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Best Famous Instruct Poems

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Written by Ogden Nash | Create an image from this poem

I Do I Will I Have

 How wise I am to have instructed the butler
to instruct the first footman to instruct the second
footman to instruct the doorman to order my carriage;
I am about to volunteer a definition of marriage.
Just as I know that there are two Hagens, Walter and Copen,
I know that marriage is a legal and religious alliance entered
into by a man who can't sleep with the window shut and a
woman who can't sleep with the window open.
Moreover, just as I am unsure of the difference between
flora and fauna and flotsam and jetsam,
I am quite sure that marriage is the alliance of two people
one of whom never remembers birthdays and the other
never forgetsam,
And he refuses to believe there is a leak in the water pipe or
the gas pipe and she is convinced she is about to asphyxiate
or drown,
And she says Quick get up and get my hairbrushes off the
windowsill, it's raining in, and he replies Oh they're all right,

it's only raining straight down.
That is why marriage is so much more interesting than divorce,
Because it's the only known example of the happy meeting of
the immovable object and the irresistible force.
So I hope husbands and wives will continue to debate and
combat over everything debatable and combatable,
Because I believe a little incompatibility is the spice of life,
particularly if he has income and she is pattable.


Written by Friedrich von Schiller | Create an image from this poem

Genius

 "Do I believe," sayest thou, "what the masters of wisdom would teach me,
And what their followers' band boldly and readily swear?
Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge,
Or is the system upheld only by fortune and law?
Must I distrust the gently-warning impulse, the precept
That thou, Nature, thyself hast in my bosom impressed,
Till the schools have affixed to the writ eternal their signet,
Till a mere formula's chain binds down the fugitive soul?
Answer me, then! for thou hast down into these deeps e'en descended,--
Out of the mouldering grave thou didst uninjured return.
Is't to thee known what within the tomb of obscure works is hidden,
Whether, yon mummies amid, life's consolations can dwell?
Must I travel the darksome road? The thought makes me tremble;
Yet I will travel that road, if 'tis to truth and to right."

Friend, hast thou heard of the golden age? Full many a story
Poets have sung in its praise, simply and touchingly sung--
Of the time when the holy still wandered over life's pathways,--
When with a maidenly shame every sensation was veiled,--
When the mighty law that governs the sun in his orbit,
And that, concealed in the bud, teaches the point how to move,
When necessity's silent law, the steadfast, the changeless,
Stirred up billows more free, e'en in the bosom of man,--
When the sense, unerring, and true as the hand of the dial,
Pointed only to truth, only to what was eternal?

Then no profane one was seen, then no initiate was met with,
And what as living was felt was not then sought 'mongst the dead;
Equally clear to every breast was the precept eternal,
Equally hidden the source whence it to gladden us sprang;
But that happy period has vanished! And self-willed presumption
Nature's godlike repose now has forever destroyed.
Feelings polluted the voice of the deities echo no longer,
In the dishonored breast now is the oracle dumb.
Save in the silenter self, the listening soul cannot find it,
There does the mystical word watch o'er the meaning divine;
There does the searcher conjure it, descending with bosom unsullied;
There does the nature long-lost give him back wisdom again.
If thou, happy one, never hast lost the angel that guards thee,
Forfeited never the kind warnings that instinct holds forth;
If in thy modest eye the truth is still purely depicted;
If in thine innocent breast clearly still echoes its call;
If in thy tranquil mind the struggles of doubt still are silent,
If they will surely remain silent forever as now;
If by the conflict of feelings a judge will ne'er be required;
If in its malice thy heart dims not the reason so clear,
Oh, then, go thy way in all thy innocence precious!
Knowledge can teach thee in naught; thou canst instruct her in much!
Yonder law, that with brazen staff is directing the struggling,
Naught is to thee. What thou dost, what thou mayest will is thy law,
And to every race a godlike authority issues.
What thou with holy hand formest, what thou with holy mouth speakest,
Will with omnipotent power impel the wondering senses;
Thou but observest not the god ruling within thine own breast,
Not the might of the signet that bows all spirits before thee;
Simple and silent thou goest through the wide world thou hast won.
Written by Robert Seymour Bridges | Create an image from this poem

Absence

 I visited the place where we last met.
Nothing was changed, the gardens were well-tended,
The fountains sprayed their usual steady jet;
There was no sign that anything had ended
And nothing to instruct me to forget.

