HEAVEN. To STELLA. Mary Jones Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T115196 Jones, Mary, d. 1778. Miscellanies in Prose and Verse. By Mary Jones. Oxford Printed; and delivered by Mr. Dodsley in Pall-Mall, Mr. Clements in Oxford, and Mr. Frederick in Bath, MDCCL. 1750 pp. 74-77. vi,[1],xlv,[1],405p.

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HEAVEN . To STELLA . Occasion'd by her asking the Author what hers consisted in , as they were viewing the prospect from Cooper's Hill . Let learn'd Divines , to whom 'tis giv'n To search the mysteries of Heav'n , Say , if their science can devise Where this thrice happy region lies : Say , what the sacred books declare Of joys unknown to eye or ear ; Joys , which the busy mind of man Strives fully to explore — in vain . This awful theme 'tis theirs to preach , ( O may we treasure what they teach ! ) My muse shall sing in Windsor's shade , The Heaven of a harmless maid . Stella describe the pleasing scene , And shew me where your joys begin . Has Love e'er touch'd your tender heart ? In Damon's pains have you no part ? Has no unguarded look betray'd That Stella is a mortal Maid ? Did ne'er that thing call'd female pride Conceal , what 'twas a pain to hide ? If not , we safely may aver , That Stella's Heaven is not here . Some in ambition place their bliss , And to be great — is happiness . Ambition , luxury and pride , Could ne'er in Stella's heart reside . And yet she loves a little state ; A coach and six she does not hate : But never falls into a swoon , When aukward Betty pins her gown . Can dine extremely well at two , As other sober people do ; But yet , for reasons good , can wait The modish hours of sev'n or eight . Does not directly hate quadrille ; But likes to play , or to sit still , Just as the Beaus and Ladies will . At church can pass an hour or two , With much good breeding in her pew ; Altho' the op'ra does not fill , And side boxes are empty still . Hence some have thought , when Stella there Has lifted up her eyes in pray'r , ( Have thought indeed ! at six and sev'n ) That 'mongst the stars lay Stella's Heav'n ; But folks may think what e'er they will , None but the Muse , I'm sure , can tell . You know what flatt'ring bards devise About the Heav'n , that's in your eyes ; And likewise how they call your breast The blissful seat of joy and rest : Your looks , say they , are all divine , Immortal pleasures round you shine ; And having o'er your beauties run , They make their rhyme , and so have done . Now , as concerning this your breast — These truths in metaphor exprest , Believe me , Stella , are no jest . For , to be serious , after all , Whatever mortals pleasure call , Whatever happiness we know , To our own hearts alone we owe . Your easy wit , and chearful air A harmony within declare ; Which to a gen'rous nature join'd , Brings sweet content , and peace of mind . In vain thro' various scenes we roam , The muse bids Stella look at home : And let her wander where she will , Her Heav'n she'll bear about her still , To Windsor's shades , or Cooper's Hill .