Related quotes: You're now, Eliza, fix'd for...

To Eliza On Her Marriage

You're now, Eliza, fix'd for life;
In other words, you're now - a wife;
And let me whisper in your ear,
A wife, though fix'd, has cause to fear;
For much she risks, and much she loses
If an improper road she choses.
Yet think not that I mean to fright you,
My plan, au contraire's to delight you;
To draw the lines where comfort reaches;
Where folly flies; where prudence teaches.
In short, Eliza, to prevent you
From nameless ills that may torment you:
And ere bright Hymen's torch burns faintly,
From nuptial glare conduct you gently,
Where (cur'd of wounds from Cupid's quiver)
A milder lustre beams for ever!

First, then, Eliza, change your carriage,
Courtship's a different thing from marriage,
And much I fear (by passion blinded)
This change at first is seldom minded.
The miss who feasts on rich romances,
And love-sick sonnets, wisely fancies
That all the end of ardent wooing
Is constant billing, constant cooing.
The nymph again, whom caution teaches.
To doubt the truth of rapt'rous speeches,
She whom experience oft has school'd,
And shewn how husbands may be - rul'd,
Laughs at the whims of fond sixteen,
And thinks that wedlock stamps - a queen.
Now I (though ne'er, alas! contracted)
Consider both as half distracted;
And will predict that endless strife
Must be the lot of either wife.
Not that I would infer from hence
That men of feeling, worth, or sense,
Could every try to wound or pain
A tender breast with cold disdain;
Or e'er descend to storm and battle
At fondly-foolish female prattle.
Yet if sweet madam, without reason,
Will fret and fume, and mutter treason,
Plaguing her plain, unpuffing spouse,
About his former oaths and vows,
And tender sighs, and soft expressions,
With various comments and digressions,
I will not sweat that mere connexion
Will guard the husband's warm affection;
And when affection cools, they say
The husband's apt to - go astray.

Maids, prais'd and flatter'd all their lives,
Expect as much when they are wives;
And think when husbands cease palav'ring,
That love (sweet souls!) is surely wav'ring:
Then hey! for pets, and cold distrust,
Doubt's sullen brow, and dreams accurst :
The game goes on, ma'am's in the dumps,
And jealousy at last is trumps.
For thee, fair flower! of softest dye,
That caught so late each vagrant eye,
Still breathing sweets, still blooming gay,
Beauteous in winter as in May:
For thee this truth the muse has penn'd.
The muse - but more thy anxious friend:
'Woman's bright charms were giv'n to lure us,
They catch, 'tis true; but can't secure us.'

Sage Solomon, who paints with beauty
A virtuous woman's worth and duty,
Compares her to a ship of trade,
That brings from far her daily bread.
This may be true; but as for me,
I'll draw a plainer simile,
And call a virtuous wife a gem,
Which for its worth we ne'er contemn,
Though soon its water, size and hue,
Grow quite familiar to the view.
What then ensues? Why, faith, I'll tell ye;
We think of nothing but - the value.
Yet take this gem and lay it by
From the possessor's careless eye,
Conceal its lustre, dazzling bright,
From beaming daily on his sight,
I'll take you any bet at pleasure,
Whene'er he views this tempting treasure,
With eager bliss and sparkling eyes
He'll mark each new-born charm arise,
And with the joy of first possession,
Admire and rave sans intermission!

If women, therefore, would be wise,
Instead of murmurs, tears and sighs,
And sullen moods, and scolding frays,
When lovie's absent for some days,
Let ev'ry female art conspire
To drive him from the parlour fire.
Of all the plagues in wedded life,
To teaze or to torment a wife,
There's none more likely to increase
The bane of matrimonial peace,
Than the tame husband always by
With prying and suspicious eye.
Mark then, when * * * * goes to town,
Smile thou, when other wives would frown;
He only goes (nay, don't be angry)
To take a walk to make him hungry;
To taste awhile, unknown to care,
A change of exercise and air;
Observe the pert, the bold, the witty
How diff'rent from his own sweet Betty!
Return impatient to his home,
No husband, but a fond bridegroom.

