Come ye, who now your gayest moments pass,
And graceful flourish 'midst the shining throng,
Whilst life flies joyous, and your youthful years
Roll placid on, before the radiant throne
Of Beauty kneel. Whatever warms the breast
With noble purpose, what informs the heart
To melt, and moulds you into social man,
Is Beauty's power. From her poetic heat
Derives new fire, and taught by her oft paints
The visionary scene, and touches all
The springs of passion: hers each winning grace,
And comely gesture hers: enfrozen Age,
Bending to earth beneath the weight of years,
With wrinkled front, and venerable hair,
Melts at her fair approach; he feels warm blood
Run thro' his wither'd veins, erect he lifts
His hoary head, and on his aged brow
Unusual gladness smiles, while his cold heart
Warm'd into fervor glows: her kindling voice
All rural nature hears, and starts amaz'd
To polish'd life. Thus when the rustic swain
Saw sleeping Beauty, on the grassy bank,
Reclin'd at ease, and careless beaming round
Her charms attractive, while upon her face
Play'd all the laughing loves; surpriz'd he gaz'd,
And felt a thousand transports shoot along
His shivering nerves: now his unfeeling heart,
Unus'd to pant, with soft emotion heaves;
He trembling view'd, and all his soul was Love.