The thoughtless birds that shook out of the trees,
Singing an ecstasy I could not share,
Played cunning in my thoughts. Surely in these
Pleasures there could not be a pain to bear
Or any discord shake the level breeze.

It was because the place was just the same
That made your absence seem a savage force,
For under all the gentleness there came
An earthquake tremor: Fountain, birds and grass
Were shaken by my thinking of your name.
Written by T S (Thomas Stearns) Eliot | Create an image from this poem

A Cooking Egg

 En l’an trentiesme do mon aage
Que toutes mes hontes j’ay beues...


PIPIT sate upright in her chair
Some distance from where I was sitting;
Views of the Oxford Colleges
Lay on the table, with the knitting.

Daguerreotypes and silhouettes,
Here grandfather and great great aunts,
Supported on the mantelpiece
An Invitation to the Dance.
. . . . .
I shall not want Honour in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney
And have talk with Coriolanus
And other heroes of that kidney.

I shall not want Capital in Heaven
For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond.
We two shall lie together, lapt
In a five per cent. Exchequer Bond.

I shall not want Society in Heaven,
Lucretia Borgia shall be my Bride;
Her anecdotes will be more amusing
Than Pipit’s experience could provide.

I shall not want Pipit in Heaven:
Madame Blavatsky will instruct me
In the Seven Sacred Trances;
Piccarda de Donati will conduct me.
. . . . .
But where is the penny world I bought
To eat with Pipit behind the screen?
The red-eyed scavengers are creeping
From Kentish Town and Golder’s Green;

Where are the eagles and the trumpets?

Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps.
Over buttered scones and crumpets
Weeping, weeping multitudes
Droop in a hundred A.B.C.’s.
Written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | Create an image from this poem

