The Enquirer

MISCELLANY.

FOR THE ENQUIRER.

TO MISS

ON HER BIRTH DAY,

BY ONE OF THE MEMBERS OF THE

RAINBOW ASSOCIATION.

See! my dear Julia, where inspiring May,

Her temples wreath'd with chaplets of young flowers

Whilst round her court the light-wing'd rosy hours,

Comes smiling on to hail thy natal day.

O! may she ever thus with smiles advance,

Nor of remembrance wake the deep-drawn sigh;

But joys and raptures wait upon her glance,

Bound in thy heart and brighten in thy eye!

May, Julia's emblem, all thy youth and love,

And bloom and innocence to her belong:

While, on the accents of her artless tongue,

Floats the gay music of thy cheerful song.

And hark! elastic as the morn of spring,

Start her ideas at the subject's call;

And mild as ev'ning, fann'd by Zephyr's wing,

Her sentiments, in soft succession, fall.

Forbid it, Heaven! that transient too as May,

The vernal tints that now her cheek adorn,

With all the joyous smiles of life's gay morn,

Should, like a "baseless fabric," pass away.

Long may the roses bloom upon her cheek!

Long may her eye the brilliant thought impart;

Long may her smile, the soul serene bespeak,

And tell each soft vibration of her heart!

Julia! more grateful should'st thou be to Heaven,

Than most of thy sweet sex, far more blest;

To thee a parent's, brother's, sister's breast,

With ev'ry soft affection fraught, are given.

A mother, in whose bosom thou may'st sleep,

In airy dreams of circling pleasure tost;

While on the labouring surge of care's vast deep,

Thousands, ten thousands of thy sex are lost!

Woe-fated sex! all lovely as ye are,

Form'd on benignant Heav'n's choicest plan,

To soothe, to polish, to ennoble man,

And dissipate the clouds of human care.

Oft does the ruthless parent's frown severe,

Obscure th' horizon of your infant day:

Stain your young cheek with sleepless sorrow's tear,

And scatter thorns and brambles in your way.

And then, come love's illusions, gay and fair;

Perhaps a father's direful command;

And then, with hope elate, you yield your hand,

To take, we think, a long adieu of care.

When lo! perhaps, the scene of love is o'er,

Reproach and frowns incessant rend your soul,

And in the plenitude of boasted pow'r,

A tyrant, false, would e'en your thought controul.

Kind Heav'n, from Julia, far avert this curse!

If from her parent's fond surrounding arms,

"Tis doom'd, in time, she render up her charms,

May cherub-love to every joy be nurse.

O! may some lord, of elevated soul,

In talents rich, and heart estranged from guile,

Drive care and sorrow to the distant pole,

And teach each moment of her life to smile!

X.