Founding Fatherfest

What, bend the stubborn knee at last,
Confess the days of wisdom past,
He that could bow to every shrine,
And swear the last the most divine:
Like Hudibras all subjects bend,
Had Ovid at his fingers end;
Could whistle ev’ry tunc of love,
(You’d think him Ovid’s self or Jove)
Now feels the inexorable dart
And yields Cornelia all his heart!

Say what the charms that plague you so ?
I’ll venture barely common - No.
Within the circle of her eye;
A thousand sweet delusions lye;
Withal the oval of her face
Love’s wily charms and winning grace.
Besides in all she does or says
An air that even Stoics praise.
Mere rant th’ effusion of a brain
Oppress’d with love[’s] distempered train.

T’is true, her eye is well enough.
But why of such superior stuff?
Why call it better than her neighbours,
Because more hearts may crown its labors.
Talk as you please, of grace and wiles,
Of lips and looks and winning smiles.
She’s but, - Sweet Sir, nay do not fret.
She’s but - a beautiful brunette.

But ah, why trifle thus with love,
A certain fate that all must prove?
Dipp’d in the cup of tears and bliss,
Love’s subtle arrows never miss.
The best defended feel their smart;
E’en he who laughs life’s cares away
May only boast a later day.
perhaps ‘ere now some thoughtless fair
But opes her eyes to give despair.

For the sweet babe, my doating heart
Did all a Mother’s fondness feel;
Carefull to act each tender part
And guard from every threatning ill.

But what alass! availd my care?
The unrelenting hand of death,
Regardless of a parent’s prayr
Has stoped my lovely Infant’s breath -

With rapture number Oer thy Charms,
While on thy harmless sports intent,
Or prattling in my happy arms -

No More thy self Important tale
Some embryo meaning shall convey,
Which, should th’ imperfect accents fail,
Thy speaking looks would still display -

Thou’st gone, forever gone - yet where;
Ah! pleasing thought; to endless bliss.
Then, why indulge the rising tear?
Canst thou, fond heart, lament for this?

Let reason silence nature’s strife,
And weep Maria’s fate no more;
She’s safe from all the storms of life,
And Wafted to a peacefull Shore.

In yonder mead my love I found
Beside a murmur’ing book reclin’d:
Her pretty lampkins dancing round
Secure in harmless bliss.
I bad the waters gently glide,
And vainly hush’d the heedless wind,
Then, softly kneeling by her side,
I stole a silent kiss.

She wak’d and rising sweetly blush’d
By far more artless than the dove:
With eager haste I onward rush’d,
And clasp’d her in my arms;
Encircled thus in fond embrace
Our panting hearts beat mutual love -
A rosy-red o’er spread her face
And brighten’d all her charms.

Silent she stood, and sigh’d consent
To every tender kiss I gave;
I closely urg’d - to church we went,
And hymen join’d our hands.
Ye swains behold my bliss complete;
No longer then your own delay;
Believe me love is doubly sweet
In wedlocks holy bands.

Content we tend our flocks by day,
Each rural pleasures amply taste;
And at the suns retiring ray
Prepare for new delight:
When from the field we haste away,
And send our blithsome care to rest,
We fondly sport and fondly play,
And love away the night.