Hiawathas Fasting

 You shall hear how Hiawatha 
Prayed and fasted in the forest, 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumphs in the battle, 
And renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations.
First he built a lodge for fasting, 
Built a wigwam in the forest, 
By the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time, 
In the Moon of Leaves he built it,
And, with dreams and visions many, 
Seven whole days and nights he fasted.
On the first day of his fasting 
Through the leafy woods he wandered; 
Saw the deer start from the thicket, 
Saw the rabbit in his burrow, 
Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming, 
Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Rattling in his hoard of acorns, 
Saw the pigeon, the Omeme, 
Building nests among the pinetrees, 
And in flocks the wild-goose, Wawa, 
Flying to the fen-lands northward, 
Whirring, wailing far above him. 
"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, 
"Must our lives depend on these things?"
On the next day of his fasting 
By the river's brink he wandered, 
Through the Muskoday, the meadow, 
Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee, 
Saw the blueberry, Meenahga, 
And the strawberry, Odahmin, 
And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, 
And the grape.vine, the Bemahgut, 
Trailing o'er the alder-branches, 
Filling all the air with fragrance! 
"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, 
"Must our lives depend on these things?"
On the third day of his fasting 
By the lake he sat and pondered, 
By the still, transparent water; 
Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping, 
Scattering drops like beads of wampum, 
Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
And the herring, Okahahwis, 
And the Shawgashee, the crawfish!
"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, 
"Must our lives depend on these things?"
On the fourth day of his fasting 
In his lodge he lay exhausted; 
From his couch of leaves and branches 
Gazing with half-open eyelids, 
Full of shadowy dreams and visions, 
On the dizzy, swimming landscape, 
On the gleaming of the water, 
On the splendor of the sunset.
And he saw a youth approaching, 
Dressed in garments green and yellow, 
Coming through the purple twilight, 
Through the splendor of the sunset; 
Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead, 
And his hair was soft and golden.
Standing at the open doorway, 
Long he looked at Hiawatha, 
Looked with pity and compassion 
On his wasted form and features, 
And, in accents like the sighing 
Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops, 
Said he, "O my Hiawatha! 
All your prayers are heard in heaven, 
For you pray not like the others; 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumph in the battle, 
Nor renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations.
"From the Master of Life descending, 
I, the friend of man, Mondamin, 
Come to warn you and instruct you, 
How by struggle and by labor 
You shall gain what you have prayed for. 
Rise up from your bed of branches, 
Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!"
Faint with famine, Hiawatha 
Started from his bed of branches, 
From the twilight of his wigwam 
Forth into the flush of sunset 
Came, and wrestled with Mondamin; 
At his touch he felt new courage 
Throbbing in his brain and bosom, 
Felt new life and hope and vigor 
Run through every nerve and fibre.
So they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset, 
And the more they strove and struggled, 
Stronger still grew Hiawatha; 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a scream of pain and famine.
"'T Is enough!" then said Mondamin, 
Smiling upon Hiawatha,
"But tomorrow, when the sun sets, 
I will come again to try you." 
And he vanished, and was seen not; 
Whether sinking as the rain sinks, 
Whether rising as the mists rise, 
Hiawatha saw not, knew not, 
Only saw that he had vanished, 
Leaving him alone and fainting, 
With the misty lake below him, 
And the reeling stars above him.
On the morrow and the next day, 
When the sun through heaven descending, 
Like a red and burning cinder 
From the hearth of the Great Spirit, 
Fell into the western waters, 
Came Mondamin for the trial, 
For the strife with Hiawatha; 
Came as silent as the dew comes,
From the empty air appearing, 
Into empty air returning, 
Taking shape when earth it touches, 
But invisible to all men
In its coming and its going.
Thrice they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset, 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Uttered her loud cry of famine, 
And Mondamin paused to listen.
Tall and beautiful he stood there, 
In his garments green and yellow; 
To and fro his plumes above him, 
Waved and nodded with his breathing, 
And the sweat of the encounter 
Stood like drops of dew upon him.
And he cried, "O Hiawatha! 
Bravely have you wrestled with me, 
Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me, 
