THE LAUREL. Eliza Day Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T132359 Daye, Eliza, b. ca. 1734. Poems, on Various Subjects. Liverpool Printed by J. M'Creery 1798 pp. [13]-18. [2],x,[4],258p.; 8°

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THE LAUREL . Ah scenes belov'd in vain , I feel the gales that from you blow . A momentary bliss bestow , As waving fresh their gladsome wing , My weary soul they seem to smooth , And redolent of joy and youth , To breathe a second spring . GRAY . THAT fortune's fickle , beauty frail , Has been the theme of many a tale , And solemn bards , with soaring eye , Have traced our passage to the sky . That earthly honours quickly pass , That life's a dream , and flesh is grass , Are truths the preacher would impart , In melting lessons to the heart , And , if on beauty , wealth , or fame , You dare to build a haughty claim , The moralist again would try , To wean your hearts from vanity . Attend , ye beauties of a day , For you I dress my moral lay , You , who to wealth or fame aspire , For you I tune my willing lyre . There lived a maid , Eliza named , Who was for nothing very famed , With beauty she was never blest , And this her sex can well attest , To fortune she as little owed , A circumstance well understood , All her pretensions , all her aim , Was to deserve an honest name ; With modesty to live retired , And leave the gay to be admired , A shepherd , skill'd in flattery's lore , However , sent some verses to her , He prais'd her for ideal graces , And wrong he was in many places , Tho' wrong , she knew he meant no evil , And thought he was exceeding civil , She told him , as in duty bound , She wish'd he were with laurel crown'd ; A nymph there was of lovely mien , Who lived at that time on the green , No fitter subject for his muse , The poet sure could ever chuse ; And ready for his similies , The earth and sky before him lies ; To him the garden yields its pride , The mine its treasures cannot hide , And little brooks , and mighty seas , He pilfers with the greatest ease , Oh ! for the magic of his art , To sooth the weakness of the heart ; And on the sunbeam of an eye , To rise to immortality ; My humbler muse , alone must tell , I knew the nymph and lov'd her well , Much merit she might justly claim , And Hannah was the fair one's name ; As cheerfully they pass'd the day , Together oft these nymphs would stray , And once a laurel they espy'd , Which rais'd its head with conscious pride ; The tree a little garden graced , And by a lowly cot was placed , They pitied that Apollo's care , Should waste its classic honours there , The thought to flattering Colin led , How much its leaves would grace his head , Equally pleas'd with the intent , They instant to the cottage went , The dame , for whom the laurel grew , No Daphne or Apollo knew , The ladies spoke her very fair , Told her they saw a laurel there , If she could such a favor grant , Some of it's leaves they soon should want ; The dame replied , they were too good , On such a trifle to have stood , But near the road , and low the wall , They might , for her , have ta'en them all ; It was a tree she had no good in , Except indeed to mend a pudding , And then in winter it was green , A time one valued such a thing , But they were welcome to a part , Of her tree's leaves , with all her heart . With skilful hands , fair Hannah weaves , Apollo's consecrated leaves , Nor e'er before or since was seen , So gay a garland on that green , Its waving circles gaily play'd , To crown the favour'd poet's head . A sylph , who trod the rural scene , In haste convey'd it o'er the green ; The yielding doors soon open flew , And full she shone on Colin's view ; He hail'd her as a nymph divine , She him a favourite of the Nine , The prize of wit she then display'd , Wishing to see it on his head . His head — his dinner scarce begun , On honour — less than eating run , It is a truth the shepherd owns , He thought of salads more than crowns : But such a slight soon to repair , He view'd it with attentive care , And on its leaves he found a note , Which simply thus the ladies wrote . ' Let gold and gems , a pond'rous weight , ' Surround the care-worn brow of state , ' And may the mournful yew be spread , ' O'er the cold ashes of the dead . ' While the gay rose and myrtle twin'd , ' The happy lover's temples bind . ' But may the head of sad despair , ' A wreathe of drooping willow wear . ' While still at friendship's sacred shrine , ' The vine should round the elm entwine . ' But when a poet we have found , ' With laurel shall the bard be crown'd . ' 'Twas with surprize the damsels learn'd , The shepherd had the crown return'd . He said Eliza ought to wear it , Nor would he e'en pretend to share it . Well pleas'd she kept the gilded crown , By flattery more beauteous grown . A vision now I introduce , Is aught denied the poet's use ? But ladies , that it need not fright , It is no imp that shuns the light , Or haunts the mansions of the dead , From them it is for ever fled , Its being rose when earth began , And ends but with the race of man ; Its silent path was swiftly trod , And many victims strew'd its road , Its hands a scythe and hourglass bore , To mark its progress and its pow'r , It touch'd the crown , which own'd its stroke , While thus to reason's ear it spoke . — ' A boundless conqueror am I , ' Nor boast of partial victory ; ' I take this trifling toy from you , ' And mighty empires I subdue . Her faded crown Eliza view'd , And thus the moral thought pursued — Faded trifle , passing jest , Mimic pageant of a day , No more for laurels we'll contest , Prizes which time shall bear away .