Lastly, Eliza, let me say
That wives should rather yield than sway;
To thwart a husband's fixt opinion
Is not the way to gain dominion,
For kisses order, tears reprove,
And teach us rev'rence, fear and love!
O! born to soothe and guide the heart
With native softness, void of art!
Thou, whom nor pride nor fashion sways,
Unchang'd by flatt'ry's giddy praise;
And thou to whom a trem'lous youth
First spoke the tale of love and truth,
Blending with passion's fond alarms
The bright'ning beam of virtue's charms
Ah! lend not now a careless ear!-
Yet, yet attend to truth sincere!
These lines, at least with smiles receive,
The last, perhaps, thy bard shall give.

While pleasure spreads her gawdy train,
To lure the trifling and the vain;
While fashion kills the tedious day
With shopping, concert, cards, and play;
While female love and youth's fair charms
Shrink from pure passion's ardent arms,
And cling to splendour's fancied bliss,
With withering age and wretchedness,
Be thine Eliza, more refin'd,
The pleasures of the virtuous mind!
Be thine the transports of the heart
Which love and goodness still impart;
The tender glance, the tranquil smile,
A husband's sorrows to beguile:
The blush of joy divinely meek;
That paint's a mother's glowing cheek;
The balm that friendship still bestows;
The tear that drops for human woes!
These, these, Eliza! light the way,
And cheer when other charms decay;
Conduct through care and worldly gloom,
And whisper joys - beyond the tomb.

poem by Hector Macneill
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

To the same (Mr. L-----) II

From plains and peaceful cots I send
The humble wishes of a friend:
May love still spread his silken wing,
And life to you be ever spring:
May virtue guide you with her clue,
Life's mazy path to wander thro';
And may your offspring the blest tract pursue:
On you may Heav'n benignly smile,
And inward peace external cares beguile;
Long may you live supremely blest,
Then die, and be a Saviour's guest.
The wish is o'er, permit me to descend
To the familiar converse of a friend.
Well, you've done right to get a wife,
For change the comfort is of life;
Besides, I've read in ancient story,
A virtuous wife's a crown of glory:
And yet 'tis true that some adorn
Their husband's brows with crown of horn:
The wisest man on earth we find
Was partial to the female kind,
Till he was trick'd a thousand ways,
(But men are wiser now-a-days)
Which made the honest Jew exclaim,
They were all vanities, and vain:
His father, you remember David,
Who tore Saul's skirt, and ran away with't,
He also had, (tho' lov'd of God)
Plurality of wives allow'd:
But since polygamy's abolish'd,
The wives are chaste, the husbands polish'd
Since with plagiary you've tax'd me,
And never since for pardon ask'd me,
To prove my false accuser guilty,
Repeat his borrow'd lines I will t'ye:

"No goose that swims, but soon or late"
"Will find some gander for a mate."

You'll find this couplet, I'll engage,
In Wife of Bath, the hundredth page,
Volume the second,---works of Pope---
Brother, you're now convinc'd, I hope.

However, what you prophesied
About the goose, is verified;
She's slipt her neck in marriage noose,
And owns a sov'reign Lord, and goose.
Adieu, Mon Cher Ami; the Muse
Begs you her freedom will excuse.

poem by Ann Eliza Bleecker from The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To Fannie

Write to thine eyes? Why, my poor pen
Quails at the unequal task;
I fear you don't appreciate
The mighty boon you ask.
Thine eyes, I know, oh! beautiful!
True poets would inspire;
But, dear, you should remember, that
I've not a poet's fire.
But still at thy request I call
My sleeping muse to me,
To write a sonnet to thine eyes-
Would it were worthy thee!
Tender and loving, soft and pure,
They pierce the heart of man;
And with the aid of Cupid's darts,
Maim all the hearts they can.
Bright as the stars in yonder sky,
They shine for all on earth:
So sad in sorrow, glad in joy,
And sparkling in their mirth.
They, like the eyes of the gazelle,
Gaze fondly where you love;
And who receives such gaze, esteems
Them angels from above.
Bright as the light of long-sought home
To pilgrims o'er earth's way,
Whose footsteps sore, have wandered far,
Through weary year and day.
The light of love, the light of truth,
From thy soft eyes e'er beam;
And from thy heart, so kind and true,
A host of virtues gleam.
Now if this sonnet, Fannie, dear,
Were written by a lover,
A thousand charms no doubt he'd see,
That I cannot discover.