And the Master of Life, who sees us, 
He will give to you the triumph!"
Then he smiled, and said: "To-morrow 
Is the last day of your conflict,
Is the last day of your fasting. 
You will conquer and o'ercome me; 
Make a bed for me to lie in, 
Where the rain may fall upon me, 
Where the sun may come and warm me; 
Strip these garments, green and yellow, 
Strip this nodding plumage from me, 
Lay me in the earth, and make it 
Soft and loose and light above me.
"Let no hand disturb my slumber, 
Let no weed nor worm molest me, 
Let not Kahgahgee, the raven, 
Come to haunt me and molest me,
Only come yourself to watch me, 
Till I wake, and start, and quicken, 
Till I leap into the sunshine"
And thus saying, he departed; 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha, 
But he heard the Wawonaissa, 
Heard the whippoorwill complaining, 
Perched upon his lonely wigwam; 
Heard the rushing Sebowisha, 
Heard the rivulet rippling near him, 
Talking to the darksome forest; 
Heard the sighing of the branches,
As they lifted and subsided 
At the passing of the night-wind, 
Heard them, as one hears in slumber 
Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers: 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha.
On the morrow came Nokomis, 
On the seventh day of his fasting, 
Came with food for Hiawatha, 
Came imploring and bewailing, 
Lest his hunger should o'ercome him, 
Lest his fasting should be fatal.
But he tasted not, and touched not, 
Only said to her, "Nokomis, 
Wait until the sun is setting, 
Till the darkness falls around us, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Crying from the desolate marshes, 
Tells us that the day is ended."
Homeward weeping went Nokomis, 
Sorrowing for her Hiawatha, 
Fearing lest his strength should fail him, 
Lest his fasting should be fatal. 
He meanwhile sat weary waiting 
For the coming of Mondamin, 
Till the shadows, pointing eastward, 
Lengthened over field and forest,
Till the sun dropped from the heaven,
Floating on the waters westward,
As a red leaf in the Autumn
Falls and floats upon the water,
Falls and sinks into its bosom.
And behold! the young Mondamin,
With his soft and shining tresses,
With his garments green and yellow,
With his long and glossy plumage,
Stood and beckoned at the doorway.
And as one in slumber walking,
Pale and haggard, but undaunted,
From the wigwam Hiawatha
Came and wrestled with Mondamin.
Round about him spun the landscape,
Sky and forest reeled together,
And his strong heart leaped within him,
As the sturgeon leaps and struggles
In a net to break its meshes.
Like a ring of fire around him
Blazed and flared the red horizon,
And a hundred suns seemed looking
At the combat of the wrestlers.
Suddenly upon the greensward
All alone stood Hiawatha,
Panting with his wild exertion,
Palpitating with the struggle;
And before him breathless, lifeless,
Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled,
Plumage torn, and garments tattered,
Dead he lay there in the sunset.
And victorious Hiawatha
Made the grave as he commanded,
Stripped the garments from Mondamin,
Stripped his tattered plumage from him,
Laid him in the earth, and made it
Soft and loose and light above him;
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From the melancholy moorlands, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a cry of pain and anguish!
Homeward then went Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis, 
And the seven days of his fasting 
Were accomplished and completed. 
But the place was not forgotten 
Where he wrestled with Mondamin; 
Nor forgotten nor neglected 
Was the grave where lay Mondamin, 
Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, 
Where his scattered plumes and garments 
Faded in the rain and sunshine.
Day by day did Hiawatha 
Go to wait and watch beside it;
Kept the dark mould soft above it, 
Kept it clean from weeds and insects, 
Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings, 
Kahgahgee, the king of ravens.
Till at length a small green feather 
From the earth shot slowly upward, 
Then another and another, 
And before the Summer ended 
Stood the maize in all its beauty, 
With its shining robes about it, 
And its long, soft, yellow tresses; 
And in rapture Hiawatha 
Cried aloud, "It is Mondamin! 
Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!"
Then he called to old Nokomis 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
Showed them where the maize was growing, 
Told them of his wondrous vision, 
Of his wrestling and his triumph, 
Of this new gift to the nations, 
Which should be their food forever.
And still later, when the Autumn 
Changed the long, green leaves to yellow, 
And the soft and juicy kernels 
Grew like wampum hard and yellow, 
Then the ripened ears he gathered, 
Stripped the withered husks from off them, 
As he once had stripped the wrestler, 
Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, 
And made known unto the people 
This new gift of the Great Spirit.


