WHEN tender Rose-trees first receive
On half-expanded Leaves, the Shower;
Hope's gayest pictures we believe,
And anxious watch each coining flower.
Then, if beneath the genial Sun
That spreads abroad the full-blown May,
Two infant Stems the rest out-run,
Their buds the first to meet the day,
With joy their op'ning tints we view,
While morning's precious moments fly:
My pretty Maids, 'tis thus with _you_;
The fond admiring gazer, _I_.
Preserve, sweet Buds, where'er you be;
The richest gem that decks a Wife;
The charm of _female modesty:_
And let sweet Music give it life.
Still may the favouring Muse be found:
Still circumspect the paths ye tread:
Plant moral truths in Fancy's ground;
And meet old Age without a dread.
Yet, ere that comes, while yet ye quaff
The cup of Health without a pain,
I'll shake my grey hairs when you laugh,
And, when you sing, be young again.