poem by Mary Eliza Perine Tucker Lambert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Epilogue - To the Tragedy of Cleone

Well, Ladies-so much for the tragic style-
And now the custom is to make you smile.
To make us smile!-methinks I hear you say-
Why, who can help it, at so strange a play?
The captain gone three years!-and then to blame
The faultless conduct of his virtuous dame!
My stars! what gentle belle would think it treason,
When thus provoked, to give the brute some reason?
Out of my house!-this night, forsooth, depart!
A modern wife had said-'With all my heart-
But think not, haughty Sir, I'll go alone;
Order your coach-conduct me safe to Town-
Give me my jewels, wardrobe, and my maid-
And pray take care my pin-money be paid.'
Such is the language of each modish fair;
Yet memoirs, not of modern growth, declare
The time has been, when modesty and truth
Were deem'd additions to the charms of youth;
When women hid their necks, and veil'd their faces,
Nor romp'd, nor raked, nor stared at public places,
Nor took the airs of Amazons for graces:
Then plain domestic virtues were the mode,
And wives ne'er dreamt of happiness abroad;
They loved their children, learnt no flaunting airs,
But with the joys of wedlock mix'd the cares.
Those times are past-yet sure they merit praise,
For marriage triumph'd in those golden days;
By chaste decorum they affection gain'd;
By faith and fondness, what they won, maintain'd.
'Tis yours, Ye Fair! to bring those days again,
And form anew the hearts of thoughtless men;
Make beauty's lustre amiable as bright,
And give the soul, as well as sense, delight;
Reclaim from folly a fantastic age,
That scorns the press, the pulpit, and the stage.
Let truth and tenderness your breasts adorn,
The marriage chain with transport shall be worn;
Each blooming virgin, raised into a bride,
Shall double all their joys, their cares divide;
Alleviate grief, compose the jars of strife,
And pour the balm that sweetens human life.

poem by William Shenstone
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To Eliza

Eliza, what fools are the Mussulman sect,
Who to woman deny the soul's future existence!
Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.

Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of sense,
He ne'er would have woman from paradise driven;
Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence,
With woman alone he had peopled his heaven.

Yet still, to increase your calamities more,
Not Content with depriving your bodies of spirit,
He allots one poor husband to share amongst four!-
With souls you'd dispense; but this last, who could bear it?

His religion to please neither party is made;
On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil;
Still I Can't contradict, what so oft has been said,
"Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil."

poem by Byron (1816)
Submitted by anonym
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A Mother Gazes Upon Her Daughter

Is she not lovely! Oh! when, long ago,
My own dead mother gazed upon my face,
As I stood blushing near in bridal snow,
I had not half her beauty and her grace.

Yet that fond mother praised, the world caressed,
And ONE adored me -- how shall HE who soon
Shall wear my gentle flower upon his breast,
Prize to its utmost worth the priceless boon?

Shall he not gird her, guard her, make her rich,
(Not as the world is rich, in outward show,)
With all the love and watchful kindness which
A wise and tender manhood may bestow?

Oh! I shall part from her with many tears,
My earthly treasure, pure and undefiled!
And not without a weight of anxious fears
For the new future of my darling child.

And yet -- for well I know that virgin heart --
No wifely duty will she leave undone;
Nor will her love neglect that woman's art
Which courts and keeps a love already won.

In no light girlish levity she goes
Unto the altar where they wait her now,
But with a thoughtful, prayerful heart that knows
The solemn purport of a marriage vow.

And she will keep, with all her soul's deep truth,
The lightest pledge which binds her love and life;
And she will be -- no less in age than youth
My noble child will be -- a noble wife.

And he, her lover! husband! what of him?
Yes, he will shield, I think, my bud from blight!
Yet griefs will come -- enough! my eyes are dim
With tears I must not shed -- at least, to-night.

Bless thee, my daughter! -- Oh! she is so fair! --
Heaven bend above thee with its starriest skies!
And make thee truly all thou dost appear
Unto a lover's and thy mother's eyes!

poem by Henry Timrod
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Stanzas: A Mother Gazes Upon Her Daughter, Arrayed For An Approaching Bridal.

Written in Illustration of a Tableau Vivant