Poems (Holford)/To Deva

by Margaret Holford (1778-1852)

TO DEVA.

 

INSCRIBED TO THE MISSES G———Y.

 

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Oh, Deva! as thy crystal wave
By yonder primrose bank is gliding,
Softly its verdant surface lave,
Nor mock the boisť'rous torrent's chiding!

 And as with soothing, murmuring swell,
Thy whispering wave is lightly flowing,
List, lingering to the tuneful shell,
Its sweet responsive meed bestowing:

 No green hair'd Naiad wakes the strain
Which on thy glist'ning breast reposes,
Or floating o'er th' enamel'd plain
Its warbled cadence gently closes.

 Yet linger, Deva! tho' the spell
From mortal hand derives its power,
Yet listen to its dulcet swell,
And loiter round yon magic bower!

 For there, tho' human pow'rs preside,
Immortal soul her light diffuses,
There Science, Truth, and Feeling guide,
Nor Taste her potent aid refuses:

 And see, where bending o'er thy stream
Some musing grace each charm discloses!
Thy wave reflects her blue eye's beam,
And glows with youth's transparent roses!

 Oh may thy dimpled waters long
Such hues of bliss and beauty borrow,
Nor e'er, 'these gifted shades among,
Obtrude the tear-stain'd cheek of sorrow!

 For here, within each gentle breast,
Its genuine treasure, worth has rested;
Here sense resides, a native guest,
And Wit, of Satire's sting divested!

 Then, as thy smooth waves glide along,
And in the silvery moon-beam glisten,
Murmur the tributary song,
And woo some partial ear to listen;

 And whisper, Deva, as you stray,
How Flattery's strain the Muse despises,
Limpid like thee the votive lay,
Fresh from the heart's pure fountain rises!