CATHARINA.

TO MRS. STAPLETON, (NOW MRS. COURTNAY.)

SHE came-she is gone-we have metAnd meet perhaps never again;

The sun of that moment is set,

And seems to have risen in vain,
Catharina has fled like a dream-
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!)
But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.

The last evening ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I,

Our progress was often delay'd

By the nightingale warbling nigh.

We paused under many a tree,

And much she was charm'd with a tone

Less sweet to Maria and me,

Who so lately had witness'd her own.

My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine,

As only her musical tongue

Could infuse into numbers of mine.

The longer I heard, I esteem'd

The work of my fancy the more,
And e'en to myself never seem'd
So tuneful a poet before.

Though the pleasures of London exceed
In number the days of the year,
Catharina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here;
For the close-woven arches of limes
On the banks of our river, I know,
Are sweeter to her many times

Than aught that the city can show.

So it is, when the mind is endued
With a well-judging taste, from above,
Then, whether embellish'd or rude,
"Tis nature alone that we love.
The achievements of art may amuse,
May even our wonder excite,
But groves, hills, and valleys diffuse
A lasting, a sacred delight.

Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice,
May it still be her lot to possess

The scene of her sensible choice!

To inhabit a mansion remote

From the clatter of street-pacing steeds,

And by Philomel's annual note

To measure the life that she leads.

With her book, and her voice, and her lyre, To wing all her moments at home,

And with scenes that new rapture inspire,
As oft as it suits her to roam,

She will have just the life she prefers,
With little to hope or to fear,

And ours would be pleasant as hers,

Might we view her enjoying it here.

CATHARINA:

SECOND PART.

On her Marriage to George Courtnay, Esq.

1792.

BELIEVE it or not, as you chuse,
The doctrine is certainly true,
That the future is known to the muse,
And poets are oracles too.

I did but express a desire

To see Catharina at home,

At the side of my friend George's fire,
And lo-she is actually come.

Such prophecy some may despise,
But the wish of a poet and friend
Perhaps is approved in the skies,
And therefore attains to its end.
'Twas a wish that flew ardently forth
From a bosom effectually warm'd
With the talents, the graces, and worth
Of the person for whom it was form'd.

Maria* would leave us, I knew,
To the grief and regret of us all,
But less to our grief, could we view
Catharina the queen of the hall :

* Lady Throckmorton.

And therefore I wish'd as I did,
And therefore this union of hands;
Not a whisper was heard to forbid,
But all cry-Amen-to the bans.

Since therefore I seem to incur
No danger of wishing in vain,
When making good wishes for her,
I will e'en to my wishes again—
With one I have made her a wife,
And now I will try with another,
Which I cannot suppress for my life-
How soon I can make her a mother.