Written by Stanley Kunitz | Create an image from this poem

Father and Son

 Now in the suburbs and the falling light
I followed him, and now down sandy road
Whitter than bone-dust, through the sweet
Curdle of fields, where the plums
Dropped with their load of ripeness, one by one.
Mile after mile I followed, with skimming feet,
After the secret master of my blood,
Him, steeped in the odor of ponds, whose indomitable love
Kept me in chains. Strode years; stretched into bird;
Raced through the sleeping country where I was young,
The silence unrolling before me as I came,
The night nailed like an orange to my brow.

How should I tell him my fable and the fears,
How bridge the chasm in a casual tone,
Saying, "The house, the stucco one you built,
We lost. Sister married and went from home,
And nothing comes back, it's strange, from where she goes.
I lived on a hill that had too many rooms;
Light we could make, but not enough of warmth,
And when the light failed, I climbed under the hill.
The papers are delivered every day;
I am alone and never shed a tear."

At the water's edge, where the smothering ferns lifted
Their arms, "Father!" I cried, "Return! You know
The way. I’ll wipe the mudstains from your clothes;
No trace, I promise, will remain. Instruct
You son, whirling between two wars,
In the Gemara of your gentleness,
For I would be a child to those who mourn
And brother to the foundlings of the field
And friend of innocence and all bright eyes.
0 teach me how to work and keep me kind."

Among the turtles and the lilies he turned to me
The white ignorant hollow of his face.
Written by Ben Jonson | Create an image from this poem

To my Muse

LXV. — TO MY MUSE. Away, and leave me, thou thing most abhorr'd That hast betray'd me to a worthless lord ; Made me commit most fierce idolatry To a great image through thy luxury : Be thy next master's more unlucky muse, And, as thou'st mine, his hours and youth abuse, Get him the time's long grudge, the court's ill will ; And reconcil'd, keep him suspected still. Make him lose all his friends ; and, which is worse, Almost all ways to any better course. With me thou leav'st an happier muse than thee, And which thou brought'st me, welcome poverty : She shall instruct my after-thoughts to write Things manly, and not smelling parasite. But I repent me : stay — Whoe'er is raised, For worth he has not, he is tax'd not praised.
Written by George Herbert | Create an image from this poem

Lent

 Welcome dear feast of Lent: who loves not thee, 
He loves not Temperance, or Authority, 
But is compos'd of passion.
The Scriptures bid us fast; the Church says, now: 
Give to thy Mother, what thou wouldst allow
To ev'ry Corporation.

The humble soul compos'd of love and fear
Begins at home, and lays the burden there, 
When doctrines disagree, 
He says, in things which use hath justly got, 
I am a scandal to the Church, and not
The Church is so to me.

True Christians should be glad of an occasion
To use their temperance, seeking no evasion, 
When good is seasonable; 
Unless Authority, which should increase
The obligation in us, make it less, 
And Power itself disable.

Besides the cleanness of sweet abstinence, 
Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense, 
A face not fearing light: 
Whereas in fulness there are sluttish fumes, 
Sour exhalations, and dishonest rheums, 
Revenging the delight.

Then those same pendant profits, which the spring
And Easter intimate, enlarge the thing, 
And goodness of the deed.
Neither ought other men's abuse of Lent
Spoil the good use; lest by that argument
We forfeit all our Creed.

It's true, we cannot reach Christ's forti'eth day; 
Yet to go part of that religious way, 
Is better than to rest: 
We cannot reach our Saviour's purity; 
Yet we are bid, 'Be holy ev'n as he, '
In both let's do our best.

Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone, 
Is much more sure to meet with him, than one
That travelleth by-ways: 
Perhaps my God, though he be far before, 
May turn and take me by the hand, and more: 
May strengthen my decays.

Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast
By starving sin and taking such repast, 
As may our faults control: 
That ev'ry man may revel at his door, 
Not in his parlour; banqueting the poor, 
And among those his soul.
Written by Carolyn Kizer | Create an image from this poem

Reunion

 For more than thirty years we hadn't met.
I remembered the bright query of your face,
That single-minded look,intense and stern,
Yet most important -how could I forget?-
Was what your taught me inadvertantly
(tutored by books and parents, even more
By my own awe at what was yet to learn):
The finest intellect can be a bore.

At this, perhaps our final interview,
Still luminous with your passion to instruct,
You speak to that recalcitrant pupil who
Inhaled the chalk-dust of your rhetoric.
I nod, I sip my wine, I praise your view,
Grateful, my dear, that I escaped from you.
Written by Alexander Pope | Create an image from this poem

The Rape of the Lock: Canto 1

 Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos;
Sedjuvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.
(Martial, Epigrams 12.84)
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
I sing--This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If she inspire, and he approve my lays.
Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel
A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle?
O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?
In tasks so bold, can little men engage,
And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage?

