The Vision

AS Home I return'd, it was late in the Day,
Thro' Westminster Abbey, I knew, was my way,
And there I beheld,—or believe that I saw,
A terrible Spectre, with Teeth wanting Jaw.
The Figure was frightful, as you may suppose,
His Sockets were Eyeless, and never a Nose.

I, trembling, address'd him with—Sir, I presume
Your Worship is walking from Nightingale's Tomb?
As Milton observes, so he grinn'd for a Smile,
And, stalking off, beckon'd me down the dark Isle.
But saith I won't follow,—and loudly I spoke,
Then took to my heels and I tumbl'd—and 'woke.

My Joy cou'd you guess, when, recover'd, I spy'd
My Girl sweetly sleeping, and warm by my side;
Such Lips! such a Neck! then her Cheeks had a hue
Like Roses just moist with the Summer Morn's Dew.
I press'd her close to me, nay held her too tight,
For faith I was scarcely escap'd from my fright.

Awaking, she tenderly call'd out,—My Dear!
What ails you? you shake so, you're not well I fear?
What pleasure this is tho', quoth me to myself,
To have Love alive here, instead of that Els?
With rapture I fell on the dear Creature's Face,
With rapture the fond one return'd my Embrace.

Let Fribbles with Beauty as Fribbles behave,
And Pedantry boast, he is no Passion's Slave.
Let Pride, folly-teeming, lure dress-loving Elves,
To scorn the Enjoyment of all—but themselves.
Such things we despise, and them only approve,
Whose Hearts Esteem ripens from Friendship to Love.