Verses to a Young Lady at Bath

In earlier years, when Anna's face, Could only boast an infant grace; When artless tresses deck'd her brow, In many a wild untutor'd row; Ere yet upon her baby cheek, The conscious blush had learn'd to speak; In that calm, unsuspicious day, The Muse attun'd her willing lay; And sung of Anna's rip'ning charms, When Anna could feel no alarms; That tranquil hour, unknown to Fear, When I might say, and she might hear.—

The Hint transpir'd—and swift as thought, The favour'd Pocket-Book was brought, While kind advice, and caution sage, Stood pencil'd o'er the virgin page; Her little hands receiv'd the toy, And her young heart proclaim'd her joy.

Will Anna now, maturer grown, The sweets of infant years disown? And will she now unkind despise The song that once she deign'd to prize? No—Anna's heart shall still approve The song that once she deign'd to love: Still shall the Muse her steps attend— Still will she prize her early friend. And now, in Beauty's lovliest bloom, Though circled in the splendid room— While rival fops around her wait, With false applause, and senseless prate; And while the vaunts of self they hold— And while th' unmeaning tale is told; Anna shall wish the folly o'er, Shall fly to Memory's valu'd store; There foundly trace her childish age, And call to mind the virgin page.