179I* OJiE TO MARIA. 



For the Bee. 



Ode to Maria. 



What is beauty ? tis a flower 

 Born to perifli in an hour ; 

 'Tis a (hadow flying fleet 

 On the nimble courfer's feet ; 

 'Tis a creature of the fpring. 

 Spoiling on its wanton wing. 

 Scarcely feen beneath the fun. 

 When its rapid race is run. . 



No ! Maria, though our fight 

 Gaze a moment with delight ; 

 Think not that the foul is caught 

 By a thing fo void and naught : 

 *Tis the graces of the mind. 

 Not to time or place confin'd. 

 That we ever fond admire, 

 That we ardently defure. 



No ! Maria, though thy eye 

 With the diamond's luftre vie; 

 Tho' thy cheeks the bloom difclofe 

 Of the lily and the rofe ; 

 The' fwcet fmiles thy lips adorn, 

 Sweet as bluflies of the morn ; 



It is nor thefe : It is thy truth 



That lures the love of every youth ; 

 It is thy foft and tender heart; 

 It is thy eafe, devoid of art. 



C N F K. 



Extempore on a young lady being difpkafed at the colour 

 of her hat. 



No wonder you're mad, ™ 



Your hat looks fo bad, 

 When your cheeks the colour outvies ; 



Thofe rofes that grace 

 That fwcet pretty face, 

 Muft all iniitatation defpife. 



Za 



