds admit a cure:
But woman no redemption knows;
The wounds of honour never close!

Tho' diftant ev'ry hand to guide,
Nor skill'd on life's tempeftuous tide,
If once her feeble bark recede,
Or deviate from the courfe decreed,

In

In vain fhe feeks the friendless shore,
Her fwifter folly flies before;

The circling ports against her close,
And shut the wand'rer from repose;
Till, by conflicting waves oppress'd,
Her found'ring pinnace finks to rest.
Are there no offerings to atone
For but a fingle error?- -None.
Tho' Woman is avow'd, of old,
No daughter of celestial mould,
Her temp'ring not without allay,
And form'd but of the finer clay,
We challenge from the mortal dame
The ftrength angelick natures claim;
Nay, more; for facred ftories tell,
That e'en immortal angels fell.
Whatever fills the teeming sphere
Of humid earth, and ambient air,
With varying elements endu❜d,
Was form'd to fall, and rife renew❜d.

The ftars no fix'd duration know;
Wide oceans ebb, again to flow;
The moon repletes her waining face,
All-beauteous, from her late difgrace;
And funs, that mourn approaching night,
Refulgent rife with new-born light.

In vain may death and time fubdue, While Nature mints her race anew, And holds fome vital spark apart, Like virtue, hid in ev'ry heart; 'Tis hence reviving warmth is feen To clothe a naked world in green. No longer barr'd by winter's cold, Again the gates of life unfold; Again each infect tries his wing, And lifts fresh pinions on the fpring;

Again, from ev'ry latent root,

The bladed ftem and tendril fhoot,
Exhaling incenfe to the fkies,
Again to perish, and to rife.

And muft weak Woman, then, disown
The change to which a world is prone;
In one meridian brightnefs fhine,
And ne'er, like ev'ning funs, decline?
Refolv'd and firm alone?-Is this
What we demand of Woman!-Yes.
But fhould the fpark of vestal fire,
In fome unguarded hour expire;
Or fhould the nightly thief invade
Hefperia's chafte and facred fhade,
Of all the blooming spoil poffefs'd,
The dragon Honour charm'd to rest;
Shall Virtue's flame no more return?'
No more with virgin fplendor burn?
No more the ravag'd garden blow
With fpring's fucceeding bloffom ?-No.
Pity may mourn, but not reftore;
And Woman falls, to rife no more! :
Within this fublunary sphere,
A country lies-no matter where;
The clime may readily be found
By all who tread poetick ground:
A ftream, call'd Life, across it glides,
And equally the land divides;
And here of Vice the province lies,
And there the hills of Virtue rife.
Upon a mountain's airy stand,
Whofe fummit look'd to either land,
An ancient pair their dwelling chofe,
As well for profpect as repofe;

For mutual faith they long were fam'd,
And Temp'rance and Religion nam’d.

A num'rous