Sol thro' white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And op'd those eyes that must eclipse the day;
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground,
And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow press'd,
Her guardian sylph prolong'd the balmy rest:
'Twas he had summon'd to her silent bed
The morning dream that hover'd o'er her head;
A youth more glitt'ring than a birthnight beau,
(That ev'n in slumber caus'd her cheek to glow)
Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay,
And thus in whispers said, or seem'd to say.

"Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish'd care
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!
If e'er one vision touch'd thy infant thought,
Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught,
Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen,
The silver token, and the circled green,
Or virgins visited by angel pow'rs,
With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs,
Hear and believe! thy own importance know,
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below.
Some secret truths from learned pride conceal'd,
To maids alone and children are reveal'd:
What tho' no credit doubting wits may give?
The fair and innocent shall still believe.
Know then, unnumber'd spirits round thee fly,
The light militia of the lower sky;
These, though unseen, are ever on theg,
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the Ring.
Think what an equipage thou hast in air,
And view with scorn two pages and a chair.
As now your own, our beings were of old,
And once inclos'd in woman's beauteous mould;
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair
From earthly vehicles to these of air.
Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled,
That all her vanities at once are dead;
Succeeding vanities she still regards,
And tho' she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards.
Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive,
And love of ombre, after death survive.
For when the fair in all their pride expire,
To their first elements their souls retire:
The sprites of fiery termagants in flame
Mount up, and take a Salamander's name.
Soft yielding minds to water glide away,
And sip with Nymphs, their elemental tea.
The graver prude sinks downward to a Gnome,
In search of mischief still on earth to roam.
The light coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair,
And sport and flutter in the fields of air.

Know further yet; whoever fair and chaste
Rejects mankind, is by some sylph embrac'd:
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease
Assume what sexes and what shapes they please.
What guards the purity of melting maids,
In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades,
Safe from the treach'rous friend, the daring spark,
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark,
When kind occasion prompts their warm desires,
When music softens, and when dancing fires?
'Tis but their sylph, the wise celestials know,
Though honour is the word with men below.

Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their face,
For life predestin'd to the gnomes' embrace.
These swell their prospects and exalt their pride,
When offers are disdain'd, and love denied:
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain,
While peers, and dukes, and all their sweeping train,
And garters, stars, and coronets appear,
And in soft sounds 'Your Grace' salutes their ear.
'Tis these that early taint the female soul,
Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll,
Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to know,
And little hearts to flutter at a beau.

Oft, when the world imagine women stray,
The Sylphs through mystic mazes guide their way,
Thro' all the giddy circle they pursue,
And old impertinence expel by new.
What tender maid but must a victim fall
To one man's treat, but for another's ball?
When Florio speaks, what virgin could withstand,
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand?
With varying vanities, from ev'ry part,
They shift the moving toyshop of their heart;
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive,
Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.
This erring mortals levity may call,
Oh blind to truth! the Sylphs contrive it all.


Of these am I, who thy protection claim,
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name.
Late, as I rang'd the crystal wilds of air,
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star
I saw, alas! some dread event impend,
Ere to the main this morning sun descend,
But Heav'n reveals not what, or how, or where:
Warn'd by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware!
This to disclose is all thy guardian can.
Beware of all, but most beware of man!"


He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too long,
Leap'd up, and wak'd his mistress with his tongue.
'Twas then, Belinda, if report say true,
Thy eyes first open'd on a billet-doux;
Wounds, charms, and ardors were no sooner read,
But all the vision vanish'd from thy head.


And now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd,
Each silver vase in mystic order laid.
First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores
With head uncover'd, the cosmetic pow'rs.
A heav'nly image in the glass appears,
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears;
Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side,
Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here
The various off'rings of the world appear;
From each she nicely culls with curious toil,
And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here and elephant unite,
Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white.
Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms;
The fair each moment rises in her charms,
Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face;
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy Sylphs surround their darling care;
These set the head, and those divide the hair,
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown;
And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things