To A Lady, Who Had Yellow Hair Poem by Nicholas Amhurst

To A Lady, Who Had Yellow Hair



Whilst on thy Golden Locks I gaze,
And what I like sincerely praise,
Coldly you turn your Head away,
And tax with Flattery all I say;
But tho', when present, you prevail,
And interrupt my eager Tale,
Yet shall the absent Muse supply
What to my Tongue your Frowns deny.

Let other Damsels, oddly vain,
With Quack--Receipts their Features stain,
And, studious of a false Renown,
For borrow'd Beauties change their own;
Boldly do thou despise the Taste
Of Leaden Combs, of Paint and Paste,
In thy own native Charms arise,
Nor think we judge with vulgar Eyes.

The Locks, which flow'd in Waves of Gold,
Subdu'd the toughest Hearts of Old.
For Charms like these, Almighty Jove
Despised his Starry Realms above,
And, kindled with a mortal Flame,
Down to our Earth a Suitor came;
For, if old Tales we call to Mind,
Or look in Ovid, we shall find
That Leda, Danae, and the rest,
Whom Jove in Masquerade possest,
Were Damsels of a Snowy Hue,
With Locks of Amber, just like you.
Such Tresses, in the Days of Yore,
Venus, the Queen of Beauty, wore;
Which made e'en Mars forsake the Field,
And forced the God of War to yield.

Fair Rosamond as Poets sing,
Enamour'd thus a British King;
With blazing Hair she pierced his Heart,
And ev'ry Ringlet proved a Dart.

On Thee may better Fortune light,
Nor may thy Charms such Rage excite!
For tho' a Monarch wore her Chain,
What did alass! that Triumph gain?
An injured Queen, with vengeful Rage,
Pursued her in the Bloom of Age,
And, in a curs'd ill--fated Hour,
Surprized her in the conscious Bower;
There, with the Dagger and the Bowl
Wreak'd all the Fury of her Soul.

But no such Ills infest the Plain;
Safe in my Cottage may'st thou reign;
No jealous Queen will urge her Right,
Nor watch thy Footsteps Day and Night;
My Heart unrival'd thou may'st keep,
Whilst on the Hills I tend my Sheep,
Unenvied thro' the Vales may'st rove,
And without Fear or Danger love.

No more then, with unkind Disdain,
Reject the Conquests you obtain,
To Falsehood and delusive Art,
Wresting the Dictates of my Heart;
Vouchsafe, for once, in Man to trust,
Nor rashly deem us all unjust;
For me (believe me when I swear;
And thou, O Venus, witness bear)
However squeamish Fops may range,
However Tastes and Modes may change,
Whether the Black, the Brown, or Fair
Shall chance to reign the favourite Hair,
Still shall my Voice those Charms approve,
Which vanquish'd Henry, Mars and Jove.

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