194
Like you, the needle's various labours taught,
And in the loom, and at the distaff wrought;
Hence, spoils of industry adorn'd their home,
And with new lustre glow'd the arts of Rome.
Ah! sweeter far, o'er such a charge to bend,
To calm domestic life, a joy to lend,
Than cloth'd in royal robes, the guise of pain,
To wield a sceptre o'er the shrinking train;
Toss on the wave of pow'r, or dictate proud,
Or rule the fancies of a fickle crowd;
Or pass in fields of blood the deathful day,
Urge on the battle, point the fierce array,
Drive over fallen ranks the reeking car,
Rage, toil, and revel mid the din of war;
Renounce each female grace, each soft intent,
To snatch the prize, that nature never meant,
To win a short applause, to build a name,
To grasp the fleeting shade of sullied fame;
Gleam o'er the historic page, as meteors move,
To claim our wonder, not awake our love.
Oh, sweeter far, in shades obscure to hide,
Where meek content, and piety reside,
Where heaven-born virtue sheds a lucid ray,
And intellectual joys inspire the day,
While o'er the scene no waves of discord roll,
To quench the light of mercy in the soul.
And sweet like thee, dear friend, with pensive eyes,
